People of the Mist (53 page)

 
          
“Thanks.
I’ll be there.”

 
          
Nine
Killer watched Half Moon walk away, headed toward his sister’s long house He
had been neglecting White Star, but then, the needs of family and clan came
first. His wife knew that; she’d always understood the things he had to do. He
was one of the lucky ones. Ever since their first night together, they’d grown
to love each other.

 
          
A
man could do worse.

 
          
And—when
Nine Killer considered the union of Red Knot and Copper Thunder—so could a
woman. How had she felt, being promised on a moment’s notice to a man like
Copper Thunder? He started rethinking the entire problem of Red Knot.

 
          
As
he worked through each of the little clues he and The Panther had uncovered,
the voice in his soul whispered:

 
          
He’s
got it into his head that he’s going to run off and join the Great Tayac’s
warriors… to be tattooed like that—that forked eye design—when he’s Blackened.
As if the Sun Shell Clan designs weren ‘t good enough!

 
          
Was
there a key in this that would help unlock the riddle of Red Knot’s death? Or,
was this just another blind trail in the woods that would lead him back to the
beginning?

 
          
Panther
was sipping rose hip tea when Nine Killer ducked through the doorway, a
perplexed look on his face. The short War Chief strode across the matting,
shrugged off his feathered cloak, and untied his war club. Dropping them into a
pile, he seated himself to Panther’s right.

 
          
“You
look preoccupied,” Panther noted as the War Chief reached out and warmed his
hands at the crackling blaze. “You’re still not mulling over if I’m really a
witch, or perhaps poisoning the Weroansqua’s broth so I can step into her
moccasins when she keels over dead, are you?”

 
          
“Hmm?
No. At least, not at the moment.”

 
          
“Well,
perhaps you will in the next moment.”

 
          
“What’s
that?”

 
          
“Worry
about if I’m poisoning the Weroansqua so that I can take over and step into—”

 
          
“Yes,
yes, I heard that.” Nine Killer’s expression cleared, and he lifted an eyebrow.
“What are we talking about?”

 
          
Panther
sipped his tea, and started over. “What has you so perplexed? I thought perhaps
you were still ruminating on what you overheard this afternoon. About what a
black-hearted and evil serpent I used to be.”

 
          
Nine
Killer shook his head, the frown deepening again. “No, well, yes, I suppose
it’s related.” He reached out for an empty gourd and dipped up some of the tea
that steamed beside the fire in a ceramic pot. “I just came from talking to my
son. His name is Rabbit.”

 
          
“Good
name for a son.” Panther rolled his gourd, watching the weak tea lap at the
edges.

 
          
“He’s
perhaps a year shy of his Huskanaw, but he’s been listening to Copper Thunder.
It seems as if the Great Tayac has been spending a lot of his time here
visiting with the boys.”

 
          
“Indeed?”
Panther squinted into his tea. “I never knew him to be interested in youth.”

 
          
“Apparently
he is.” Nine Killer sipped at the hot liquid, made a face, and sucked air to
cool his scalded lips and tongue. “And what he’s telling them is that when they
become men, they are more than welcome to go off and join him and his warriors.
After all, he tells them, each of the clans have members in the upper river
villages. Further, he offers them wealth, advantage, and promotion. Lands for
the taking. To hear Rabbit tell it, Copper Thunder has already given away half
of the Ma manatowick’s territory.” “I see.” Panther pulled thoughtfully at the
loose skin on his chin. “I’ll bet Grass Mat forgot to tell this to Water
Snake.”

 
          
Nine
Killer set his tea aside to poke at the fire with a smoking stick. “He’s got
most of the boys ready to cut their hair into his roach. Not the traditional
people’s cut, with the right side shaved and the left pinned up. According to
what Copper Thunder told Rabbit, the Serpent Chiefs cut their hair that way so
that it can’t come undone in war.”

 
          
“There’s
some truth to that,” Panther muttered. “But those warriors drill and practice
all day long. They don’t take time off to hunt and fish, unless it’s just for
the pleasure of.it. All they do is practice war.”

 
          
Nine
Killer gave him a clear-eyed stare. “That’s exactly what Copper Thunder tells
the boys. If they will come to him, they can be full-time warriors, and live as
such, their every need met.”

 
          
Panther
put down his gourd and steepled his fingers. “My, my, little Grass Mat is
ambitious indeed. But how on earth does he suppose he’s going to support this
army of his?”

 
          
“Pardon?”
Nine Killer gave him a grim stare.

 
          
“The
Serpent Chiefs have many warriors, it is true, but among them, only one in ten
tens is a full-time warrior. He must be supported, War Chief. He must be given
a house, a wife, and his food, clothing, and adornments. For that, it takes
nearly thirty farmers and craftsmen.”

 
          
“Why
not three warriors for every ten tens, then?” Nine Killer asked. “You could
have an even bigger army.” “Ah, but who flakes the arrowheads, makes and fires
the pots, attends to the rituals, monitors the celestial observations,
organizes the workers, supervises the sowing, weeding, and harvest of the
fields, builds the canoes, raises the mounds, cuts the trees, and repairs the houses?
War is but a small part of a great chieftainship. The priests, carvers,
Traders, weavers, and others all must do their part, and many of these must
also be supported by others.”

 
          
Nine
Killer made a face. “Then, Copper Thunder really can’t do things as he
wishes—at least, not right now.”

 
          
Panther
shrugged. “I’m not sure he can ever do them. The lands around
Salt
Water
Bay
are not like the great river flood plains
in the interior. Their cornfields look endless, all tended by laboring clans
people Here, the land is a-jumble with ridges and steep slopes. The rich soil
is often restricted in extent and depth, easily exhausted. The bottoms are
swampy, and flood often. No, the difference here, War Chief, is that we must
collect so much of our food. The Serpent Chiefs have masses of people to grow
theirs for them. They don’t rely on the fickle nature of the fish, the deer,
the nuts, or the shellfish. To them, corn is life—and they can grow a great
deal of it.”

 
          
“Then
we should discount the Great Tayac’s stories?”

 
          
“I’m
not sure.” Panther frowned at the gourd he picked up in his gnarled hand. “You
know, this would be pretty if you painted it. Maybe a picture of a deer?”

 
          
“I’ll
consider it. I’m more worried about Rabbit wanting to run off and become a warrior
for the Great Tayac.” Nine Killer jabbed his stick into the fire, rolling it in
his fingers, watching the flames char the end. “He’s doing the same thing that
happened to him as a boy, isn’t he? Trying to impress the little boys. Seeking
to make them want to be like him.”

 
          
“I
believe so.” Panther glanced down the length of the long house to where Rosebud
was bustling around the cooking fire. “Do you think she’s making squash again
tonight? That stuff that she made last night was wonderful. I could have eaten
that until I burst wide open.”

 
          
“You
almost did.”

 
          
Panther
sighed, returning his attention to the fire. “I think, War Chief, that we’ve
come to the point where we have asked the normal questions, and found enough
normal answers. Lots of people have reasons for murdering your cousin Red Knot.
High Fox because she might have decided to expose his dalliance with a girl
forbidden to him by age. Flat
Willow
for thwarted love. Hunting Hawk because the
girl’s death eased her out of a dangerous relationship with an ambitious
spider. Copper Thunder… well, he’s still a random clap of lightning-we don’t
know if he struck, but if he did it could be for a multitude of reasons.”

 
          
“And
the Mamanatowick’s warriors? Winged Blackbird was here to stop the marriage.”

 
          
Panther
narrowed his eyes. “Oh, I don’t know. Perhaps, War Chief. But somehow, no. I
think I’d know his odor if it were involved in this, and I can’t smell him.”

 
          
“Easy
for you to say, Elder. I’ve been living too close to him for too long.” Nine
Killer glanced to the rear where Rosebud was adding the final touches to
dinner. “You should know, Elder, that I’m going home to my wife tonight. I’m
leaving you in the capable hands of Rosebud. I doubt that she’s as skilled in
the arcane uses of plants as you, but I think she’s over the urge to poison
you.”

 
          
Panther
raised a hand, gesturing Nine Killer to be off. “No, indeed, War Chief, I think
she’s rather come to like me. But, well, don’t you worry. I think you can leave
me here with a clear conscience. Unlike so many of these ill-mannered serpents
these days, I respect the hearth and hospitality of my host, and wouldn’t dare
creep into your sister’s robes unless she invited me most adamantly.”

 
          
Nine
Killer, halfway to his feet, stopped short in a half crouch, expression
startled. Panther looked up blandly, refusing to betray the smile that tugged
at his lips.

 
          
Frost
silvered every blade of grass, every twig and weed, with a white crystalline
lacery. Thick mist had rolled in from the warmer waters of the
Salt
Water
Bay
, pushed up
Fish
River
, and billowed through the trees and over the
fields. Now it hung low in the air, masking
Flat
Pearl
Village
in ghostly gray.

 
          
The
Panther could barely see across to the palisade as he passed the Guardian posts
set around the plaza with its ritual fire pit. Each of the carved faces looked
gloomy, as if their spirits, too, were dampened by the thick fog. From inside
the House of the Dead, he could just smell the smoke from the eternal fires.
Lightning Cat and Streaked Bear had been dutiful in fueling them.

 
          
Panther
walked unsteadily this morning, his joints aching from the damp cold that,
despite the fires Rosebud had maintained, had still managed to penetrate his
old hide.

 
          
As
he walked, he could hear Sun Conch’s wary tread behind him. The girl was
keeping an eye on his back, as usual.

 
          
Panther
missed Nine Killer’s company. The sawed-off War Chief had proven a good
companion. Not only insightful, the man had a well-balanced sense of humor, and
a genuine concern for his people and what Red Knot’s death meant for them. And,
to be honest, that expression on the War Chief’s face as he’d left for his
wife’s had been priceless. To Panther’s absolute delight, the War Chief had
seriously worried that an old chunk of human flotsam like him might crawl into
Rosebud’s blankets.

 
          
A
figure materialized out of the mist, tall, muscular, and it took Panther a
moment to identify Flat Willow. The hunter had his head down, his expression
anxious. Panther came to a stop. Flat
Willow
almost walked into him, and started, his
eyes going wide with recognition. “Oh, it’s you.”

 
          
“Sorry
to intrude. You looked as if your clan had just disowned you.”

 
          
Flat
Willow
gave him a disgusted glare. “Are you still around,
stirring the pot to see what floats to the top?”

 
          
“I
found you.”

 
          
“Yes.
Now, leave me alone.”

 
          
Flat
Willow
started to step past, and Panther said, “If
you didn’t kill her, why don’t you tell me what you were doing out there that
morning? I find it curious that you would have picked that morning, of all
mornings, to pack up and go hunting.”

 
          
“That’s
what real men do, Elder. We hunt. Someone has to bring in food. Men hunt and
fish. I realize you never have to. You just move into someone’s house and they
feed you. But for some of us, it’s a full-time occupation.”

 
          
“Oh,
I’ve done my share of hunting. It’s good practice for war.” Panther studied him
in the half-light. “Why, you’ve shaved the left side of your head. If I was to
guess, I’d say it was to look like the Great Tayac’s warriors.”

 
          
Another
bit of the puzzle dropped into place. But, did it fit? “How I cut my hair is my
business. I’ve been through the Huskanaw. No one tells me what to do.”

 
          
“Yes,
I’ve heard.” Panther lowered his voice. “And I think I understand.”

 
          
“Understand
what?” Flat
Willow
crossed his arms.

 
          
“Living
without parents, being passed around the clan like a basket of walnuts. It’s a
lonely way to live, never quite being one with a family. Always apart.”

 
          
Flat
Willow
’s expression softened, then the hardness
returned. “You have nothing to tell me, Elder. You and your fawning puppy, Sun
Conch, can dive to the bottom of
Salt
Water
Bay
and be fish bait for all I care.”

 
          
Sun
Conch crossed her arms, glaring malignantly at Flat Willow.

 
          
“You
could help me, Flat Willow. I’m not your enemy. I’d say, right off hand, that
none of this would have happened if Copper Thunder hadn’t arrived. You’re
misplacing your loyalty.”

 
          
“The
Great Tayac recognizes talent when he sees it. Unlike so many around here, he
has vision, a plan for the future.”

 
          
“I
see, but have you asked what the Independent villages will be like when his
plan ripens?”

 
          
“Like
the fields in fall, old man, we’ll be a lot better off than before the
harvest.” He took a quick breath. “We’re stale, all of us. The Mamanatowick and
the Conoy are squeezing us between them. I don’t want to end up with my skull
resting in some Weroance’s House of the Dead with the other war trophies. I
have kin in the upriver villages that will welcome me.” He glanced around at the
rolling mist. “I’ve listened to the Weroansqua, heard her ramblings in council.
This place, well, it has had its day.”

 
          
“What
about your duty to your clan? They were the ones who took you in, fed you, gave
you a place to live, and filled your belly. Don’t you owe your family
something? That’s part of every warrior’s honor and duty.”

 
          
He
narrowed an eye. “If you’re so intent on stirring the pot, Elder, why don’t you
try stirring Greenstone Clan’s? If you’re so interested in honor and ‘right’
behavior, see what you dig up in the muck they hide behind all their forthright
speeches.” k

 
          
“For
example? Go on, I’d like to hear it from your mouth.”

 
          
“I’ll
bet you would, wouldn’t you, witch? Well, then listen, like I did. You’re just
as enamored with Hunting Hawk and Shell Comb as the rest of them. I’ll tell you
what’s at the center of Greenstone Clan. Rot, that’s what.”

 
          
“And
you wanted Red Knot? To marry into that clan?”

 
          
“She
…” He hesitated. “I thought she was different.

 
          
At
least in the beginning. But then T found out differently, and it was right
before my eyes the whole time. Like mother, like daughter. I found that out the
night I saw her rutting with High Fox. It’s in their blood, Elder. They can’t
help it.”

 
          
“What’s
in their blood? Just what are you trying to tell me?”

 
          
He
gave Panther a bitter smile. “I’m not going to make it easy for you. You’re so
smart, you figure it out. See, if you can, just why the Weroansqua was so
interested in going to war with Three Myrtle. After all, if Black Spike was
dead, the last traces of the crime could be buried. What better cover for last
year’s tracks than a fresh layer of ash?” Flat
Willow
snorted his disgust and walked off.

 
          
Panther
stood where he was, feeling the cold moisture on his face. “Sun Conch, what did
that mean, about the ashes?”

 
          
She
looked up at him, her eyes wide and perplexed. “I don’t know, Elder. But, I’ve
heard about Flat Willow. It is said that he often creeps around at night,
listening at the walls. There is no telling what he overheard, or where.”

 
          
Nine
Killer studied the horizon as the canoe pitched on the gray waves of
Fish
River
. He kept a careful watch in all directions.
The midmorning breeze had blown the fog into patches, sending it inland to rise
into ragged clouds. He and Flying Weir had taken the opportunity to paddle out
to the center of the river. Beside them, Many Dogs and Crab Spine bobbed in
their canoe, paddles flashing in the light as they maneuvered into position.
They had located themselves by line of sight, navigating by points of land that
jutted into the water. The canoes had to be at just the right spot.

 
          
In
midwinter, the tides were the lowest of the year. Mudflats that were normally
covered by water lay exposed for shellfish collecting. While the women and
children attended to them, the men paddled out to fish the deep channels. Now,
their canoes at just the right place, the men could lower their nets into the
deep hole where the fish had retreated. The water was warmer down deep, and the
white perch concentrated there. If they did this right, they could net a canoe
load of fresh fish in a short time, but the nets had to be worked perfectly.

 
          
Flying
Weir stood at the front of the pitching canoe, helping Nine Killer sort out the
folds of net with its stone sinkers. As each fold dropped over the side, the
two men kept the net from tangling. Across from them, Many Dogs and Crab Spine
reeled in the ropes that pulled the large net between them.

 
          
The
chore was complicated, for along with the intricacies of the net, a man had to
keep his balance, and each canoe had to be headed into the waves. With each
freshening of the breeze, Nine Killer glanced apprehensively out toward open
water. If the swells grew too high, they would have no choice but to reel in
their net and paddle madly for shore before the canoes were swamped.

 
          
“That
should do it,” Flying Weir said as the last fold of hemp net slipped over the
side. He caught up the guide rope as Nine Killer got a grip on his. Now he had
to hold the rope, let it out coil by coil, and use the paddle to keep their
course and the proper distance from the second canoe.

 
          
Bit
by bit the long rope played out, and Nine Killer took his bearings from the
point of land that marked the deep water. The breeze at their backs was taking
them right over the deep hole with its winter-torpid fish. This had to be timed
correctly. Precisely at low tide the currents were still. The net acted as big
sea anchor, slowing their drift as it settled in the water. If the tide were
running, the net would drag them along with the current.

 
          
Flying
Weir had been monitoring the length of rope that played out, his practiced eye
judging the angle at which it trailed into the water. “Back water!” he cried.
And Nine Killer back-paddled, glancing across to measure his progress against
that of Crab Spine in the rear of the second canoe.

 
          
“There,”
Flying Weir called as the ropes hung down at the proper angle. “Another three
coils to go, and we should be right on top of them.”

 
          
Nine
Killer nodded, checking his position. They were on a straight line between the
point on one side, and the old gray tree that marked the skyline of the
peninsula occupied by
Flat
Pearl
Village
.

 
          
The
last of the rope played out and Flying Weir clutched the knotted end. He judged
the distance between the two canoes and said, “Close up a little, let the net
settle to the bottom.”

 
          
Nine
Killer used his paddle only to keep them moving with the waves, allowing the
weight of the net to pull the two canoes closer. He could feel the change in
the drag as the net settled on the bottom.

 
          
“Paddle!”
Flying Weir called, taking up a loop on his rope.

 
          
Nine
Killer clamped his rope to the canoe bottom with his right foot, and took a
deep bite with the paddle. Across from him, Crab Spine did the same, angling
his canoe away. A fine sweat broke out on Nine Killer as his muscular arms
propelled them forward.