People of the Mist (6 page)

 
          
“It’s
this feeling I’ve got. I’ll be up there with you soon. We’ll just have to wait
and see who the next Weroansqua will be. Someone who truly knows her duty to
clan and lineage. I hope she’s worthy of all of you.”

 
          
Flat
Willow
eased his muscular body between the tree
trunks, each foot placed with care. As a boy, he had studied the praying
mantis, each movement the mantis made as it stalked and captured its prey; now
he, too, hunted like the mantis, every movement spare and precise.

 
          
He
wore only a breech clout his skin greased against the cold. A bone skewer
pinned his long hair into a bun on the left side of his head. His legs were
clad in leggings, moccasins on his feet. An ash-wood bow filled his left hand,
and an arrow lay nocked against the bowstring in his right, ready to be drawn
and released.

 
          
Of
all the days he’d lived, this one would be the hardest. He needed to kill, to
make him forget, to still the dull ache in his breast. As long as Red Knot had
been a girl, he could stand to be close to her. But now she was a woman—and
promised to a man Flat Willow despised.

 
          
So,
as the others had danced, feasted, and celebrated

 
          
Red
Knot’s womanhood, and the arrival of Copper Thunder, Flat Willow had suffered.
Then Stone Cob had accosted him, assigning him the most onerous of duties.
Well, events had taken care of themselves. Even predators could make deals
among themselves; and one day Stone Cob would pay—as they all would. He had
learned patience and stealth from the mantis.

 
          
His
life had changed last night after Red Knot’s dance. And this morning he-had
taken matters into his own hands. What had prompted him? Betrayal? Revenge? Or
the unexpected opportunity? Perhaps the reason didn’t matter. What did was that
he had committed himself, and acted. Afterward, stunned by what he’d done, Flat
Willow had quietly drifted away, preferring the stillness of the forest and
time to think about future and past.

 
          
The
sullen gray morning made for perfect hunting. The leaf mat was damp and silent
underfoot. Any colder and it would have rustled with frost. Drier and it would
have crackled with the shifting of his weight. The stringers of mist carried by
the faint breeze would confuse the deer’s keen eyes at the same time they
carried Flat Willow’s scent away.

 
          
Two
years had passed since the summer day when he’d emerged from the Huskanaw
ceremony where the boy he had once been had been ritually “killed.” He had been
tested to determine his strength and endurance, and to determine how much pain
he could endure without crying out. His skin had been tattooed, and finally the
priest had struck him dead with a Power wand, driving the boy’s soul from his
body. After that he lay in a painful daze as his body was painted black like a
corpse, and funeral songs were sung over him and his fellows. He’d fasted for
days, and drunk sacred datura and yaupon tea. Then the priest had whipped him
painfully to his feet, splashed him with water, and blown tobacco smoke over
his body to purify him. The black paint of death had been washed off before he
was repainted red with puccoon root and slathered with bear grease.

 
          
A
man had been born where a child had once stood.

 
          
From
that time forward, Flat Willow had dedicated himself to the hunt. He had sworn
before Okeus’ altar that he would be the finest hunter in the Greenstone Clan.
Day after day he stalked through the woods, practicing his craft. He learned
the ways of the deer, the bear, and the bobcat. His soul became one with the
forest. To the core of his being, he’d believed that his growing fame would
bring him notice, and allow him to approach Shell Comb after Red Knot was made
a woman.

 
          
With
the silence of smoke, he crossed an open patch and slipped into the trees, no
more than a shadow in the gloom, as he followed the small heart-shaped tracks
of a deer.

 
          
His
eyes missed no clue. His ears caught the faintest sounds. When he found the
pile of droppings, he touched them to feel the heat. He was close now, almost
upon them.

 
          
He
sniffed the damp air to judge the breeze. Before him, the trail split. On a
hunch, he ghosted to the right, sensing that the deer would head for the oak
grove and a few last acorns before bedding down for the day in the dense
hawthorn and grapevine cover.

 
          
He
followed the slope of the ridge, testing each step through his moccasins.
Between the bare branches, he could see the fog-patched inlet shining silver
down below him, then … the barest flick of a tail caught his attention. No more
than a bow shot ahead, a doe stood at the edge of the oak grove, her head up,
ears alert.

 
          
Flat
Willow
froze, the first thrill of the hunt
tingling each nerve. Only when the doe dropped her head to pluck up an acorn
did Flat Willow take one more slow step.

 
          
A
second doe stepped into his sight, a fawn by her side. Flat
Willow
waited until her head lowered; then he slipped
behind the hole of a towering red maple.

 
          
The
world faded as Flat Willow’s attention focused on the deer. Step by careful
step, he closed the distance. He crossed the trail that led down to Oyster
Shell Landing and eased into the lee of an ancient beech. Patiently, he edged
his head around, seeing a young two-point buck no more than fifteen paces ahead.
The buck pawed at the leaves, seeking to uncover buried beechnuts.

 
          
Flat
Willow
slid his left foot around the tree, and
prepared for the shot. His heart strengthened as he shifted his weight and
settled his right foot. Raising the bow, he pulled the arrow back to his ear,
sighting down the slim shaft. One last breath filled his lungs; he centered the
stone point on the deer’s back to compensate for the arrow’s drop.

 
          
This
was the moment he lived for. You are mine!

 
          
The
buck’s head jerked up, startled, ears pricked. The animal stared up toward the
ridgetop, body tense.

 
          
As
Flat Willow released his deadly shaft, the deer snorted and leapt away. The
arrow arced through empty space and disappeared into the leaf mat beyond.

 
          
Flat
Willow
exhaled explosively. The deer raced away,
white tails flagging.

 
          
In
their wake he heard the thumping of moccasins, the whipping of branches, and
the puffing of breath.

 
          
Flat
Willow
made a face and straightened. What silly
fool would be running through the forest on a morning like this? From habit, he
plucked another arrow from the bark quiver hung over his shoulder. Through the
trees he glimpsed someone charging down the trail. The man leapt, slipped, and
jumped in his headlong rush.

 
          
For
an instant, Flat Willow considered hiding, then got a good look at the young
man: High Fox, from
Three
Myrtle
Village
. Flat
Willow
rolled his eyes in disgust. Of all the
people to meet today, none could have been as bad as High Fox. Red Knot’s eyes
had always been for him, a mere stripling; and in contrast to a fine hunter
like Flat Willow, why, there was just no comparison.

 
          
Flat
Willow
cocked his head, surprised when High Fox
saw him and tried to stop short. He had a panicked look on his face, eyes wide.
The youth’s right foot slipped out from under him, and he landed flat on his
bottom, skidding in the leaves.

 
          
“High
Fox! It’s just me. Flat
Willow
.”

 
          
High
Fox gaped as he slid to a stop, glanced around as if for an escape route, and
rose on trembling legs. He wiped his hands on the flap of his breech clout

 
          
“What’s
the matter?” Flat
Willow
demanded. “Is it trouble?” He took a step up, and stopped when the
ashen High Fox shook his head.

 
          
“No.
N-No trouble.”

 
          
“But
you were running like a madman,” Flat Willow declared suspiciously. “You ruined
my hunt! Scared the deer.”

 
          
High
Fox gave him a weak smile. “Sorry. I… I was just in a hurry, that’s all. Late.
I’m late.”

 
          
“Late
for what? It’s barely morning.”

 
          
“I
know. I-I stayed too late at the dance last night. That’s all. I have to get back.
Home, you see. I had… well, chores. Something for my father.”

 
          
Flat
Willow
frowned, reading the terror in High Fox’s
face. “Go, then.”

 
          
High
Fox tensed, his muscles knotted. Taking a deep breath, he seemed to regain some
of his control. The smile still looked forced. “Sorry. I guess I must have
looked pretty silly.”

 
          
“I’ve
seen rabbits run faster, but not many.”

 
          
High
Fox’s lips quivered as he descended the steep trail toward Flat Willow. “Deer,
huh?”

 
          
“Some
does, a fawn, and one nice little buck that was half a heartbeat from dead when
you came crashing down the trail.”

 
          
“I’m
sorry. Really, I am. I know how rare they are around the village.” The fragile
smile died and High Fox’s eyes widened. What caused that glazed look, as if
something had scared him half out of his skin? Had Copper Thunder figured out
that the boy had been nosing around Red Knot? Or was he still upset about what
had happened at
Three
Myrtle
Village
yesterday morning? Flat
Willow
had heard bits of the story bantered about
before the dance last night. Apparently, a young girl named Sun Conch had
begged him to marry her, and been rebuffed, harshly, by Black Spike.

 
          
“Are
you all right?”

 
          
High
Fox was no more than a step away. Every muscle trembled, and his breathing was
labored. “I apologize for scaring the deer. Maybe, if you scout around, you can
pick them up again. I’d try that way.” He pointed back the way Flat
Willow
had come.

 
          
“I
just came from that way.”

 
          
“Well,
you know how deer circle.” He licked his lips. “Sorry, I—I have to go. I’ll
make it up to you, f promise.”

 
          
As
High Fox edged wide around Flat Willow, he saw the dark red stain on High Fox’s
right hand. “Are you hurt?” Flat
Willow
asked.

 
          
“Just
a cut.” But tears glimmered in his eyes. He fought to blink them away. “A
foolish fall. My hand landed on an old stump.”

 
          
“It
happens. Be more careful.”

 
          
“Yes,
I will. Good hunting!” High Fox called, and hurried off. Good hunting? Flat
Willow
wondered as he watched High Fox running
down the trail. He shook his head, and turned back to where he’d taken his
shot. He started out to find his lost arrow, but the oddness of it all stopped him.
What had High Fox been doing here? And most of all, just what had he seen to
set him off like that?