People of the Mist (66 page)

 
          
“Everything
for the clan?” Panther asked gently. “Isn’t that what we’re taught? From the
first moment we slide from the womb, covered with tissue, wet, and streaked
with blood, it’s all for the clan. Everything.”

 
          
“Are
you trying to tell us something, Panther?” Sun Conch gave him a knowing look.

 
          
“Only
that the clan can get in the way of being human,” Panther answered sadly. “And
then, sometimes, the innocent must die to protect the guilty.”

 
          
“I
don’t follow you,” Nine Killer said uneasily.

 
          
“Tonight,”
Panther replied, “I’m afraid you will, War Chief. Now, more than ever, I will
need you to keep your wits about you. I need you to trust me, and, above all,
to think before you act. Do you understand? This must be done as delicately as
possible.” But that didn’t lessen the tension and sorrow in Panther’s heart.
People remained the same capricious creatures they’d always been.

 
          
He
could feel Okeus’ malicious stare from the shadowed sanctuary. As much as
Panther hated to admit it, perhaps the old stories were right, and all people
were indeed descended from Okeus’ loins.

 
          
Panther
sighed, clapped his hands to his sides, and said, “Now, if you will excuse me,
I must go talk to the old woman. The final tracks on this long and convoluted
trail lie there.”

 
          
“Elder,”
Nine Killer asked. “Do you need me to go with you?”

 
          
“No,
War Chief. Stay here with Sun Conch and the priests. You must guard this basket
that Green Serpent has put together for us. Let no one look inside it. No one,
you hear? Not even the Weroansqua. Without its contents, we are lost.”

 
          
Sun
Conch chewed on a cold turkey leg. Even with something in her stomach, she felt
queasy. The resolution was coming, one way or another. Panther had returned
from Stone Cob’s clan long house but half-a-hand past. He had refused to speak,
his brow furrowed. Nine Killer kept glancing at him uneasily as he gnawed on a
hard piece of tuckahoe bread. This night could end in disaster for all of them.

 
          
Green
Serpent stepped out through the dividing mat and looked around, his face tense
and his white eyebrows arched. “I think all is in readiness, Elder. I have
instructed Lightning Cat and Streaked Bear to accompany us.”

 
          
“Thank
you, Kwiokos.” Panther gave the priest a friendly smile. “Your help through all
of this has been invaluable.”

 
          
Green
Serpent’s eyes softened. “You are a good man, Panther. And, yes, I believe I
see the finger of Ohona on you, tracing your body with Power. May he be with
you tonight.” He rubbed his fleshy nose. “Now, if you will excuse me, I must
attend to offerings for Okeus … that he may allow us to proceed without mishap.”

 
          
Green
Serpent turned, and disappeared down the narrow passageway, headed for the
rear. As he went, he reverently touched each of the Guardians.

 
          
“A
good man,” Panther noted.

 
          
Nine
Killer just nodded, jaws working methodically, lost in his own thoughts.

 
          
This
waiting will drive me insane. Sun Conch tried not to fidget. Panther gave her
an understanding smile.

 
          
Quick
Fawn appeared just at dusk, leaning in the doorway of the House of the Dead to
announce, “Elder? The Weroansqua requests your presence in the Great House. She
says to tell you that she expects an end to be brought to this business.”

 
          
Panther
called out, “Kwiokos? It is time.”

 
          
Green
Serpent emerged from the passageway, his head bowed. As he walked, he shook his
large gourd rattle, chanting softly under his breath. Lightning Cat and
Streaked Bear followed, looking solemn with their skin freshly greased, and
feathers in their hair.

 
          
Panther
indicated the basket, and Nine Killer picked it up, hefting the light weight.
Only a portion of the beaded deer design could be seen.

 
          
Sun
Conch felt a sense of jubilation and despair as they stepped out from the House
of the Dead. The plans had been made, the trap set.

 
          
As
they walked into the dusk, streamers of mist floated past like wraiths. The wooden
Guardian post they passed was damp, flecked with tiny beads of water. In the
half light, Sun Conch looked up at the weathered face. She thought it looked
menacing, or maybe fearful.

 
          
The
chill ate through her greased skin and the single deer hide mantle about her
shoulders. This was the night when all would come clear. High Fox would be
finally and forever freed of suspicion. She had lived for this, dreamed and
longed for it. Her joy was almost enough to overcome the deep seated worry
about what would happen. No matter the conclusion, important people would be
angered and disturbed by the revelations they were about to hear.

 
          
She
shivered as she followed Panther past the Guardian. The sensation of eyes
peering at her from the darkness made the middle of her back itch. Warily she
glanced about her, searching the mist. Shapes seemed to move in the darkness.
Ghosts, or potential enemies?

 
          
Ahead
of them, the figures of the priests nearly disappeared in fog. Nine Killer’s
soft steps could be heard behind her. Stealing a glance, she could see the War
Chief, his attention on the basket that filled his arms.

 
          
Sun
Conch hurried, closing the distance to Panther’s vulnerable back. Somewhere a
child shrieked, and she could hear the steady drip of water from the thatch.
Muted voices carried in the thick air, conversations muffled by the Great House
walls.

 
          
The
mist wavered, and in that instant, Sun Conch saw a furtive figure crouched
there in the darkness. He was settled on one knee, the left arm extended, the
right pulled back to the cheek. The bent curve of the bow might have been an
illusion.

 
          
Sun
Conch cried, “Panther! No!” and leaped for the old man. He cried out when the
full force of her body struck him and threw him forward.

 
          
Sun
Conch felt the cold arrow lance through her upper arm, cut a path along her
ribs, and lodge beneath her left breast. Staggering, she knocked The Panther to
the ground, and covered his old body with her own. The flesh around the arrow
shaft tore, and she screamed raggedly, “Run!”

 
          
“Sun
Conch!” Panther cried. “Sun Conch? What’s wrong? What—”

 
          
“Run!”
she shouted. “He’s trying to kill you!”

 
          
From
a great distance, she heard Nine Killer shouting orders, and felt Panther
wiggle out from beneath her.

 
          
Pain
filled her world, engulfing her. All Sun Conch could do was curl on her side
and hug the hurt into her soul.

 
          
Nine
Killer paced back and forth, smacking his fist into his callused palm. Rage
mixed with futility. He glanced down to watch as Panther used a piece of soaked
leather to sponge Sun Conch’s brow. Green Serpent sang in the background, his
rattle shish-shishing in time to the rising and falling chant.

 
          
As
his warriors scoured the village for the assailant, Nine Killer had carried the
whimpering Sun Conch to Rosebud’s long house Panther had been dogging his
heels, reaching out with trembling fingers to touch the young woman’s arm.
Lightning Cat had brought the basket, and now it rested across the fire from them,
firelight tracing patterns on its side.

 
          
White
Otter and the other children gathered around to watch with wide eyes. Flying
Weir ducked through the doorway, face grim. At Nine Killer’s questioning gaze,
he slowly shook his head and said, “Nothing, War Chief. We’re searching from
house to house, but I can’t say what we’ll discover. People have been coming
and going all night.”

 
          
“Someone
must have seen something.”

 
          
Flying
Weir shrugged. “War Chief, the fog is so thick, we could have run right past
her attacker. Even the guard at the gate might not have known if a person
slipped past.”

 
          
“Where
were Black Spike’s men? Were they all in the Great House?”

 
          
Flying
Weir frowned. “I—I don’t know.”

 
          
“Find
out. And the Great Tayac’s men, too. Account for each one.” Nine Killer took a
deep breath. “You’d better include Flat Willow in that list, too.”

 
          
Flying
Weir jerked a quick nod before ducking out into the night again.

 
          
Nine
Killer exhaled wearily and shook his head. What had they come to that he could
be suspicious of his own people? And worse, what would it mean for them if Flat
Willow did indeed turn out to be the culprit?

 
          
He
knelt beside Panther and inspected Sun Conch’s wound. The arrow had entered her
body from the left, pinning her arm to her side, then slicing deeply under her
breast until the point bulged the skin above her breastbone.

 
          
Nine
Killer winced, and asked, “What do you think?”

 
          
“We’ll
break off the fl etching cut the skin on her chest, and pull it through.” Worry
filled Panther’s moist brown eyes.

 
          
“And
then?”

 
          
Panther
shrugged. “The rest is up to the Spirits and, perhaps, the good graces of
Ohona.” He studied the wound again. “A poultice will only work on the holes. If
infection sets in, it will be difficult to drain.” He gently pressed down on
her breast, feeling with his fingertips. “Ah, that’s a bit of luck. The point
didn’t break any ribs and I can feel the shaft. It’s outside of her ribs. Her
lung should be safe.” Nine Killer called, “White Otter, bring me your mother’s
sewing awls. I need a big one, sharp, maybe that one made from the deer’s
bone.”

 
          
White
Otter whirled and ran for the rear of the house. Within moments she was back,
handing him the bone awl. It had been crafted from the long cannon bone, just
up from the hooves. The lower joint had been broken off and the shank sharpened
into a needle point.

 
          
Meanwhile,
Panther used a sharpened clamshell to cut a deep notch in the arrow shaft just
ahead of the sinew binding that held the split-feather fl etching in place.
With a quick snap, he broke the shaft. Sun Conch groaned.

 
          
“Easy.
Easy, Sun Conch,” Nine Killer soothed. The girl’s face pinched in agony. “This
is going to hurt worse than it’s hurt so far. We have to pull the arrow.”
“Yes,” she gasped. “I know.” Her throat worked as she swallowed dryly. “I—I’ll
try to be brave.”

 
          
Panther
smiled down at her. “You’re the bravest woman I know.”

 
          
Her
answering smile was weak, strained against the pain.

 
          
“Here,
let me.” Panther took the awl, frowned at the tip, and said, “I’ve had a little
more practice at this.”

 
          
“Not
much, I’d wager.” Nine Killer placed his fingers on Sun Conch’s skin, pressing
down to stretch it over the point.

 
          
Panther
steadied himself and used the sharp point to dimple the skin. Spinning the awl,
he pierced her skin, then used the sharpened clamshell to open the wound.
Clotted with blood, the dark stone point could be seen.

 
          
“All
right.” Panther nodded at Nine Killer. “Push.”

 
          
Nine
Killer sought to still the trembling in his muscles. Over the seasons, he’d done
this often. One of the terrible realities of war was dealing with wounds. The
worst were the ones where an arrow lanced its way through the guts. Even if the
arrow could be withdrawn, the wounded person died within days of evil from the
punctured intestines. It wasn’t a good way to die.

 
          
Thinking
of that, he reached down and shoved the exposed shaft. As he did, Panther
grasped the bloody stone point and pulled it through in one smooth motion. Sun
Conch jerked, and clawed the matting with her good hand.

 
          
“There,”
Panther said, and wiped at the sweat beading on his brow. He discarded the
bloody arrow and pressed down firmly on her breast. “War Chief, massage her
arm. We need to press as much of this tainted blood as we can from the wound.
If we drain it well, the evil can’t establish as strong a hold.”

 
          
“And
if we break the big artery?”

 
          
“Since
the arrow didn’t cut it already, I’d say the chances are good that draining
won’t.”

 
          
Nine
Killer gently squeezed the muscle, watching as clotted red ran out to pool on
the matting at Sun Conch’s side. He stopped when the blood ran bright and
smooth.

 
          
“All
right, now put pressure on the holes,” Panther directed. “Let’s see if we can
stop the bleeding.”

 
          
Nine
Killer did, watching as the old man worked on the girl. Panther did seem to
have a great deal of practice with such things.

 
          
Green
Serpent stepped up behind Nine Killer and began to shake his rattle, singing
his “warding song” to inform any malicious Spirits that Sun Conch was under his
protection. His soft chant seemed to ease Sun Conch, for the young woman lay
back, breathing deeply. Her eyes were closed, lips slightly parted.

 
          
“What
next?” Nine Killer asked.

 
          
“I’ll
need nightshade leaves for a salve and cactus pads—fresh if you have any
nearby—and smartweed to make a poultice to slow her bleeding.”

 
          
“We
have these things. But the cactus pads are dried, brought from the dunes.”
Green Serpent gestured to Streaked Bear, and the stocky priest hurried away. In
his haste, he almost bowled over Hunting Hawk as she ducked through the doorway
on rickety legs.

 
          
She
hobbled across the floor to stare down at Sun Conch. “What happened?”

 
          
Panther
looked up from his bloody hands. “She saved me, Weroansqua.” He indicated the
bloody arrow on the matting. “That was meant for me. Meant to keep me from
speaking tonight. Apparently, someone has been driven to desperation yet
again.”

 
          
Hunting
Hawk braced herself on her walking stick and closed her eyes, head bowed. “Then
we should hear the truth of this, witch.”

 
          
Panther
returned his attention to Sun Conch. In a lowered voice, he said, “I am no
witch, Weroansqua. Were I, I’d have sent that arrow right back at the person
who shot it at me.”

 
          
“Whose
arrow is it?” Green Serpent asked. “Those markings, does anyone recognize
them?”

 
          
Nine
Killer nodded, hating to say it. “Yes. It belongs to Flat Willow.”

 
          
“Then
bring him!” Hunting Hawk snapped. “We shall hear of this!”

 
          
“My
warriors are already searching for him.” Nine Killer looked up. “But,
Weroansqua, if it was he, we might not want to announce it too loudly.” With a
twitch of his lips, he indicated the direction of the Great House.

 
          
She
read his meaning in an instant, acknowledgment in the slitting of her eyes.

 
          
A
scuffle, curses, and grunts could be heard outside, and amid growls, Flat
Willow was shoved through the doorway to sprawl unceremoniously on the floor
matting. Flying Weir and Many Dogs bulled through after him.

 
          
Flat
Willow
, his breech clout half-ripped from his
waist, his reached hair flattened and in disarray, barely scrambled to his feet
before the two warriors had him by the shoulders, marching him forward. They
stopped two paces back, holding him between them.

 
          
“What
is the meaning of this?” Flat
Willow
squirmed in their arms, his greased skin
slipping in their grasp. A lump was rising on the side of his head, already
about to swell his eye closed. Flying Weir had been none too gentle.

 
          
Hunting
Hawk inspected him as she would a side of meat. Her gaze stopped at his shaved
head with the solitary roach so similar to Copper Thunder’s.

 
          
Nine
Killer could read her expression: Now we will get to the bottom of this. No one
with sense challenged the Weroansqua when she had that look in her eye.

 
          
“That
arrow.” Hunting Hawk jabbed at it with her walking stick. “It is yours?”

 
          
Flat
Willow
stared at the bloody shaft, bewilderment in
his eyes. “Mine?”

 
          
“The
marks on the arrow,” Nine Killer said, “are your identifying marks.”

 
          
Flat
Willow
blinked and squinted. Nine Killer saw the
fear building in his eyes. “Yes. I think they are. But what is it doing here?
What’s this all about?”

 
          
“That
arrow was just pulled out of Sun Conch,” Hunting Hawk stated flatly. She lifted
her head slightly, as if daring him to deny it.

 
          
Flat
Willow
sagged in the warriors’ strong grip. He
shook his head miserably. “No, Weroansqua, as Okeus is my witness, I didn’t do
this thing.”

 
          
“Then
how—”

 
          
“I
don’t know!” Flat
Willow
’s face went white, and he licked his lips. “I swear, I don’t! I left my
arrows at my cousin’s! I was in the Great House. Keeping an eye on the Three
Myrtle men! I did it just like the Great Tayac asked me to! Ask them, any of
them who were there!”

 
          
“And
how did we find you?” Flying Weir shook him like a dog did a snake. “Standing
around in front of the Great House!”

 
          
“I
just stepped outside with the others!” His legs had turned limp so that he
dangled in their grasp. “Ask them! Ask … them …”

 
          
“I
believe him,” Nine Killer said. “Most everyone was in the Great House tonight.
But, Flat Willow, could anyone say they were with you the whole time? That you couldn’t
have slipped away for just long enough to retrieve your weapons and ambush us?”