People of the Mist (64 page)

 
          
“It’s
about Red Knot’s skull.” Panther searched around and found a turtle shell bowl.
With it, he scooped out some of the pale yellow squash and blew to cool it.
“Want some?”

 
          
“No.
But let me remind you, you’re here to talk, not eat.”

 
          
“I
can eat and talk. Besides, if you decide to order the War Chief to beat my head
in, I want it done on a full stomach.”

 
          
“Let’s
get back to Red Knot’s skull.”

 
          
Panther
continued to blow to cool the squash. Between breaths, he said, “She was killed
with a double-headed club. Not everyone knows that. Only Green Serpent and the
priests, Nine Killer, and now, you. Copper Thunder has a two-headed club. We
needed to check it against the holes in your granddaughter’s head. It didn’t
fit.”

 
          
Hunting
Hawk might have been wood, staring at the fire. No expression crossed her face
as she considered this new information. Panther could barely see her breathing.

 
          
Panther
pronounced his squash palatable, and scooped some from the turtle shell bowl to
his mouth.

 
          
“Who
are you?” Hunting Hawk asked quietly.

 
          
“That
depends on who you ask. Most people think I’m a witch. That’s an oddity I’ve
still to accustom myself to. To others, I’m a withered old man living a
hermit’s life out on an—”

 
          
“Who
are you?” She raised her unforgiving eyes. “I tolerated you in the beginning
because you were a way out of a bad situation—and I’d take any escape I could
to keep this alliance together. Now, I’m not sure. Before I leave here, I’m
going to know if I made a mistake or not.” She paused. “Understand?”

 
          
Panther
sucked squash from his fingers. “Weroansqua, you and I have seen life from most
of its different sides. Two old warriors like us, we can look each other in the
eye and know that each will keep some secrets inviolate. I have mine, you have
yours. Some things I will not say. Not because I’m being mysterious, but
because I’ve lived as long as you have, and in doing so I’ve cursed well earned
the right to keep some things to myself.”

 
          
She
grunted. “And the rest?”

 
          
“Ask.”

 
          
“Why
did you leave White Smoke Rising?”

 
          
Panther
stopped in rnidchew, staring into her black eyes. “You want the truth?”

 
          
“Don’t
act like a simpleminded fool. Why do you think I’m here?”

 
          
“All
right, here it is: I was sick to the bottom of my guts. Sick of leading good
men and women out to kill other good men and women. Sick of the success. Sick
of the dead bodies rotting in the sun. Sick of them crawling with flies as they
swelled up and hissed with gas. Sick of returning to that heartless serpent
curled up there on his polished red cedar throne. Sick of knowing that he’d
never be satisfied, no matter how many villages I captured and burned, or how
many slaves I drove back to kneel before him.” He glanced up. “Does that make
sense to you?”

 
          
“I
don’t know. What difference did it make to you? They weren’t your clan, were
they?”

 
          
Panther
licked a bit of squash from his lips with the tip of his tongue. “Weroansqua,
do you know one of the things that makes us human?”

 
          
“I
know many things. Get to the point.”

 
          
“I’ve
spent a great deal of time watching animals. For the most part, when they kill,
it’s done cleanly, efficiently, and without the investment of any more emotion
than is necessary to get the job done.”

 
          
“And
weasels?” she countered. “Bobcats? Otters? They enjoy it.”

 
          
“They
do, but the killing of small prey is different for them. They flip it around,
bat it here and there. That’s play, Hunting Hawk. Play that is done with small
inoffensive prey that can’t hurt them back.” He narrowed his eyes, staring at
her. “Humans, however, can always hurt back. Of all creatures, we are the only
ones who routinely kill our own kind. Not to eat, or for breeding, but for
trophies. The other thing we do, the critical thing for me when I left White
Smoke Rising, is rather difficult for most people to grasp.”

 
          
“And
that is?”

 
          
“Humans,
of all animals, have the ability to imagine themselves in their victims’
place.”

 
          
Her
flinty gaze didn’t change. “So?”

 
          
He
shrugged. “So, I started to live too much in their skins. When I dreamed at
night, it was to see myself through their eyes. I didn’t like the way they
looked at me, the way they felt about me. Each child’s cry was burned into my
soul as I stood over the bloody bodies of their dead parents. There was one
little girl, a pretty thing, with all of her life ahead of her…” He closed his
eyes, squeezing them tight, as if to drive the vision from his soul.

 
          
Hunting
Hawk waited quietly.

 
          
Swallowing
hard, he said, “Killing is more than just taking a man’s life—it’s killing
dreams, Weroansqua. Hope, love, ambition, and purpose, all are left to rot with
the putrid corpses.”

 
          
“And
that little girl?” Hunting Hawk asked, tone softening. “Who knows? If she’s
still alive, she’s a slave, her eyes dull with despair, her hair matted with
filth. She’s never had a chance to love a tall young-warrior, never gotten to
see his eyes shine for her. If she’s borne a child, it was one planted in her
by a man who used her as a camp bitch. And the child, if it lived, would only
have a life like hers to look forward to.”

 
          
He
poked his finger absently into the squash. “What right had I to do those
things, take those things from people? Authority makes us arrogant, Weroansqua.
I had been arrogant all of my life.”

 
          
“So,
you left it to find humility on an island in the
Salt
Water
Bay
?”

 
          
He
nodded, then scooped out another handful of squash. “It didn’t take all that
long to fill my soul with angry ghosts, but I fear it will take forever to lay
them to rest.”

 
          
She
picked up a stick to prod the fire. “That doesn’t explain why you’re here. What
difference does it make to you if my granddaughter was murdered? What do you
get out of this?”

 
          
“The
chance to forgive myself for being stupid when I was young.” He savored a mouthful
of squash, letting the sweet flavor run over his tongue. “In light of the
things I’ve seen and done, it didn’t amount to much. Not really. The trouble
is, when you are young, and in love, it seems like the end of the world. Sun
Conch assured me that High Fox didn’t kill Red Knot. I could see the
desperation in her eyes, and my curiosity was piqued. One youngster had made a
mistake. Maybe I could keep another from making a worse mistake. So, here I
am.”

 
          
“You
came to keep a youngster from making a mistake? I’m supposed to believe that’s
the truth?”

 
          
Panther
watched her through half-lidded eyes. “I’ve generally found that once you give
people the truth, they’d have been happier with a stupendous lie. But, yes,
that’s the truth. Weroansqua, life usually comes full circle. For days before
Sun Conch’s arrival, my crows had been telling me that something important was
going to happen. To this day, I wonder what would have happened if long ago, in
my past, I’d had wise counsel whispered into my youthful ear. How different
would my life have been?”

 
          
“And
instead?”

 
          
“I
was young, passionate, and unjustly thwarted by my clan. I thought I would show
them all, pay them back for the wrongs committed against me. Powered by the
arrogance of youth, I ran away, searching for a place where my worth would be
recognized.” He smiled wistfully, voice dropping. “Fool that I was, I swore
that one day I would return at the head of a great band of warriors, and then …
Oh, yes, things would be different.” He shook his head at the folly of it. “In
the name of Ohona, what fools we are.”

 
          
“Who
are you?” Her leathery hands tightened on the stick. “What is your clan? Which
village did you come from?”

 
          
He
sighed and shook his head. “That, I will keep to myself until death, Weroansqua.
That youth died a long time ago. I will not bring him back. If it is so
important to you, have Nine Killer crack my skull and see if you can pick it
out of my bloody brain with your fingernails, but I suspect that even then, I
shall retain my secret.”

 
          
She
watched him with narrowed eyes. “And Red Knot’s murder?”

 
          
He
smiled wistfully. “You shall have the truth of it before the solstice. The
answer is coming in Sun Conch’s canoe, Weroansqua. The last bit of the puzzle
is there.”

 
          
She
closed her eyes then, energy gone. Looking at her, Panther could see the
hardship of old age, normally kept at bay by her insatiable will. Now she
looked withered and sucked dry by the vicissitudes of life.

 
          
In
a rasping voice, she said, “And, I suppose I’m not going to like the truth
then, either, am I?”

 
          
“No,”
he answered gently. “I suppose not.”

 
          
For
two days Panther and Nine Killer waited. True to Hunting Hawk’s prediction, the
fog rolled in from the bay, obscuring the world. Most of the time, Panther lounged
by the fire in Rosebud’s house. White Otter fed him, and he warmed his old
bones in the heat. Her cooking was surprisingly good.

 
          
“What
is the Weroansqua going to do to Quick Fawn and me?” White Otter asked
nervously.

 
          
“Not
a thing, child,” Panther soothed. “She and I worked it out. She understands now
that we took the Great Tayac’s club for a reason.”

 
          
“You
were very brave, niece,” Nine Killer assured her. “I’m not sure I could have
mustered that much courage at your age.”

 
          
She
blushed, smiling.

 
          
Nine
Killer nodded, then cast a worried glance at the Panther. When the fog lifted,
and the weather cleared either Black Spike and High Fox would arrive, or their
plans would lie in ruins.

 
          
That
same night, as Panther and Nine Killer sat at their fire, Hunting Hawk sent one
of her servants out into the night on a most important errand.

 
          
Hunting
Hawk watched her fire snap and pop, the flickers sending yellow light dancing
about the room. The cattail and cord grass matting had a golden glow. Overhead,
and on the storage shelves, the shadows darted about, as if the dark spirits
wove and dodged in mock battle.

 
          
She
shifted to ease her old aching hips. The pain was always worse during the
spells of damp cold. This winter it would have been unbearable but for The
Panther’s willow bark remedy. She had people scouring the countryside for every
willow they could find.

 
          
She
rubbed her face, brooding black thoughts within. From the moment Red Knot had
set out on her mad scheme to run off with High Fox, Greenstone Clan had been
spiraling out of control like a pelican with a broken wing. Now she could sense
the dark waves of disaster in restless motion below her.

 
          
How
do you save it? The thought rolled over and over, blistering her soul with
uncertainty.

 
          
In
her lifetime, she had seen Greenstone Clan rise to ascendancy among the
Independent villages. Now, in the last days before her death, would she see the
whole of it come undone like an unfired clay pot in the surf?

 
          
She
looked up when Copper Thunder appeared in the opening of the room divider. “You
sent that girl for me, Weroansqua?”

 
          
“I
did, Great Tayac. Thank you for coming at such short notice, and so late at
night.” She indicated the mat across the fire. “Sit.” He did, settling with the
lithe strength of a puma, his arms draped around his knees. He studied her with
curious black eyes, the firelight playing on his tattoos. He might have been
wearing a mask, the way the forked eyes and black stripe hid his expression.

 
          
“This
is all coming to a head,” she told him. “Sometime soon, The Panther tells me,
Black Spike will arrive with High Fox. When they do, I might find myself in a
most uncomfortable position.” She looked up, meeting his excited gaze across
the fire. “If things begin, to come apart, I may have to depend on you.”

 
          
“And
your War Chief?”

 
          
Hunting
Hawk shrugged. “I’m not sure of his loyalty to me anymore. But this is not the
right moment to replace him. That would take time. His men like him. Too many
of them would question my action. And, I’m still feeling the sting of the Three
Myrtle raid. If we could only raise half of our force to attack an allied
village, how many could I hope to call up for an action within Flat Pearl?”

 
          
His
intent black eyes reminded her of a snake’s when a chipmunk hopped ever closer.

 
          
“What
do I gain?” he finally asked. “My ten warriors and I can remove Nine Killer,
and the few who might stand with him, but I need to know what I’m righting for.
What I’ll get from this.”

 
          
She
rubbed her wrinkled palms together, and then studied the parchment-brown skin
on the backs of her hands. “You’ll get your alliance, Great Tayac. I’ll give
you Shell Comb… and Quick Fawn when she comes of age. Two ties, instead of one.
Age, and experience, coupled with youth and fertility. Your eastern borders
will be stable, and in the spring we can unite to strike southward into the
Mamanatowick’s territory. That’s what you want, isn’t it?”

 
          
Copper
Thunder’s lips curled into a smile. “And, I want the old man, too. I take him
back to my village when I leave.”

 
          
“He
is yours.” She raised her hand. “But not until I say so. Do you understand me?
The one thing I will not tolerate is a mistake. There have been too many of
those already.”

 
          
Copper
Thunder inclined his head slightly, the smile of satisfaction spreading. “As
you wish, Weroansqua.” He paused. “When may I speak with Shell Comb?”

 
          
“A
couple of days, Great Tayac. For the moment, she’s in the Women’s House,
attending to her phase of the moon. Surety, anything you have to say can wait
until after she’s through there.” “It can.” He stood, his muscles rolling under
greased skin. “Thank you for your confidence, Weroansqua. You have relieved my
mind. Together, I think we shall be unbeatable.”

 
          
“Sleep
well, Great Tayac.”

 
          
After
he’d left, she returned her gaze to the fire, an emptiness in her soul. In a
low voice, she asked, “Did you hear all of that?”

 
          
Yellow
Net stepped out from behind the mat divider in the rear of the room. “I did,
Weroansqua.” Her hands were clenched at her sides. “Did you have to promise him
my daughter?”

 
          
“Would
you rather that I gave you to him? Of course I did. He had to know I was
serious about the long term. Shell Comb’s womb could dry up at any time. Quick
Fawn is healthy, young, and about to blossom.”

 
          
Yellow
Net barely managed to control herself, her face on the verge of disgust.

 
          
Hunting
Hawk lifted an eyebrow. “Easy, cousin. If this works the way we’ve planned, the
Mamanatowick will fall on the upriver villages like an enraged sow bear. The
two of them will tear each other apart and buy us breathing space. That’s what
we agreed to in the beginning, wasn’t it?”

 
          
“I’ve
begun to question your plans, Weroansqua.”

 
          
“Do
you question that you will be calling yourself Weroansqua before too much
longer? That, in itself, should mollify some of your outrage.”

 
          
“And
Shell Comb? She will not contest?”

 
          
“No.
I won’t make the announcement until after she’s left with Copper Thunder. Your
position is safe. After Copper Thunder and the Mamanatowick are bleeding each
other to death we will cancel Quick Fawn’s betrothal to secure her succession.”
“How do you know that Shell Comb will accept this?”

 
          
“I’ll
walk over to the Women’s House after the first light and explain that she’s
leaving with Copper Thunder. She’ll accept that—especially if I stress that it
is best for the clan.”

 
          
“And
if the old man spoils these plans of yours? You don’t control him, cousin.”

 
          
Hunting
Hawk smiled grimly. “No, but Copper Thunder will serve our purposes, should we
need him.”

 
          
Yellow
Net took a deep breath. “Not all of us have the same passion for authority that
you do.”

 
          
The
flames licked along the oak branch, blackening the wood and checking the
surface. “Then you had better develop it, cousin. That’s what ruling the clan
is all about.”

 
          
“And
the callusing of the heart? Does that come first?”

 
          
“Generally,
yes. A Weroansqua can’t afford to feel,

 
          
Yellow
Net. Kill that part of yourself first, and the rest will come easily.”

 
          
The
morning of the third day, the fog broke, stringers of mist rising through the
trees and tracing patterns around the long houses The entire village was
blanketed in the aroma of food cooking in preparation for the solstice
ceremonies.

 
          
Black
Spike, High Fox, Sun Conch, and two canoes of warriors arrived as the sun
crested in the sky. Nine Killer had heard the calls of the lookouts, and
hurriedly grabbed up his bow, war club, and quiver before sprinting for the
palisade gate.

 
          
The
long black canoes slipped across the water like a chevron as they angled in for
the landing. The Weroance had made excellent time. When he reached the landing,
Nine Killer lowered the head of his war club to the sand and braced himself on
the handle. Flying Weir appeared beside him and said, “War Chief? The
Weroansqua wishes you to conduct the Weroance to her Great House. There, she
will feed him and entertain him as is his due before you and The Panther talk
to him.” “Very well. In the meantime, send out two scouts to keep an eye on the
approaches to the village. If this turns bad, we don’t want Black Spike’s
people to ambush us from the rear.”

 
          
“Yes,
War Chief.” Flying Weir fled to find his scouts.

 
          
As
the heavy canoes were dragged onto the beach, people gathered around the
palisade gate to watch. They stood silently, faces expressionless, as they
watched the Weroance walk forward. He was dressed in a fine cloak of painted
bunting feathers that shimmered in the weak sunlight. He carried his war club
in his right hand, his wounded left arm still treated tenderly.

 
          
Behind
him High Fox followed with quick nervous steps. Sun Conch walked to one side,
her round face like a mask. Black Spike’s warriors walked in ranked files,
uneasy gazes measuring their reception.

 
          
Nine
Killer took a deep breath, a queasy feeling in his gut. He stepped forward,
raising one hand in the timeless gesture of friendship. “Greetings, great
Weroance. Welcome to
Flat
Pearl
Village
. The Weroansqua, Hunting Hawk, matron of
the Greenstone Clan, asks you to join her for a feast and to share
Flat
Pearl
Village
’s hospitality and friendship.”

 
          
Black
Spike walked up to Nine Killer and looked down into his face. A thousand
questions seemed to float behind those black eyes.

 
          
Nine
Killer willed himself to meet them with neutrality. Indeed, The Panther’s trap
had yet to be sprung, and there was no telling who they would finally catch in
it.

 
          
“Lead
the way, War Chief.” Black Spike inclined his head. “The Weroance of Three
Myrtle Village and his son and warriors accept the Weroansqua’s offer of
friendship.” He glanced at the waiting people, gave them an icy smile, and
allowed Nine Killer to lead him past the posts of the gateway. Behind him, his
warriors walked in close rank, unsure eyes on the Flat Pearl warriors.

 
          
Sun
Conch caught Nine Killer’s eye, an eyebrow lifted inquiringly. He mouthed the
words “House of the Dead,” and Sun Conch nodded, breaking off for the tall
building.

 
          
Nine
Killer walked casually across the plaza, a fluttering like hummingbirds in his
belly. He could sense the tension, stretching like a length of damp cord until
water beaded along its taut threads. How much more stress would it take before
the fibers were inexorably pulled apart?