People of the Mist (49 page)

 
          
Hunting
Hawk propped her chin on her hand and frowned. “He did save us from a war with
Three Myrtle. Like it or not, that would have been a disaster.”

 
          
“But,
at what price, Weroansqua?” Copper Thunder smiled at her, the action automatic
and humorless. “So you lose an old ally? You have other options now. Different
strengths to look toward.” She kept her face straight. “I am always open to new
alliances, Great Tayac. At the same time, why ruin old ones? The future is a
perilous place at best, especially these days.”

 
          
Then
she saw the look traded between Shell Comb and Copper Thunder. Ah! He’d taken
the bait. And suddenly, the old plan had new life blown into it. Maybe, just
maybe, she could salvage something for Greenstone Clan—and the future.

 
          
“Daughter?”
Hunting Hawk asked, her stomach oddly queasy.

 
          
Shell
Comb shrugged, struggling to appear at ease. “The Great Tayac and I were
talking the other day.”

 
          
More
than talking, I’d say, from the look of you. Hunting Hawk straightened.

 
          
“With
Red Knot’s death, we have no other eligible woman within our clan. Quick Fawn
would be a candidate for marriage, but she is not yet a woman, and may not make
the change for some time.”

 
          
“So,
naturally, you thought of yourself.” Hunting Hawk decided to cut short the
elaborate tale Shell Comb would have told.

 
          
“Copper
Thunder is willing, Mother.” Shell Comb tilted her head, seeking to regain the
advantage. “And so am I.”

 
          
The
only sounds were the chatter of the slaves serving the warriors behind them,
and the metallic rasp of the sandy leather on the copper spike.

 
          
Hunting
Hawk studied the Great Tayac through half lidded eyes. He seemed completely at
ease, careless of her response to so sudden a proposal. What game was he
playing? Why did he wish a woman of Shell Comb’s age? She might bear him a
child. Perhaps two, but her loins had almost dried up.

 
          
“Shell
Comb would bring a great many advantages to my people,” Copper Thunder said at
last, looking up from his work. “She knows the Independent villages,
understands the machinations of the Mamanatowick. While Red Knot would have
given me youth and many bearing years, Shell Comb brings experience.”

 
          
And
you think she “II be Weroansqua after my death. Hunting Hawk felt the final
piece fall into place. A marriage to Shell Comb would place Copper Thunder that
much closer to the center of Greenstone Clan and its influence over the
Independent villages. So, she wasn’t going to have to maneuver him into an
agreement after all. Instead, his testicles were leading him right where she
wanted him.

 
          
“I
suppose I could appoint Yellow Net as Weroansqua in your absence,” Hunting Hawk
said to gauge her daughter’s reaction. “You’d be too far away to serve here.”

 
          
Shell
Comb nodded, apparently undisturbed, but Copper Thunder shot her a measuring
glance. Hunting Hawk nodded to herself. Copper Thunder was playing a deep game
that she still didn’t quite understand, but Shell Comb, as usual, was ruled by
her passions instead of her head.

 
          
“I
shall think about it,” Hunting Hawk said. “In the meantime, The Panther will
stay and poke about under the rocks.”

 
          
In
her heart, she wasn’t happy with this new permutation of an old plan. Using Red
Knot hadn’t been as much a gamble as sending the impetuous Shell Cqmb off with
Copper Thunder. The problem with summoning a storm was that you never knew
where lightning would strike.

 
          
Panther
stepped into the dim interior of the House of the Dead and stamped snow from
his feet. On the heels of the mild clear days had come a cold west wind that
blew a bank of clouds down from the mountains. The temperature had plunged, and
the first flakes of snow spun out of the sky.

 
          
Panther
loosened his wet threadbare blanket before nearing the fire that burned in the
central pit. He shook it out and rewrapped it over his shoulder. Glancing
around, he could find no one in the anteroom, so he approached the mat divider
and called down the hallway, “Hello? Anyone here? Kwiokos, could I have a word
with you?”

 
          
Tall,
lanky Lightning Cat appeared, trotting down the hall. The guardians watched him
pass with expressionless faces.

 
          
“Elder?”
Lightning Cat said. “May I help you?”

 
          
“I
have come to see Green Serpent. Perhaps I might have a word with him. It’s
about Red Knot, and what we found up on the ridge where she was murdered.”

 
          
Lightning
Cat glanced around, uncertain, then bobbed a quick nod. “Come. This way.” He led
Panther back down the hall. Oddly, Lightning Cat ignored the guardians, but
Panther nodded to each in greeting. He could sense their appreciation that a
stranger offered what a familiar servant did not.

 
          
Once
past the storerooms with their piled goods, he was led again into the sanctum
with its statue of Okeus and the platform of Greenstone Clan ancestors.

 
          
Okeus
seemed to glare at him, his eyes shining with malice. His copper necklaces
gleamed in the firelight, and his painted limbs seemed possessed of the
strength to spring. The corn in his left hand looked wilted, brown, and
desiccated—but the war club in his right, with its twin war heads, looked
polished. A copper skewer glinted in the light where it ran through the hair
bun on the top of his head. His mouth might have been mocking, or filled with
humor. Panther couldn’t quite tell which.

 
          
“Greetings,
Dark Lord,” he murmured ritually, and bowed to show his respect. Only then did
he turn to the form laid out to the right of the fire.

 
          
Red
Knot’s body lay supine on its mat, as it had the last time Panther had seen it,
but now only a skeleton remained, the flesh having been carefully cut from the
bones. The joints remained attached; bound by wraps of brown ligament that had
dried hard in the heat of the fire. That was as it should be. Red Knot’s
skeleton would serve as the framework for the reconstructioti of her body as
soon as the skin was tanned. Grass straw would fill out her body where once
muscle and viscera had been.

 
          
Panther
stopped short, glancing at her skull. Something about the girl’s irregular
rictus bothered him, prickling uneasily at his soul, as if familiar.

 
          
“Panther?”
Green Serpent asked, rising from a large round-bottomed pot that he oversaw.
“You have come back?”

 
          
“Yes,
Kwiokos. I was wondering … But, what are you doing there?”

 
          
Green
Serpent glanced back at his pot. “Tanning her skin, of course. I was just
attending to the mixture, seeing that the juices were right. I had a pot spoil
once. Terrible thing to have happen to one’s kin. In that case I was able to
dry the skin before mold discolored it. But now, in the dead of winter, that
would be impossible.” “Indeed it would, and worse, it’s snowing outside.”
Panther jerked a thumb back at the door. “I’m afraid your work would freeze
solid.”

 
          
“You’re
not supposed to be here,” Green Serpent said, bending down to wash his hands in
yet another pot. “The Weroansqua said that we were not to help you anymore.
Apparently, you angered her.”

 
          
Panther
gave the old man a disarming smile. “Apparently she didn’t tell you the rest.”

 
          
“The
rest?” Green Serpent’s forehead wrinkled. The action made his mousy white
eyebrows lower. “What rest?”

 
          
“Ah,
well, I had no choice but to hint that she might have benefited from Red Knot’s
death. I have my reasons, you see. The killer must think that everyone is
suspect. Even the Weroansqjua. How else can I smoke him out?”

 
          
Green
Serpent’s frown deepened. “Well, I’m not sure. But I do know that the
Weroansqua was infuriated. Is that what you did? Accused her of murdering her
granddaughter?” ‘

 
          
“Do
you think she could have had the girl killed? After all, it was a way to avoid
having the Great Tayac marry into Greenstone Clan. She might have figured out
just what a cold-blooded spider he really is.”

 
          
Green
Serpent raised his hands helplessly. “I’ve known her for years, since she was a
little girl and I was an even littler boy. She was always smart. Like a crafty
bobcat. It wasn’t just her birthright. I knew she would be Weroansqua one day.
Everything she did was right. No mistakes like so many of us make. When her
uncle, the old Weroance, died, and he had no brother, leadership fell to
Hunting Hawk as the heir of Greenstone Clan. She accepted the duty and became
Weroansqua. At the time, some among the Independent villages scoffed at her.
She was so young, you see. Barely out of the Women’s House after her first
menstruation.” “It must have been difficult for you,” Panther agreed.

 
          
“Oh,
yes, but Hunting Hawk, she wasn’t like most women. Not at all like that daughter
of hers.” Green Serpent touched his forehead with an index finger. “She was
centered, Panther. Here. Her soul knew what it was about, what it wanted, where
it was going, and how to get there. Before we could even get the skin off of
her father’s body, she sent out war parties. That was under old Blood Heron. He
was War Chief then. He spread the word that Hunting Hawk was in charge—and then
he raided the Mamanatowick.”

 
          
Green
Serpent grinned, seeing back through the years. “Yes, she was something. There
wasn’t anyone who thought that little girl was anything but Weroansqua, clear
down through her blood and muscle to her bones.” The Kwiokos shook his head.
“Blood Heron brought back prisoners from his raid on the Mamanatowick. Two
warriors, cousins of the Mamanatowick’s. Hunting Hawk called everybody together
and walked up to those two warriors. They stood there, being brave, and
sneering down at her. They called her names, told her that no little girl could
kill the likes of them.”

 
          
Panther
glanced away. “But she had them burned, didn’t she? Thrown on the fire out
there in the plaza. I

 
          
‘heard
they screamed and writhed, and one actually got up on his feet before his hair
burst into flames and he fell kicking and screaming in the coals.”

 
          
“Yes.
It was just like that. Were you there?”

 
          
“No.
I just heard about it. That’s all.” Panther indicated Red Knot. “What about
her? Do you think Hunting Hawk would have had the girl killed to stop the
alliance with Copper Thunder?”

 
          
Green
Serpent sucked at his lips while he inspected the skeleton that stared
sightlessly up at the sooty roof high overhead. Then he slowly shook his head.
“No. Not her. Hunting Hawk, hard woman that she is, would have just said no.
Maybe offered another girl. Maybe one of Yellow Net’s brood, or some other
clanswoman. And she would have sent enough canoes of food and gifts that Copper
Thunder’s pride would have been satisfied.”

 
          
“What
about in revenge? Punishment for running off and disgracing her clan in front
of Copper Thunder? I can’t imagine the Weroansqua enjoying the prospect of
telling the Great Tayac that Red Knot had run off with a callow youth on the
eve of her marriage.”

 
          
“Oh,
my, Panther, that would have been bad. Bad indeed, but the children would never
have escaped. No, no, Nine Killer would have had them within the day, no matter
that High Fox had a day’s head start. Knowing Hunting Hawk, as I do, I’d say
that she’d cast Red Knot out, disown her, and give her to Copper Thunder as a
slave rather than kill her. The Weroansqua is never one to let an opportunity
pass to teach a lesson to her enemies. And, had she wanted the girl killed for
disobedience, it would have been a most public execution. Not what we have
here—all loose ends and suspicion.” The Kwiokos paused. “You see, the
Weroansqua is smarter than to do something like this.”

 
          
“But,
someone, it seems, did it anyway.”

 
          
Green
Serpent nodded, crossing his arms. “So perhaps you need only find someone
stupid? That’s not the Weroansqua.” Panther smiled grimly. “To kill in this
fashion, Kwiokos, isn’t a matter of being smart. No, no, you misread the mind
of a murderer. Red Knot wasn’t killed because of craftiness.”

 
          
“What
then?”

 
          
“Tell
me, Kwiokos, have you ever seen the Weroansqua desperate?” Green Serpent
glanced uneasily at Lightning Cat and Streaked Bear where they waited by the
doorway. He made a subtle gesture, saying, “You two. Check the fire in the
front room. I wouldn’t want it to go out. And after that, make sure we have a
good supply of wood in. This snow might last awhile.”

 
          
Reluctantly,
the two younger men glanced at each other, nodded, and left.

 
          
“Desperate?”
Green Serpent said when the priests had retreated beyond hearing. He waved his
gnarled old finger back and forth. “Ah, yes, Panther, I have seen that in her
eyes, but only when she looks at Shell Comb. The

 
          
Weroansqua’s
only great fear is turning the affairs of Greenstone Clan over to her
daughter.”

 
          
“Shell
Comb?”

 
          
Green
Serpent stepped over by the fire and seated himself, gesturing Panther down opposite
him. From the pouch at his side, Green Serpent produced his pipe, and with his
other hand, pinched tobacco from a bowl. This he offered to Panther, who in
turn retrieved his own pipe and tamped it full.

 
          
The
Kwiokos raised his pipe in humble offering to the statue of Okeus, then used a
twig kept for such purposes to light his bowl. Panther repeated the offering to
Okeus and lit his own pipe. Smoke sanctified words, sent them to the Spirits,
and validated conversations such as this.

 
          
“If
any single thing has disappointed the Weroansqua it is Shell Comb.” Green
Serpent gave Panther a knowing look. “Of all the quickness of wit and
craftiness that runs in Hunting Hawk’s veins, none of it was passed to Shell
Comb. She is like the wind, blowing one way one day, and another the next. As
focused as the Weroansqua is, Shell Comb is scattered, forever slave to her
passions and desires.”

 
          
“I
see.”

 
          
“Do
you?” Green Serpent puffed, blue smoke curling about his head in a wreath.
“Hunting Hawk is like a sharp chert blade, cutting through life with a single
purpose. Shell Comb is like an otter, playing here and there, forever hunting
new game. Take them to a ceremony, and Hunting Hawk will be appraising each of
the participants for their value to her, and what she can gain from them. Shell
Comb will be assessing what lies under their breech clouts and what trinkets
they would be willing to string around her body.”

 
          
Panther
glanced sidelong at Red Knot’s naked bones. “Then Shell Comb has always
disappointed her mother?”

 
          
Green
Serpent shrugged. “Only in the last couple of years has Shell Comb seemed to
show the slightest interest in ruling. I think it was because she finally
realized just how old her mother was getting. In the last year, Shell Comb has
really tried to show some responsibility. But, were I to guess, I’d say she’s
not going to be a very good Weroansqua.”

 
          
“That
worries you.”