People of the Mist (44 page)

 
          
Hunting
Hawk hated mornings like this. She stepped out of her Great House and squinted
up through the naked myrtle branches at the gray sky of morning. The misty
chill already pierced her thin flesh. Her rickety old bones soaked up cold the
way old fabric absorbed rainwater. And once it leached into her bones, she
couldn’t seem to get warm no matter how many hours she spent next to the fire.

 
          
Patches
of low cloud hovered over the arched roof of her home like vultures over a dead
deer. How close they were: a strong warrior could have shot an arrow into their
fluffy bellies as they drifted above the frosted palisade posts. She didn’t
need her breath puffing whitely before her nose to know that winter lay heavily
on the land.

 
          
Hunting
Hawk flexed her aching fingers and took stock of
Flat
Pearl
Village
. People did morning chores. Some ran errands.
Others walked beyond the palisade to relieve nature’s demand. Girls hauled
water from the inlet while the tide was low and the water fresh. A group of
sleepy eyed boys plodded toward the gate, no doubt sent out to scout for
firewood. The old lightning-riven oak would be scavenged yet again for its
dwindling supply of fuel.

 
          
She
took a deep breath, nose and throat rebelling at the cold air, and tapped the
frozen ground with her sassafras walking stick. Her hips ached, and her knees
and ankles pained her, too. Even the small of her back gave her twinges. Winter
did that to her, made every joint ache. Not even rubbings of hemlock and teas
of roasted and chopped poke root seemed to help anymore. Perhaps later today
she would call Green Serpent to the sweat house and have him perform an herbal
steam cure of cedar, bull thistle, and dwarf sumac. ,

 
          
She
waddled toward the House of the Dead to offer tobacco and corn to Okeus, and
her ancestors.

 
          
Lost
in such thoughts, it took her a moment to recognize the gray-haired elder who
stepped in from the palisade gate, his lanky form shadowed as usual by Sun
Conch.

 
          
Hunting
Hawk twitched her lips, considered, and changed course to intercept The
Panther. She was within hailing distance when he saw her, stopped, and smiled.

 
          
“Greetings,
Weroansqua,” he called respectfully. He had his old fabric blanket wrapped
around his bony shoulders, and raccoon-fur leggings covering his calves and the
tops of his moccasins. “A good morning, wouldn’t you say?” -She snorted, annoyed.
“Good? My legs ache, my fingers ache, my feet ache. The colder and damper it
gets, the worse I feel.”

 
          
The
Panther gave her a knowing smile and raised his thick eyebrows. “Ah! Been
taking the usual cures, I suppose?” “Them, and others. That old heel bone,
Green Serpent, said he was fixing to rub me all over with sturgeon oil and
sweat me until my meat cooked.”

 
          
“Sturgeon
oil?” Panther fingered his chin. “That’s a new remedy.”

 
          
Hunting
Hawk narrowed an eye. “If you ask me, he’s tried everything else. Lightning Cat
told Flying Weir, who told Walks-By-Trail, who told Yellow Net, who told me,
that Green Serpent had muttered something about never seeing a sturgeon that
had bone-joint disease.” She gave him a crafty look. “How would you interpret
that, old witch?”

 
          
He
huffed at her to show his displeasure at being called an old witch, then said,
“I’d say he’s run out of remedies and doesn’t want to tell you so.”

 
          
“I
think that, too.”

 
          
Panther
studied the swollen joints on her fingers. “I want you to try something. Send
one of your youngsters after willow. Strip the bark, dry it and pound it, then
make a tea from it. It will help you for a while. It will taste vile, but it
works on most pain. The Power in the willow is very strong. Don’t take too much
of it, or it will affect the stomach.”

 
          
“Oh,
yes. Always the stomach.” Hunting Hawk rubbed her gaunt belly. “That’s another
problem.”

 
          
“Perhaps
I can help.”

 
          
“Where
did you learn so much about healing? From those Serpent Chiefs on the other
side of the mountains?” ‘

 
          
“From
them, yes, and others as well.” He tilted his head. “You seem to be well
informed of my doings. The War Chief is reporting, I suppose?” “Oddly, he’s not
talking about you with as free a tongue as I’m used to.” She made a-face. “I
think he likes you. And, to tell the truth, Nine Killer has never been the
trusting kind. It makes me suspect that you really do travel by night.”

 
          
This
time, The Panther smiled in amusement. “He’s a good man, Weroansqua. I’d use
him wisely. Such as he don’t just pop up like ears of corn in a well-kept
field.”

 
          
Sun
Conch stood to the rear, her attention apparently on everything but the two of
them.

 
          
Hunting
Hawk gestured toward the girl. “Your companion doesn’t seem the trusting kind.
That wouldn’t be related to Flat Willow’s threats, would it?”

 
          
“Who
told you Flat Willow had threatened me?”

 
          
“Oh,
he was bragging that if you didn’t leave him alone, he’d be roasting your body
in the bonfire some night soon. Funny thing is, I was watching Copper Thunder
at the time. The Great Tayac was seated at my fire, apparently more entertained
by Flat Willow than he was by Shell Comb.”

 
          
“Indeed,
and is he entertaining her?”

 
          
“They
are talking.” Hunting Hawk left it at that, wondering at The Panther’s complete
lack of concern about Flat Willow’s threats.

 
          
“I
see.” The frown lines tightened on the old man’s face. “And Greenstone Clan
thinks this marriage is a good idea?” “What Greenstone thinks is of no concern
to you, Panther. In fact, I’ve had people asking around. No one seems to know
anything about you, who you are, where you come from. It’s as if you came out
of thin air.”

 
          
“Been
looking for owl feathers in my bed?” he asked mildly.

 
          
“Should
I be?”

 
          
He
laughed. “No, but you have been sending Streaked Bear to peek into Nine
Killer’s doorway off and on for the last couple of nights. Has he reported that
I’ve been in my robes each time?”

 
          
“He
has,” she growled to herself, irritated that the young priest had been so
clumsy as to be discovered.

 
          
The
Panther’s lips twitched, as if controlling a grin. “Tell him that next time he
might want to sneak over to the hole on the south side of the lodge. That’s
where the girls go to gossip with their friends when they’ve annoyed Rosebud
into punishing them. That brown-and white dog of Nine Killer’s sleeps over by
the doorway, and he growls every time Streaked Bear sneaks up.”

 
          
“No
wonder Nine Killer likes you. You have the same foul sense of humor.” She
paused, evaluating him. “Have you found my granddaughter’s murderer yet?”

 
          
“No.”

 
          
“But
you have suspicions?”

 
          
“Of
course, but so do you.”

 
          
“You
talked to Flat Willow yesterday. Do you think he did it?”

 
          
“Perhaps.”
Panther cast a sidelong glance in the direction of the long house where the’
young hunter lived, a ramshackle thatch building just behind the Women’s House.
“You saw him on the day they brought Red Knot in. Tell me, how did he look?”

 
          
She
sucked at her cheeks, remembering that day, seeing the grim procession
approaching through the fields, Red Knot’s body swaying from the pole. And
there was Flat Willow, following… “He was last in line.” That thought hadn’t
occurred to her then. “And that is significant?”

 
          
“For
Flat Willow, yes.” She nodded, one eye narrowing. “Normally, he’d have been
right up front, smacking his chest and making a show of himself.”

 
          
“He
does strike me as that sort. And during the ceremony marking Red Knot’s
womanhood? Did he act oddly?”

 
          
Hunting
Hawk thought back, fingers to her lips. She remembered seeing him, didn’t she?
Where was it that he’d been? Something a little odd had caught her attention,
but… “He did, come to think of it. Had you not mentioned it, I wouldn’t have
given it a second thought.”

 
          
“Well,
odd how?” Panther demanded.

 
          
“That’s
just it.” Hunting Hawk gestured helplessly. “I can’t remember. Something about
that last night at the dance. He was … He was … Oh, bat dung! It will come to
me. These things always do. It just didn’t seem important at the time.” “Did it
have to do with Red Knot? Or maybe High Fox?”

 
          
“No,
of that I’m certain. But I can tell you that I saw

 
          
High
Fox and Red Knot together that last night. They were talking off to the side.
It was just before her last dance. At the time, I thought little of it, since,
after all, she had a right to say farewell to her friends.”

 
          
“What
other friends did she have? Flat
Willow
?”

 
          
Hunting
Hawk hesitated. She realized that he read the tracks of her thoughts as if
they’d been made in fresh mud. “You know something, don’t you?”

 
          
The
Panther shrugged, expression veiled. “I may, and I may not. Weroansqua, I’m not
going to contribute to your problems by revealing my every suspicion to you.
Were I to do so, you’d be looking askance at everyone in the village.”

 
          
“I
would, would I?”

 
          
“Indeed,
including yourself.” His sudden smile sent a shiver down her back. “Where were
you that morning, Weroansqua?”

 
          
“Me?”
She stiffened, mind racing back to that morning, to the things she’d done
before she entered the House of the Dead. “I was around. In my house, checking
on things. Taking care of my guests. You know as well as I that there is a lot
to do with a village full of…”

 
          
His
face had turned oddly blank, eyes intent as if to probe past her sudden
defense.

 
          
“I
was!” she declared heatedly, unsettled for the first time. She felt her control
beginning to slip. “Look, you don’t come in here and question me! I am
Weroansqua!”

 
          
She
put a hand to her heart, aware that it hammered against her thin breastbone.
Her blood raced, and in that instant, her balance deserted her. Only Panther’s
quick hand stabilized her. As quickly, the dizziness passed.

 
          
“I—I’m
all right.” She shook off his hand, and glared at him. “Okeus curse you!”

 
          
“But
you see, don’t you,” he replied calmly, “that you, too, could have killed her.”

 
          
“That’s
ridiculous!”

 
          
“Is
it? The Weroansqua has made an agreement to marry Red Knot to Copper
Thunder—but, when she reconsiders, she finds herself in water over her head.
How does she stop this alliance without angering the Great Tayac? She can see
no way out, but, with the stakes so high, and driven by desperation, she orders
her granddaughter killed the morning she is supposed to leave with Copper
Thunder. In the process, High Fox is sacrificed, but how great a price is that?
Black Spike can fume for a moon or so, until the arrival of canoe load after
canoe load of tribute, along with an apology.”