People of the Mist (55 page)

 
          
“What’s
boiling in that pot over there?” He peered anxiously down his long nose.

 
          
“That
is what’s left of two muskrats I was given today. I cut them into pieces to
boil with chinquapins. And, lastly, I’ve spent the entire day boiling acorns
until they were leached. I spent the last hour pounding them into flour. That’s
the bread baking there in the ashes.” She crossed her arms. “And, just for you,
I burned some stickweed root. When the acorn bread is ready, I’ll mix the ashes
with deer grease so you can slather it all over the acorn bread and eat like a
Weroance… . Any complaints?” ‘

 
          
Panther
sat back and screwed his face into its most pensive expression. “Well, I
suppose not. For acorn bread covered with stickweed grease I suppose I could
pass up squash for just one night.”

 
          
Rosebud
smiled and shook her head. “Didn’t anyone ever feed you out on your island?”

 
          
“The
only person who fed me was me. And, after you’ve eaten oysters and clams, and
clams and oysters, and oysters and clams, well, I suppose you can imagine what
a wonder it is to come into your house, Rosebud.” He sighed wistfully. “The
problem with being a warrior all of your life is that you learn how to boil
corn, meat, and fish. Other than that, everything you eat is dried or smoked.
Food, especially food like this, is just—well, you can’t imagine the effect it
has on me. I can’t tell you how much I appreciate these meals.”

 
          
She
chuckled then. “I think I see it in your face. It is a pleasure when your smile
lights up like that.” She paused. “Didn’t you ever have a wife?” He spread his
hands. “Somehow, I never quite got around to it.”

 
          
“Surely
your clan would have made you marry.”

 
          
He
hesitated, unsure what to say.

 
          
She
read his sudden wariness and cocked her head, an arched eyebrow asking the
question.

 
          
He
glanced across to where Sun Conch was meticulously twisting hemp into a cord.

 
          
Rosebud
lowered her voice. “Panther, you’ve lived here for days, and I’ve never asked.
Among our people, the most important question is: Who are you? A human being
has a clan, and relatives. Surely you didn’t just appear out of smoke. Who are
your people? Rumor has it that they threw you out, that you are a pariah whose relatives
won’t even claim you. Is that true?”

 
          
He
looked into her probing brown eyes, measuring his response. Gull droppings and
bat dung, she had a right to know. He’d been living under her roof, and because
of her brother’s respect for him, she hadn’t asked the most burning question
these people had.

 
          
He
lowered his voice. “I wasn’t thrown out by my people. I left. It was my
decision … my fault. I found myself trapped in a situation I couldn’t stand. I
was young, barely more than a boy. One night I packed up and walked away. It
was that, or kill myself. I’m sure that they gave me up for dead long ago. I
doubt that my people even remember my name.”

 
          
She
reached out, placing a sympathetic hand on his arm, concern mirrored in her
eyes. “Panther, that doesn’t mean you don’t have a clan. It was a long time
ago. You could go back, you know. A family doesn’t cease to exist just because
of a mistake made when you were a young man.”

 
          
He
patted her hand. “Precious Rosebud, how naive you are. That angry youth died
that night. He turned his back on his world and went out to find a better one.
Oh, I tried, believe me, I did. My travels took me a great many places. I rose
among the highest, and fell to the lowest, and look as I might, I found people
to be the same every place I went. Some might be a little meaner than others,
some braver, others happier, but as a whole, people everywhere are people. We
are indeed the children of Okeus, all wretchedly flawed and noble at the same
time.” He chuckled. “Even when we’re at our best. Which isn’t often.” “Is that
why you never married? Because you were a man without a family, without relatives?
Would no one make a place for such a man?”

 
          
“Hah!
Gain enough fame, Rosebud, acquire enough wealth and influence, and people will
forgive you anything. They see only the gauds of a War Chief, not the man
beneath the feathers and copper. But a man ought to be able to stomach himself.
I awakened one morning with the knowledge that what I had become was a
loathsome monster. In the end, the only person I betrayed was myself.”

 
          
“You
still didn’t answer my question. You’re very good at that, you know. Avoiding
answering.” She leaned over, checked the acorn bread with a fingertip. “Why
didn’t you marry? You hinted that you could have if you’d wanted, that people
would have overlooked your being kin less

 
          
Once
again her patient gaze defeated him. “I loved a woman. I couldn’t have her. She
was promised to another. Unlike Red Knot and High Fox, I didn’t have the
courage to run off with her.”

 
          
He
glanced down at his callused old hands, knotty with swollen joints and flaccid
skin. “I could never see beyond her. No other woman would do. She became, well,
an obsession. People with obsessions are never quite sane, not whole, like a
bird flying with only one wing. In the end, they tend to fall out of the air.”

 
          
She
nodded. “So this affair with Red Knot is more than just a simple puzzle to you,
isn’t it? It’s still part of your obsession.” She gave him a measuring glance.
“Does Nine Killer know?”

 
          
He
shook his head, eyes still on his wrinkled hands. “Sometimes I think Ohona sent
Sun Conch to me on purpose. If I can solve this thing, make sense of it,
perhaps I can lay my obsession to the side for once.”

 
          
“And
maybe it will blind you. Have you thought of that?”

 
          
“Oh,
yes, I have, Rosebud. If anything, it has made me more cautious in dealing with
Red Knot’s death.”

 
          
“I
see.”

 
          
He
finally met her eyes. “I would appreciate it if you would keep this
conversation between the two of us. There are already enough rumors passing
from lip to lip. What I have just said is because of the kindness you have
shown me. I thought I owed you an explanation.”

 
          
“I
will keep your confidence, Panther.” She glanced cautiously at Sun Conch, still
obliviously twining her cordage. “And the name of your clan?”

 
          
He
shook his head wearily. “They are dead, Rosebud. In reality, if not in fact.
No, I’ll suffer your belief that I am a pariah rather than allow that name to
cross my lips again.”

 
          
“As
you wish,” she said in clipped tones.

 
          
He
wondered why her words stung, and why the open wound in his soul hadn’t closed,
even after all these years.

 
          
Snow
fell from the sky in big fluffy flakes as Panther walked across the plaza, Sun
Conch at his heels. The cold nipped at Panther’s bones. The snow fell so
thickly it coated his shoulders, and whitened his already gray hair. Each step
crunched underfoot.

 
          
Around
him, the long houses looked like humped whales, their arched roofs blanketed in
white. The sooty thatch around the smoke holes looked as if the monsters puffed
blue wreaths of smoke through their blowholes.

 
          
“I
have my doubts about this, Elder,” Sun Conch said uneasily.

 
          
“It
was inevitable,” Panther confided. “The biggest surprise is that the summons
was this long in coming.”

 
          
“I
still don’t like it. Why now? Why in the Weroansqua’s Great House? It doesn’t
seem right.”

 
          
“Because
there is no other place, Sun Conch. This meeting must occur where authority can
be demonstrated. Given what’s between us, we must meet in a setting that at
least hints of equality.”

 
          
Panther
paused outside the Weroansqua’s door flap long enough to knock off most of the
snow, and bent down to duck into the warm, smoky interior.

 
          
A
big fire crackled in the hearth. The front room was empty, save for its single
occupant. The sleeping benches were made, every robe laid out neatly. The
storage baskets were all hung, and supplies stacked. Panther smiled grimly to
himself as he strode forward, well aware of Sun Conch following so protectively
close that her toes brushed Panther’s heels.

 
          
Copper
Thunder had placed a single section of log behind the fire and covered it with
finely tanned deer hides. This he sat on like a Weroance, his arms braced on
his knees. With a stony expression, he watched Panther cross the mat-covered
floor. The firelight gleamed and danced on the polished copper necklace, and cast
a ruddy light on the spider gorget. Perhaps to make his appearance more
formidable, the Great Tayac had greased his thick roach of hair so that it
stood up straight, contrasting with his shaved scalp. His heavy war club sat
propped within easy reach of his strong right hand.

 
          
“Well,
you’ve come at last, Raven.” Copper Thunder gestured to the mats spread on the
ground across the fire from him. “Be seated. You and I must talk.”

 
          
Panther
glanced around nonchalantly, removed his blanket from his shoulders, and
snapped the melting snow from it. Sun Conch stood to the side, her war club
clutched in both fists. Panther cocked his head, taking his time. “Thank you,

 
          
Grass
Mat, but I believe that I shall stand. It’s this weather… hard on the joints.
Funny, isn’t it? You’d think that joints would move more easily with age rather
than stiffening. Most things tend to loosen with time and use.”

 
          
“I
want you to sit!”

 
          
“But
I will stand. Or, is that all that you wanted? Just for me to sit? If that’s
it, I shall return to Rosebud’s and sit there. Not only will I not have to rise
again, but she cooked a wondrous breakfast this morning. Nine Killer made a
good catch yesterday. Fresh fish roasted to perfection, the succulent white
meat steaming as I plucked it from the bone. If I’m going to sit, I want
something like that to pick at.”

 
          
Copper
Thunder’s enraged eyes seemed to burn. “I warn you that I’ve had enough, Raven.
All you are doing is making trouble. Up to your old tricks. These people don’t
know you as I do. They don’t understand that where you go, you spread your
poison until it eats away at all that is good and peaceful.”

 
          
“Pardon
me if I’m wrong, Grass Mat, but isn’t that a spider that you’re wearing around
your neck? Last time I watched a spider, it killed its prey with a venomous
bite.” Panther’s faulty memory flashed, and he said, “I’ve seen that spider
motif before: it was being worn by a
Natchez
warrior, as I remember. Night Spider
society, isn’t it? Are you one of them, Grass Mat?”

 
          
“Raven,
you try my patience. I ordered you here to—”

 
          
“Ah!
You just copied that design!” Panther took a step to the side, making Copper
Thunder turn his head to keep him in sight. “I didn’t think you’d voluntarily
undergo the initiation. It takes years of brutal training. To be a full
initiate and wear the Night Spider gorget, you must kill eight men in
one-to-one combat—one for each of the spider’s legs—and then drink a tea made
of datura to be granted a vision. Those few who survive are bled, scarified,
and tattooed. Once they take a vow on a battle walk, none will retreat until
they are killed or they kill their opponents. I think that’s why there are so
few Night Spiders, and why they are so honored and revered up and down the
rivers.”

 
          
“Enough!”
Copper Thunder bellowed, rising to his feet. The coals of anger had burned free
now, his face contorting, jaw muscles jumping. The last time you entered my
life, I swore I’d kill you. By the Longnosed God, I wanted to.” He raised a
knotted fist, his face twisting the forked eye tattoos. “Then I come here and
find you, a broken old man, but still spinning your little intrigues. Dung and
fire, you old bloodsucker, you disgust me.”

 
          
Panther
locked his hands behind his back, casting a reassuring glance at Sun Conch, who
seemed strung tight enough to vibrate. The nostrils of her short beak of a nose
quivered. “Disgust you, do I? Why, Grass Mat, at least I don’t come here under
false pretenses.”

 
          
“I
cdme to claim a wife. Now I find you defending the man who killed her. Curious
coincidence, isn’t it?”

 
          
“As
curious as the fact that the daughter is dead, and now you seek the mother as
wife?” Panther raised a taunting eyebrow. “That was her idea. Shell Comb’s. She
came to me! These people want this alliance. They need it! Without it, they are
dead. It’s only a matter of time. Better to ally with a winner than to be
crushed by a conqueror. You, of all people, should know that.” His eyes
narrowed. “Or have you forgotten how we met that day?”

 
          
“I
remember it quite clearly, Grass Mat. That was the day you and your mother
became my slaves, wasn’t it?”

 
          
Copper
Thunder stepped around the fire, thrusting his face within a finger’s width of
Panther’s. The firelight danced eerily on his forked eye tattoos and the black stripe
around his mouth. “I’ve lived and relived that day, Raven. When, I close my
eyes to sleep, it’s to have that nightmare bleed itself into my dreams. And
finally, here you are, delivered to my hands, as if by Okeus himself.”

 
          
“I
don’t quite understand what you’re doing with the young men here.” Panther,
unconcerned, waved Sun Conch back with one hand while he pulled at his chin
with the other. “Are you trying to sell them on the idea that you’re a Night
Spider so that they’ll follow you? But how? If that was your plan, why murder
Red Knot? She was your key to the youngsters here.”

 
          
“Murder
Red Knot?” The question caught him off guard. “I came to marry the girl. Why
would I kill her?”

 
          
“That’s
what I just asked.” Panther gave him a sober look. “Grass Mat, you’ve always
been the logical one. Try this: You kill Red Knot, and then make it look as
though High Fox did it. Confusion spreads, old alliances are suddenly suspect.
The Independent villages fragment, tear themselves apart, and you sweep in
before the Ma manatowick’s warriors snap them up. You unify them under your
protection without having to risk your fake Night Spider identity.”

 
          
“You
old fool!” Copper Thunder shouted. “The marriage was enough! Why do by war what
I could by marriage? To think I killed her, that’s … well, it’s insane! You’re
even crazier than I thought you were.”

 
          
“Then,
who killed her? Surely you don’t believe that sleight about Winged Blackbird’s
warriors doing the deed, do you? It wasn’t their style to leave her like that.
I know those people. They’d have at least wanted to take the head back to Corn
Hunter. He in turn would send it-with due ceremony and substantial groveling—to
Water Snake.”

 
          
“High
Fox killed her!” Copper Thunder backed away to stomp off around the fire. “Who
else?”

 
          
“Oh,
I can think of lots of people. Flat Willow, for one. He could have done it for
you. He wanted Red Knot, and lo and behold, she’s promised to you. A bruised
lover might have been just the person you needed for the deed. Desperation
makes people do odd things that don’t make sense on the surface. It twists the
logic.”

 
          
“Flat
Willow
?” Copper Thunder stopped short, a puzzled
look on his face. “But he …”

 
          
“He
told me he’d have done anything to win her love. He even thought of killing
High Fox—or at least exposing the fact that she was letting him warm his
favorite arrow inside her. But Flat Willow was afraid she’d hate him for it.
You were the unexpected stone cast into his pond.”

 
          
Copper
Thunder frowned, his confusion palpable. He looked at Panther, as if casting
about for explanations, and then a slow smile spread across his lips. “Some
things never change, do they, you old weasel? Always casting your dung into
other people’s drinking water. Then, you see just how much you can stir it up
before people realize they are drinking your shit.” He shook his head. “Why,
you even had the gall to accuse the Weroansqua.”

 
          
“If
it wasn’t you, why not her? She has as much motive as anyone else. She might
have finally figured out what a vile little serpent you are at heart, Grass
Mat. With a dead Red Knot, she avoids losing her territory to your expanding
chieftainship. I know this is beyond your ability to believe, but there are
people who will do anything within their means to keep clear of your filthy
intrigues.”

 
          
Copper
Thunder said nothing, his hands alternately grasping and flexing. His mouth had
thinned to a bloodless line. “So, you see,” Panther summed up, “the shit in the
water isn’t mine. But by stirring it, the innocent may discover who fouled the
water in the first place.”

 
          
Copper
Thunder glared at Panther from across the fire.

 
          
‘“I
called you here to tell you that I’ve had enough of your games. Two of my
warriors will take you back to your island when this storm breaks.”

 
          
“The
Weroansqua agrees to this? She has ordered me to leave? Oh, I doubt it, Grass
Mat. She has more self respect than that. Were she to throw me out, it would
cause her a great deal of grief in the end. She knows that, and she’s smart
enough to avoid those pitfalls.”

 
          
“Indeed,
old man? And why is that?”

 
          
“Because
too many people know that The Panther is here. The story has already circulated
through the Independent villages, and no doubt beyond to the Mamanatowick, and
to Stone Frog and his Conoy Confederacy. If she throws me out before I name a
murderer, it will appear to the other interested parties that I uncovered
something so rotten that she couldn’t let it out. Now, think, Grass Mat—though
I know that’s not your strength. What reason do you think will circulate from
mouth to ear? Hmm?”

 
          
“I
could not care less.”

 
          
“You
could not care less? Ah. Of course. Anything that upsets the Independent
villages works to your advantage, doesn’t it? Even if the story is that the
Weroansqua was at the bottom of her granddaughter’s murder. The problem is,
Hunting Hawk knows that the only way out is to learn who murdered her
granddaughter. Once the culprit is identified and punished, she can mend
strained relations with the other clans and villages. If she doesn’t, the
Mamanatowick will be collecting tribute from what’s left of the Independent
villages by spring planting. The only difference is that his Weroances will be
sitting in the Great Houses directing its collection.”