People of the Mist (31 page)

 
          
“We
are all older,” Black Spike agreed. “Please, eat. You, too, Sun Conch. Partake
again of my hospitality.”

 
          
“The
Weroance and I were talking,” Panther began as Nine Killer and Sun Conch began
dipping out hominy. “Black Spike gives me his word that High Fox will stay here
in
Three
Myrtle
Village
under heavy guard. This way he is no more
than a half day’s journey from
Flat
Pearl
Village
if we need him, but still out of direct
danger should others take matters into their own hands.”

 
          
Nine
Killer’s jaw muscles worked under his smooth skin as he chewed. He didn’t look,
pleased. “The Weroansqua ordered me to return him to Flat Pearl.”

 
          
“Oh,
I doubt the Weroansqua will take you to task for not bringing him back with
us.” Panther gave the War Chief a malicious grin. “She can turn her wrath on
me, if she dares. You are just cooperating with me. Acceding to my requests.”

 
          
Nine
Killer continued to eat in silence, frown lines tracing across his forehead. “I
want to leave someone of my own to assure this.”

 
          
Black
Spike stiffened. “Is my word not enough?”

 
          
Nine
Killer said, “For me it is, Weroance, but I must answer to others who may not
share my faith.” And then he smiled, as if pulling the last cord loose from a
perplexing knot. “The nice thing about two hands is that you can scratch both
itchy palms at once.” He paused. “What if the man I wanted to leave was Stone
Cob?”

 
          
Black
Spike shrugged. “He is on neither side in this matter.”

 
          
“My
thought exactly.” Nine Killer nodded. “And it will give him a chance to choke
on his honor.”

 
          
Winged
Blackbird stood before the fire, his features bronzed by the leaping light.
Behind him stood Two Bones and Makes Water, his lieutenants.

 
          
The
Great House where they stood was well furnished with deer hides, woven baskets
filled with hickory nuts, chinquapins, and hazelnuts. Corn, tobacco, dried
fish, and jerked meat hung from the rafters in long ranks. The red cedar
burning in the fire gave the air a redolent odor.

 
          
The
Weroance, Corn Hunter, sat on a golden cougar skin that had been draped over a
stump, his raised seat giving him a commanding view of those coming before him.
The only time Corn Hunter had his throne removed was when his brother, the
Mamanatowick, came to visit.

 
          
As
Weroance of White Stake Village, and the territory he commanded, he could levy
great tribute from the surrounding clans. Most of this he passed on to the
Mamanatowick, who lived three days’ journey to the south.

 
          
Once
Corn Hunter had been a warrior, younger brother to the Mamanatowick. Known for
his prowess in war, he had been given
White
Stake
Village
, and responsibility for the northern
frontier. For the most part, Corn Hunter’s days were pleasant. The war with the

 
          
Independent
villages had ground into an endless stalemate that gave him’ enough stability
to enjoy his position, but also sufficient danger to justify his larger than
normal cut out of the tribute sent south.

 
          
The
years had broadened his once muscular body, and the wealth of his position had
covered him with a thick layer of fat. His tattoos had spread with his girth
and faded. What had been sunbursts, bird’s heads, and lines of dots now were
nothing more than shadows under years of red puccoon root dye.

 
          
His
heavy cheeks gave his face a thick, sagging look. Small brown eyes, mindful of
a badger’s,stared out from either side of a flattened nose. The storyfwas that
it had been mashed by a raider’s war club when Corn Hunter had been a young
man. He liked to wear finely woven and brightly dyed textiles rather than
tanned hides, claiming that the cloth was warmer, lighter, and easier on his
skin. Like so many in authority, he reveled in copper and tin jewelry. He
sprinkled glittering antimony on his skin, and liked to weave colored feathers
from painted buntings, kestrels, and blue jays into his hair. His seven wives
kept the right side of his skull shaved, and spent hours creating his famous
coiffure.

 
          
Winged
Blackbird had always been leery of Corn Hunter, and since his elevation to War
Chief his caution had increased. Something about those flat black eyes left an
uneasy tickle at the base of his spine. No matter how Corn Hunter might smile,
and praise his work, Winged Blackbird didn’t trust the man.

 
          
The
Weroance watched him with an inscrutable stare. He rested his chubby right hand
on one oversized knee, his left holding Red Magpie’s hand as she stood beside
him, her attention also fixed on Winged Blackbird. Corn Hunter’s first wife,
she was ten years his elder, gray haired, slim, and narrow of face. Behind
them, Corn Hunter’s six other wives waited, as did his older children.

 
          
“We
could do nothing,” Winged Blackbird said, hating the flush of embarrassment
that crept into his cheeks. “Nine Killer had us surrounded before we could so
much as raise a weapon. It was as if he knew we were coming.”

 
          
“Indeed?”
Corn Hunter said.

 
          
Winged
Blackbird glanced around the packed long house. “I don’t suppose that Barnacle
is still among us?”

 
          
“No.”
Corn Hunter’s only movement was to rub his thumb on the back of Red Magpie’s
hand. “He left the day after you did. Headed south, I believe. No doubt to fill
the Mamanatowick’s ears with stories about Hunting Hawk and Copper Thunder, and
this coming marriage.”

 
          
“You’re
sure he went south?” Corn Hunter blinked slowly, the way a turtle did on a cold
morning. He made no answer. He didn’t need to.

 
          
“Well,”
Winged Blackbird sighed, “it would be nice to blame it on him.”

 
          
“So,
you were surrounded?”

 
          
“Yes,
Weroance. I had no choice but to deliver your message to War Chief Nine Killer,
since to press farther into their territory would have meant a hard fight, many
deaths, and no guarantees that your message would have been delivered.” Winged
Blackbird smiled grimly. “The dead are not known for their elocution.”

 
          
Corn
Hunter’s fixed stare ate into Winged Blackbird’s very soul. Those eyes might
have been made of polished rock for all the emotion they betrayed. Winged
Blackbird . locked his knees, refusing to show his unease.

 
          
After
what seemed an eternity, Red Magpie leaned over and whispered into Corn
Hunter’s ear. The Weroance nodded ever so briefly, and a humorless smile
appeared. “No, the dead are not known for their elocution. But then, neither,
it seems, is my War Chief.”

 
          
Winged
Blackbird clamped his teeth and rocked back and forth on his heels.

 
          
Corn
Hunter’s smile widened. “Well, so be it. You were not appointed War Chief to
tell stories, eh? You are

 
          
War
Chief to win battles, and if you blurt your failures straight out, at least I
don’t need to worry about you plotting behind my back. Because of that, War
Chief, I can trust you.”

 
          
“Yes,
Weroance.”

 
          
“Very
well, so you gave Nine Killer my message. What did he say?”

 
          
“He
said that he would tell Hunting Hawk word for word. This, I know he did.”

 
          
“I
see, and how is it that you know without hearing with your own ears?”

 
          
“Because
he is Nine Killer. Like your War Chief, he, too, blurts out the truth for his
Weroansqua.”

 
          
The
smile had frozen on Corn Hunter’s face. “You take chances, Winged Blackbird.
Especially for a man who failed in his mission. I would expect a War Chief to
use a certain amount of initiative in fulfilling his duties.” “Then, perhaps if
the Weroance will allow me to finish my report, he will discover that
initiative is not so foreign to his War Chief’s ability.” Rot it all,
everything was going wrong! The tone was getting ever more formal and strained.

 
          
Don’t
goad him, or he’ll have you roasted! Winged Blackbird smiled, seeking to ease
the tension. “Weroance, please, hear me. Knowing that Nine Killer would send
scouts after us to assure that we left his territory, we made it look good. We
ran like rabbits—but just far enough to allay any of his suspicions. And then
Two Bones and I doubled back, sneaking through the forest to see what was
happening at
Flat
Pearl
Village
.”

 
          
“Ah.”
For the first time, Corn Hunter’s expression seemed to warm.

 
          
“We
crept close, Weroance, and saw the body of young Red Knot being borne into the
palisade. She was hanging from a pole, limp, like a dead deer.”

 
          
“What?”
For the first time, Corn Hunter looked mystified.

 
          
“That’s
what I really wanted to report to you, my chief. She’s dead. And the Flat Pearl
warriors were so demoralized by it that they forgot to post guards. Two Bones
and I were able to creep close and listen that night. The best is, someone
murdered her!”

 
          
For
a moment, the only sound in the Great House was the popping of the fire as
flames licked around the logs.

 
          
“Who?”
Red Magpie asked, her eyes shining.

 
          
“I
cannot tell you.” Winged Blackbird shrugged. “Many suspected us, since our
presence sent a scare into them. Some suspected High Fox, son of Black Spike. I
heard mutterings behind houses. Some suspected Copper Thunder, and yet others
Hunting Hawk herself. Since none of my warriors killed her, it has to be one of
them, doesn’t it?”

 
          
“And
you saw no sign of other raiders? Perhaps the Conoy?”

 
          
“No,
Weroance. The talk in the village that night was that Red Knot’s body hadn’t
been violated. No trophies were taken. No sign was left. This wasn’t war; it
was murder.”

 
          
For
the first time that night, Corn Hunter threw back his head and opened his
mouth. The laughter came rolling out of the depths of his belly, his fat sides
shaking.

 
          
Nine
Killer and Stone Cob stood to the side of the canoe landing, away from the
other warriors who were preparing for the journey back to
Flat
Pearl
Village
. The fog had lifted, merging with the
overcast sky. In the inlet, the water looked glassy, placid for once. Smooth
water made for fast traveling.

 
          
Nine
Killer cocked his head, watching Stone Cob absently chip at an ash tree that
stood near the beach. The warrior seemed to take some perverse delight from
driving his thumbnail into the bark and prying loose little half-moons from the
stringy gray mass.

 
          
“I
think I understand, War Chief. If you send me a piece of copper, I am to bring
High Fox to you at
Flat
Pearl
Village
. If you send me a stone arrow point, I am
to take the first opportunity to kill him. If you send me a bird’s feather, you
have found the real murderer, and I can return to
Flat
Pearl
Village
. In the meantime, if anyone tries to harm
him, I am to protect him with my life. Then, I am to notify you immediately of
the assailant’ identity.” He paused. “Curious instructions, War Chief.”

 
          
Nine
Killer propped his hands on his hips. “It’s a curious situation—or I wouldn’t
be standing here, talking to you in this manner. No matter that I might have
agreed with your decision to warn Black Spike in my heart, you still acted
against me. Once, I would have trusted you with my life. Do this thing for me,
and perhaps one day I can trust you again.”

 
          
“I
did what I had to to save my honor, War Chief.”

 
          
Nine
Killer waved it away. “I know what you did, and why. Were it not for your
honor, I would be leaving another in your place. But know this, Stone Cob: For
all that has passed behind us, this thing you do is between you and me. If the
Weroansqua orders High Fox’s death, I will not send you the arrow point.
Understand? I will only send it if I have proven to myself that High Fox was
Red Knot’s murderer.”

 
          
Stone
Cob smiled, weary relief in his eyes. “You, I trust, War Chief.”

 
          
“And
in this matter, I trust you.” Nine Killer gave the man a sober stare. “You must
tell no one what I have told you. So far as Black Spike is concerned, you are simply
here to watch after High Fox, to insure that he doesn’t escape, and to see to
the Weroansqua’s interests.”

 
          
“I
understand.”

 
          
Nine
Killer lifted an eyebrow. “I have checked. None of your clan is involved in
this.”

 
          
“Thank
you, War Chief.”

 
          
“Be
careful, old friend.” Nine Killer hesitated before reaching out and slapping
Stone Cob on the shoulder. “Let us pray that I send you a feather. If it’s the
arrow point, killing him might cost you your life.”