People of the Mist (32 page)

Read People of the Mist Online

Authors: W. Michael Gear

Tags: #Fiction, #Historical, #Native American & Aboriginal

 
          
Stone
Cob frowned and chipped another piece out of the bark.. “If he killed Red Knot,
he deserves to die for what he did to all of us. My life will be well spent,
War Chief.” He gave Nine Killer a wry, sidelong glance. “And none shall say
that I died without honor.”

 
          
“No,
none whatsoever.”

 
          
Nine
Killer turned, seeing that The Panther had hobbled down from the palisade and
was seating himself in Sun Conch’s canoe. Trouble might just be coming to a
close in
Three
Myrtle
Village
, but it would really begin to brew when
they landed at Flat Pearl.

 
          
Nine
Killer gave Stone Cob one last nod, and strode toward his warriors where they
pushed their canoes out into the gently undulating water.

 
          
Pray
to Okeus you find the solution to this, old man. By making this arrangement
with Stone Cob, he was acting without his Weroansqua’s approval. Not even the
dark god could help him if she ever found out.

 
          
The
Panther sat with his chin braced on his palm, the water sloshing about his feet
forgotten for the moment. To his left, the wooded shoreline passed in silence,
the only sound that of the water on the hull, the dripping of the paddles, and
the muted conversation of the warriors around them as the small flotilla
paddled for
Rat
Pearl
Village
.

 
          
Panther
should have been thinking about Hunting Hawk, and what he’d say to her.
Instead, his attention remained on the old slave woman. It couldn’t be her. It
just couldn’t!

 
          
Panther
shifted, rocking the canoe. Sun Conch paddled with no more thought than she
used to breathe. “The old slave, Moth. What do you know about her?”

 
          
Sun
Conch barely shrugged. “She was taken before I was born. Monster Bone captured
one of the Mamanatowick’s Weroances. She was the man’s wife. Not of the
Mamanatowick’s clan, herself, but married into the family.”

 
          
Panther
knotted a fist. “The Weroance, do you remember his name?”

 
          
“Hmm.
Let’s see. Something about fire. There was

 
          
“White
Fire?” Panther asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

 
          
“Yes,
that was it. The joke was that he might have been called White Fire, but when
they burned him, he was greasy black.”

 
          
“Blessed
Ohona.”

 
          
“Elder?”
She stopped paddling and turned to peer at him, worried. She had removed her
feather cape and laid it over her knees. The supple deer hide dress she wore
had long braided fringes on the sleeves and hem, which accentuated the slimness
of her body. Only her beaked face had any shape, and that was too round, the
eyes too large. She frowned. “Are you all right, Elder?”

 
          
Panther
took a deep breath and let it slowly out of his lungs. The feeling within him
was as if a giant hand had reached into his breast and clamped onto his heart.
“I’m … fine.”

 
          
Panther
gazed blindly at the passing water; Vs rippled out from the canoes as they
lanced the waves coming in from
Salt
Water
Bay
.

 
          
How
could a human being change so much? Nothing of that beautiful woman he had
known remained in the burned old hag.

 
          
Or
is it that you just didn’t want to see?

 
          
What
was it she had said? That lifetime was gone? Or something to that effect?

 
          
“Do
you know how it happened, Sun Conch? How they were captured?”

 
          
“Water
Snake had just become Mamanatowick, inheriting from his father. What was his
name?”

 
          
“Blue
Gill,” Panther supplied woodenly.

 
          
“Yes,
Blue Gill. He died, and Water Snake became the great chief. Rumor said that he
wanted to make his own name for himself and he launched a war against all the
Independent villages. At the height of the raiding, Monster Bone took a small
party of warriors and slipped down to the south, to
Appamattuck
Village
. No one expected them there. Monster Bone
sneaked into the palisade and captured this White Fire and the woman.”

 
          
“Her
name was Sweet Stick?”

 
          
“I
think so. The warriors brought them back, traveled right through the center of
the Mamanatowick’s territory, and brought them to
Three
Myrtle
Village
. Then Monster Bone sent a message to Water
Snake, telling him he had his brother White Fire and this Sweet Stick. He
offered to ransom them, trade them off in exchange for territory.” “And Water
Snake said no,” Panther filled in glumly. “Better a martyred brother to
solidify his rule, than a potential adversary.”

 
          
“I
wouldn’t know about that.” Sun Conch continued paddling, never missing a beat.

 
          
I
would. Panther let his arm dangle over the side of the canoe. The cold water
began to numb his hand as it rushed through his fingers. If only I could numb
my soul the same way.

 
          
But
he couldn’t. Not even after all these years. The wound was still there, ragged,
ready to bleed.

 
          
Sunset
cast a luminescent glow across the southwestern sky. Against the fading layers
of orange, yellow, violet, and purple, winter’s naked branches created a black
trace work that reflected off the still water of Flat Pearl Inlet. Overhead,
two flocks of brown geese honked and flapped across the heavens.

 
          
Hunting
Hawk had heard the cry of the sentry over the charter of the geese and ducked
carefully under the door flap of her Great House. She kept one hand on the
frame, lest her balance fail her, and steadied herself with her walking stick.
Once outside, she hobbled purposely forward, her sassafras stick tapping the
hard ground. Shell Comb stepped out of_ one of the storehouses and cut across
to match her mother’s pace.

 
          
“What
news?” Shell Comb asked.

 
          
“I’ve
no idea. The sentry just shouted that the warriors are returning. Now you know
as much as I do.”

 
          
“It’s
not any too soon for me. This has taken too long.”

 
          
Hunting
Hawk growled under her breath. “War rarely provides instant gratification. If
Nine Killer took an extra day, it was no doubt for a reason. Learn patience,
girl, or you’ll never be a leader.” “I thought you wanted me to learn
discipline?”

 
          
“That,
too, and you’ve exceeded my expectations recently. It’s almost enough to worry
me.”

 
          
Shell
Comb shot her a sidelong glance and said, “Mother, I can be just as coldly
pragmatic as you can. I, too, can mute the voices in my soul, and deafen myself
to the longings of my heart. I’ve tried to tell you that.”

 
          
They
passed through the palisade and walked down to where the crowd was gathering at
the landing.

 
          
The
canoes came in like a school of fish, the warriors calling greetings to friends
and family as their paddles flashed in the fading light.

 
          

One ten
, two tens, three tens…” Hunting Hawk
counted the bobbing heads as the canoes shot toward the beach. “Four tens, and
four. That’s two more than left here. What? Not a single loss? And none of them
laid out wounded?”

 
          
“Maybe
Nine Killer’s raid was perfect?” Shell Comb propped her hands on her shapely
hips. “He can do wonders when he puts his head and heart into it.”

 
          
“Hard
to believe. No raid is perfect. Do you see High Fox?”

 
          
“No.
But, well, that’s Sun Conch in that lead canoe. She’s High Fox’s friend. Who’s
that old man riding in back of her?” Hunting Hawk squinted, studying the canoes
as they beached and people swarmed around the warriors, slapping backs,
laughing and joking. Hunting Hawk caught the words “trapped… feast… good
times.” And then she heard the words, “The Panther The witch!”

 
          
She
was just stepping forward when the people pushed back, silence spreading
through what had begun as a happy welcoming. Hunting Hawk drew up short with
the rest when the old man was helped out of the canoe by Sun Conch.

 
          
He
winced, rubbing his hips, taking careful steps, as if his old bones ached from
the long ride. His gray hair looked shaggy, wind-tousled, and wild. The
tattered blanket draped about his thin shoulders was worn and smudged. But his
fierce Power burned in his withered face.

 
          
Hunting
Hawk hobbled forward, stabbing the damp sand with her walking stick. “What goes
on here? Where is High Fox?”

 
          
Nine
Killer collected his weapons from his canoe and looked around at the crowd,
then at the old man, before he faced Hunting Hawk. “Weroansqua, High Fox is in
Three
Myrtle
Village
. There has been a change of plans.” “A
change of plans?” Hunting Hawk throttled her first impulse to fly into a rage.
No, she would wait to hear his story.

 
          
“I
left him in
Three
Myrtle
Village
,” the old man said, wincing as he came up
to her. “Bat dung! I can’t sit still that long anymore.” He met her stony gaze,
a grim set to his thin lips. In a commanding voice, he told her, “I am called
The Panther.”

 
          
People
stumbled over themselves as they backed away.

 
          
Hunting
Hawk’s anger turned to fear. “The witch? What are you doing here?”

 
          
“I’ve
come to make sense of this mess.” He let his gaze travel the crowd. “I came
here to determine the truth of Red Knot’s death.” He pointed at Sun Conch.
“This girl came to me, asked me to see for myself if High Fox killed your
granddaughter. She is now bound to me.” His voice lowered in subtle threat. “Do
you understand?”

 
          
Hunting
Hawk tightened her grip on her walking stick. “We don’t need you here,
sorcerer.”

 
          
“Indeed?”
Panther gestured at the warriors grouped behind Nine Killer. “Would you rather
that your young men be staring out of sightless eyes? It’s hard to see when
your head is fastened to a post on
Three
Myrtle
Village
’s palisade.”

 
          
Nine
Killer nodded warily at Hunting Hawk’s questioning glance. “We were
anticipated, Weroansqua. We I walked right into a trap. Black Spike would have
taken us all. The Panther stopped the massacre just as it was beginning. I… we all
… owe our lives to him. When others had lost their senses, he spoke with
wisdom. I urge you, Weroansqua, hear what he has to say.”

 
          
Hunting
Hawk’s stomach felt hollow, her legs suddenly weak. Pride forced her to meet
the sorcerer’s probing stare. “So, what will you do here?”

 
          
“I
have told you. I will find your granddaughter’s murderer.”

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