People of the Mist (38 page)

 
          
With
a warrior’s grace he ducked outside. She followed him, shading her eyes against
the brightness, and admired his muscular body as he waded into the cold water
and dove in. He struck out, swimming vigorously.

 
          
She
fought the urge to follow him. Best take no chances with his seed so recently
planted within her. Instead she waded out to knee depth and splashed the cold
water over herself. When her skin began to prickle, she headed for the fire.
She had shaken her wet hair out when a cold Copper Thunder emerged from the
water and trotted up the beach. Shivering and goose-bumped, he used his bear
hide to dry and crouched naked over the fire beside her.

 
          
“Be
careful,” she teased. “You wouldn’t want to set fire to anything.”

 
          
“It’s
had fire enough for one day,” he admitted. Then he shivered, his muscles rippling
under pebbled skin.

 
          
“Feeling
alive?” she asked.

 
          
“Indeed.
Such things are good for the heart.”

 
          
“They
can also be dangerous. We have jellyfish in these waters. Sea nettles in
summer, winter jellyfish now.” “Are you always so careful?”

 
          
“No.”
She smiled wryly. “I thought seriously about following you.”

 
          
“Jellyfish,
hmm?” He stared out at the water. “If Raven becomes too much of a problem …”

 
          
“You
were saying?”

 
          
“Oh,
nothing.” He glanced up at her, dark eyes flashing. “My belly tells me it’s time
to eat… that is, if all of your questions have been answered.”

 
          
“I
think so.” She watched him turn and look back at the water again. “We will need
a couple of days to work out the details, allow people to get used to the idea,
and then we can return to your village.”

 
          
“Yes,”
he mused. “There are a great many things to be done.”

 
          
Panther
and Nine Killer walked side by side across the plaza with its great fire pit
and trampled dance ground. The Guardian posts stood equidistant from each other
and the fire. Each was capped by a carving in the form of a person, or animal,
the wood supposedly inhabited by a spirit Power that kept watch over the people
and ceremonies. Sun Conch followed a step behind, one hand, as usual, atop the
war club on her belt. Thus far the morning sun had made a poor job of
vanquishing the chill from the air.

 
          
“I
want to see the body,” Panther repeated. The pained look in Nine Killer’s eyes
amused him. Did the War Chief think that The Panther, of all people, was
unaware of the things that took place within a House of the Dead?

 
          
“Elder,
it’s a matter of… of…”

 
          
“The
sensitivities of the family? Bat dung! Those were smashed flat by the blow that
knocked the life out of her head. You said that Green Serpent is going to
prepare her today. I will help.”

 
          
Nine
Killer shot him a worried look. “Help? How? I mean, what do you know about—”

 
          
“Ah,
yes, what does a man who is feared to be a witch know about the dead?” Panther
chuckled and shot a measuring glance at the suddenly pale Sun Conch.
“Evidently, not what you think. I’m not going to trap her soul, or steal parts
of her body for secret rituals. Your Green Serpent and his priests will be
there, doing the work. I suppose that you could come along if you’d like. See
how it’s fione. Quite fascinating, actually.”

 
          
“No.”
Nine Killer gave him a flat smile. “My ancestors are all resting outside the
village in the ossuary. That’s where I’ll be. I have no business mingling with
the ghosts of chiefs.”

 
          
Panther
slowed and studied Nine Killer. “I’ve been many places, done a great many
things, and seen all the different ways that men raise themselves above their
fellows. Some of the chiefs I have known have called themselves gods, others
said they were born of the sun, their souls composed of a blinding shaft of
light that would blind mere mortals with its brilliance. In the end, War Chief,
they are just as ordinary as you and I. Their spit is just as wet, their
belches caused by the same indigestion. Heat them and they sweat, feed them and
they defecate. Their supposed Power of soul and spirit can’t even stop a simple
thing like wrinkles and gray hair. They die of the same wounds and poisons that
would kill their lowest slave. Besides,” he added. “The people resting in the
House of the Dead are your relatives. It is your business.”

 
          
Nine
Killer shook his head. “You’ve had the most unusual life, Elder.”

 
          
“Indeed.
And now let me turn my experiences to this latest of curiosities. Hunting Hawk
said I could search for the girl’s murderer. I can’t do that unless I can learn
everything that happened, War Chief. I must begin with the girl—be there when
Green Serpent prepares her body.”

 
          
Nine
Killer cast a quick glance at the Weroansqua’s Great House, and nodded. “This
way.”

 
          
Together
they walked to the curtained entryway to the House of the Dead. Panther ducked
and entered. Nine Killer hesitated.

 
          
“Come,
War Chief,” Panther waved him in. “You are to guard me, observe all of my
actions. If you’re not inside with me I might steal all of Greenstone Clan’s treasures.”

 
          
“I
don’t know, I—”

 
          
“Are
these your ancestors, or not?”

 
          
“Well,
yes.”

 
          
“Then
you’ve as much right to be in their presence as anyone else.”

 
          
Nine
Killer stepped inside.

 
          
“What
of me? I’m Star Crab Clan,” Sun Conch asked. She’d worn her long hair loose
today, and it shimmered in the wan sunlight. “Do I have to go in?”

 
          
“I’ll
protect you,” Panther said. She gritted her teeth, and entered. Once in the
anteroom, Panther called, “Is anyone here?”

 
          
“Who
comes?” a scratchy voice returned.

 
          
“It
is The Panther, come to watch the preparation of Red Knot’s body. It is all
right, Kwiokos. The Weroans qua knows I am here.”

 
          
“The
Panther?” Green Serpent appeared from behind the first mat wall. He squinted,
and stepped forward. “I had heard that you were coming here. The ghosts told
me. I was going to go and see you, see if I had to fight you in order to
protect my people from your sorcery.”

 
          
Two
younger men followed the elder out, each wearing their priestly garb of feather
cloaks, necklaces that clattered with a wealth of shell and copper, and
perfectly tanned deer hide clothing. Panther figured the tall one to be
Lightning Cat, the short muscular one Streaked Bear.

 
          
“You
have no need to fight me,” Panther replied as he walked past the first smoking
fire pit. The eternal fire had burned down to a bed of glowing coals. “I am
here to help, not to harm. Red Knot ‘has been murdered, and I have come to find
the killer.”

 
          
“This
death of Red Knot …” Green Serpent frowned, his white eyebrows drawn together.
“This is a problem. I have been looking into the coals”—he gestured at the
eternal fire—“and have seen nothing but shifting images of the murderer. I
don’t know if it’s because Red Knot’s killer has used Power against me, to
blind me, or whether it’s Red Knot’s ghost getting in the way.”

 
          
“Her
ghost is getting in the way?” Panther asked, intrigued. “How? Why? This is most
unusual.”

 
          
Green
Serpent cast him a sidelong glance. “Indeed it is. That is why I suspect that
something is blinding me. What would the terrible Panther think of that? Hmm?”

 
          
Panther
stroked his chin. Nine Killer and Sun. Conch stood watching uneasily from
across the room.

 
          
“She
may be trying to help you, not hinder,” Panther replied. “Have you asked her if
she’s displeased?”

 
          
Green
Serpent nodded. “And when I do, the image wavers even more.”

 
          
“Have
you tried rubbing sacred datura paste on your temples? Sometimes that can clear
the vision.”

 
          
The
Kwiokos nodded. “Oh, I have. I used the paste until I was sick, my soul
floating out of my body. I saw many wondrous and frightening things, but this
murderer eluded me. It was most peculiar … but, I’ll tell you what, there is a
terrible crime involved in this. Nothing else would have the Spirits so upset.”

 
          
Panther
cocked his head, frowning. “How do you mean, great Kwiokos? Something worse
than murder?”

 
          
“Yes.”
Green Serpent pursed his lips, his tufted white eyebrows rising. “It’s close, I
tell you. When I drift off to sleep, I can almost feel it, malignant, dark, and
dangerous. Close … so close that the ghosts are milling and frightened. That’s
why I can’t quite see it. Like knowing that people are waving to you from the
other side of the room, but the mist is so thick you can’t quite see them, only
their shadowy movements. The ghosts are horrified. I think Red Knot is. too.
Terribly upset… yes, terribly”

 
          
“You’d
think that the House of the Dead had been profaned in some way.”

 
          
“Yes.”
Green Serpent watched him through narrowed eyes. “You know your craft well,
sorcerer.”

 
          
Panther
shook his head and made a dismissive gesture. “I’ll not try and fool you, great
Kwiokos. I’m no sorcerer, no witch. I have made a study of the plants and their
Powers. I have listened to, and studied under, men and women with great Power.
I have practiced magic tricks and sleights, and even played the god on
occasion.”

 
          
Not
everyone was allowed to play the god. In the ceremonials, strings were often
tied to Okeus, so that when the hidden operator pulled them, the god would move
his arms, turn his head, and stand in his shrine. A Kwiokos kept that knowledge
secret unto himself.

 
          
“I
see.” Green Serpent took a step to the side, shooting a quick glance at Nine
Killer and Sun Conch where they stood just inside the doorway. “And what is
your purpose here, Panther?”

 
          
“I
told you, I came to find—”

 
          
“No.
Your real purpose? What made you come to this place? What will you do here?”

 
          
He
took a deep breath, considering his words. “I am not sure yet. Hopefully I will
come closer to maintaining the balance that has eluded me for years.”

 
          
“An
act of goodness to counter the bad?”

 
          
“Something
like that.”

 
          
“Tell
me, Panther, are acts more important than beliefs?”

 
          
“I
don’t know, Kwiokos, but acts have a Power all their own. I have seen that a
child’s smile is worth a lifetime of worshiping before a shrine. An insult
shouted across a river can fire the blood of a thousand warriors in lands
you’ve never heard of. That is the Power of actions. Be they for good or evil,
they spread like ripples upon a pond.”

 
          
“Like
the murder of our Red Knot,” Green Serpent mused.

 
          
“Exactly.”
Panther lifted an eyebrow. “I wonder if the murderer understood just how many
ripples would spread from that blow to the girl’s head?”

 
          
Green
Serpent shook his head. “Oh, that is never understood, Panther. Not until the
act is done can the ripples be seen spreading. Only then does the murderer
begin to see that his life will never be the same.”

 
          
“Then
come, let us take a look at the girl.” Panther smiled warmly at the Kwiokos.
f’I would like the War Chief to accompany us. Nine Killer was there at the
place where the girl was killed, and Sun Conch is bonded to me.”

 
          
Green
Serpent glanced at them, no doubt seeing the fear on their faces. “It is most
irregular, but I will do as you wish.” He glanced at Lightning Cat and Streaked
Bear, who had been listening intently. “There will be no trouble over this.
Come, all of you. Let us attend to Red Knot.”

 
          
Panther
followed the Kwiokos back past the mat partition, past the storeroom with its
graven guardians. As he passed, Green Serpent raised a finger to touch each
one, calling for their blessing. Beyond the final mat wall, they entered the
sanctum where Okeus sat on his perch, the painted wooden statue covered with
peak shell necklaces, polished copper, and fine dress. The shell eyes seemed to
gleam with an inner light, but only reflected the fire. His outstretched arms
held a shock of corn in the left, and an ornate war club in the right: the dual
nature of the fickle god obvious to all.

 
          
Above
Okeus, on the platform, lay the bundled corpses of clan leaders. Each corpse
had been rolled in its own fabric shroud. They rested in a ranked line. Forever
silent to this world, they were the repositories of the honored ghosts of the
Greenstone Clan.

 
          
On
the floor to the right of the fire lay young Red Knot, her body swollen from
decomposition. She had been placed on a woven cattail mat.

 
          
Nine
Killer stopped short as he followed Streaked Bear into the room. The War
Chief’s gaze fastened on the god, then took in the platform, and finally
stopped on Red Knot. He seemed to be having trouble with his breathing.

 
          
Panther
made a respectful gesture to the god, then crouched down over the girl, the
taint of corruption and smoke filling his nostrils. He had been told that she
was a pretty girl, her body just blooming into a full-busted figure. Now her
half-open eyes had sunk into her face, the lips drawn back over the teeth.

 
          
Panther
could imagine her, young, alive, and vivacious. He could see those dark eyes
flashing, sense her saucy smile. Her blood must have raced as she hurried off
to meet High Fox that fateful morning. How excited she must have been. That
shining black hair would have swung with each anxious step.

 
          
But
here she lay, dead and cold, her flesh swollen with rot, the eyes sightless.
The pulsing blood had blackened to clot in her veins.

 
          
Who
did this to you, girl? And, why did they do it?

 
          
“War
Chief, could you come here?” Panther could see bits of leaves in her hair. As
Nine Killer bent down beside him, Panther asked, “You saw her up on the ridge.
Could you lay her out just as she was?”

 
          
Nine
Killer flinched as he touched her cold skin. Her body gurgled as he rolled it
over. Despite some remaining rigor, Nine Kilftr placed the limbs appropriately.

 
          
“She
was laid out thus, Elder. This leg drawn up, the hand clasped so.”

 
          
“That
was the hand clasping the necklace?”

 
          
“Yes,
Elder.”

 
          
“I
have the necklace,” Green Serpent said from where he watched in the rear.
“Would you bring it, Lightning Cat?”

 
          
The
priest nodded and stepped from the room to return with the necklace dangling
from his hand. Panther studied it in the light, looking closely at the stone
shark’s tooth. “I’ve seen these. From the bluff down by Piney Point.”

 
          
Sun
Conch made a small forlorn sound.

 
          
Panther
looked up. “What is it, Sun Conch?”

 
          
“That
necklace, Elder. I wasn’t sure when Nine Killer first mentioned it, but… it
belongs to High Fox.”

 
          
“You
think this is what he said he ‘lost’? The object he wanted you to look for when
you got here?”

 
          
Sun
Conch looked as if she’d swallowed poisonous swamp laurel. “Yes. Probably.”
Nine Killer exhaled wearily. “It was in Red Knot’s hand. So, High Fox is the
killer after all.”

 
          
“No!”
Sun Conch shook her head violently. “He isn’t! I swear, I would know if he—he
could do something like this! It isn’t in him!”

 
          
Panther
held up a hand to calm the girl, but he spoke to Nine Killer. “Remember, War
Chief, High Fox might have given the young woman the necklace as a gift. She
was, after all, running off to meet him.”

 
          
Nine
Killer looked unconvinced.

 
          
“Think.
How many explanations can this have?” Panther held Nine Killer’s gaze. “Did she
clutch it to her breast? Perhaps to hold it close while she died? Like a
warrior does a Power bundle?”

 
          
“That
is possible.”

 
          
“By
itself, the necklace does not” “indicate guilt. It is only another of the
curious facts we must sort out.”

 
          
“Yes,
Elder.” Nine Killer relented.

 
          
Sun
Conch stepped sideways to lean her shoulder against the wall, and Panther
noticed that she seemed to need the support. Her legs were shaking.

 
          
“I
need more light.” Panther turned to study Red Knot’s matted hair. Streaked Bear
hurried to place more wood on the fire.

 
          
The
flames leapt up, and Panther examined the bloodstains on the dress, and the way
the girl’s head lay. “Come, let’s remove her clothing.”

 
          
“Her
spirit must be placated,” Green Serpent insisted. “You dare not bother her
until she knows your purpose. The dead can be most easily offended.”

 
          
“Of
course, Kwiokos,” Panther agreed. “If you will inform her of our mission as we
work, I would deeply appreciate it.”

 
          
Green
Serpent grinned, exposing his stubby brown teeth. Then he removed his large
gourd rattle from his belt, shaking it in a shish-shishing motion as his old
voice quavered in a sad song to Red Knot’s ghost.

 
          
Only
then did Panther and Nine Killer lift the girl, slipping her dress over her
head. Panther took the garment and studied it in the firelight. Red Knot had
danced her last dance in this beautifully tanned deer hide dress. Chevrons of
dark blue peak decorated the front. At the point of each, a bit of copper had
been sewn to gleam in the firelight. A line of pearls, each carefully drilled
through the center, had been tacked to the neckline, and long fringes had been
cut from the hem.

 
          
Panther
turned his attention to the ominous dark stains. “The smear of blood on the
left shoulder is interesting. From the way it’s feathered across the deer hide,
it was carried there by her hair. Brushed onto the leather of her dress. Take a
look, War Chief. What do you think?”

 
          
Nine
Killer stepped forward to look at the deer hide that Panther held up. “There’s
a difference in the way the blood is smeared from the front to the back.”

 
          
“Indeed.”
Panther cocked an eyebrow. “The blood on the back smeared when it was wet and
fresh. The blood that pooled on the front cooled and dried there. It’s dark,
thick, and clotted.”

 
          
“I
see,” Nine Killer whispered as he leaned forward. “That’s because she was lying
on her front.”

 
          
“And
the blood on her back?” Panther queried.

 
          
Nine
Killer narrowed an eye. “She fell that way first.” He walked around the dress
as Panther held it for him. “Yes, the first blood that leaked from the wound
would have drained into her hair, then smeared the back of the dress like that.
Then, when she was pulled over and buried in the leaves, the blood drained out
of the wound to cake the front of the dress.”

 
          
“Very
good, War Chief. That mind of yours is keen indeed.” Nine Killer bit his lip,
glanced uneasily at Green Serpent, and said, “Why didn’t I see that before?”

 
          
Panther
chuckled grimly. “Because in the passion of the moment you weren’t looking, War
Chief. Now, let’s see what else Red Knot has to tell us about her death.”

 
          
Panther
crouched down, studying the girl’s skin. “No sign of bruises or cuts.” He
lifted her curled hands, peering at the fingernails. “No evidence that she
scratched or fought.”

 
          
“How
can you know that?” Green Serpent asked as he bent forward. Panther rocked back
on his heels. “If she’d struggled with him, we should see evidence of it. Torn
nails, maybe skin or blood under them. But her skin is unblemished. She wasn’t
struck, or cut, or punctured. Not even a bruise.”

 
          
He
rolled her head to the side and carefully probed the depression on the side of her
skull “She was struck on the left temple.” He glanced at Nine Killer. “What
would that indicate to you, War Chief?”

 
          
“That
whoever hit her was facing her. That’s where I try to hit an opponent. Even a
glancing blow will disorient, allow for a fast followup.”