People of the Mist (60 page)

 
          
“I
can’t.”

 
          
“No,
you can’t. And now, I want you to think about this: Raven was a War Chief for
one of the most powerful of the Serpent Chiefs, yet, here he is, a broken-down
old man, living on an island in the middle of
Salt
Water
Bay
. How does a man like Raven become The
Panther? What makes an influential War Chief into a reclusive witch?” Copper
Thunder gave her a menacing glare. “Don’t you wonder about that? About who he really
is?”

 
          
Hunting
Hawk nodded. “I most definitely wonder. But he never seems to slip, to give any
indication.”

 
          
“Well,
consider… I remember the night he left White Smoke Rising’s service. Raven had
just returned from a successful raid. He and his warriors had delivered his
captives to White Smoke Rising. They had built a pyramid of severed human heads
at the foot of the Serpent

 
          
Chief’s
high mound. Copper plate, shell gorgets, brightly colored feathers, strings of
pearls, and man-sized statues of the gods, taken from the plundered temples of
Sun City, were placed on the chunkey field in the plaza so that all could come
and see the terrible strength, authority, and Power of White Smoke Rising and
his warriors.”

 
          
“Is
there truly such wealth among the Serpent Chiefs?” Shell Comb asked. She had
stopped short to hang on his words.

 
          
“That,
and more.” Copper Thunder smiled. “The size of their cities would leave you in
awe.”

 
          
“Go
on with your story,” Hunting Hawk told Copper Thunder, and scowled at Shell
Comb. How like the girl to ask about nutshell when the meat was at issue.

 
          
Copper
Thunder leaned back, hands clasped around his knees. “Raven had been feasting
inside of White Smoke Rising’s high temple. Something happened between them. I
don’t know what they argued about that night, but everyone within the high
walls could hear their voices, if not their words. From the tone, the fight
between them was bitter.

 
          
“I
was waiting at the gate in the wall that protected Raven’s high house. It stood
on a mound on the west end of the city, over the
Black Warrior River
. From there, I could watch as Raven came
stalking across the plaza. He paused there at the pyramid of heads. They were
stinking, rotten, covered by a black blanket of flies during the day, wiggling
with maggots at night, but Raven let out a growl, and climbed atop them. A most
frightening whimpering came from his throat as he tossed them, one by one, like
heavy pumpkins to thump on the hard ground.

 
          
“I
watched in horror as he pitched the last one like a perverted chunkey stone. It
rolled peculiarly—a man’s head not being really round—and finally wobbled off
to one side. Then Raven came on a dead run. I hid in the shadows as he climbed
the steps three at a time to the top of his house mound. When he came through
the gate, I saw his face in the moonlight. Tears streaked his cheeks in silver
threads; his expression was horrible—that of a man in agony.”

 
          
Copper
Thunder stared thoughtfully into the fire, as if seeing that night again.

 
          
“And
for that you call him a witch?” Hunting Hawk asked.

 
          
Copper
Thunder shivered, as if taken by a sudden chill. “You should have seen him. If
ever a man was possessed of evil spirits, that night Raven was.”

 
          
“What
did he do next?” Shell Comb asked, her beading forgotten on her lap.

 
          
Copper
Thunder shook his head. “I only know what my mother told me. She was in the
house. She didn’t talk about it after that but for one thing: She said that she
kept him from killing himself.” Copper Thunder’s lips twisted. “An act for
which I shall never forgive her.”

 
          
Hunting
Hawk sucked at her lips. “Did he ever say what it was that made him so crazy?”

 
          
Copper
Thunder shrugged. “I was a frightened boy, I hid. The next morning, he had
gone. Vanished. No one ever saw him again. I thought he was long dead until I
walked into the War Chief’s long house and found him there, alive—and as
pustulous as ever.”

 
          
“Whoever
he is, he wasn’t born among the Serpent Chiefs,” Shell Comb gestured with her
bone awl. “He has no accent.”

 
          
“No,
he’s from here,” Copper Thunder agreed. “He and Mother used to talk about the
clans, the seasons. He was born here.”

 
          
“But,
what is his clan?” Shell Comb had a genuinely puzzled look. “All he will say is
that they consider him dead. That he is clan less Did he ever mention anything
to your mother?”

 
          
“If
he did,” she never said anything to me.”

 
          
“What
happened to your mother?” Hunting Hawk asked.

 
          
“The
man White Smoke Rising appointed to follow Raven as War Chief finally tired of
her. Unlike Raven, when he mounted her, she cried out in pain. He beat her head
in with a war club.” The jaw muscles in Copper Thunder’s head knotted.

 
          
Hunting
Hawk patted her dog, gestured to one of her slaves, and took the woman’s hand
to rise to her feet. Hunting Hawk swayed on prickling legs, and sighed. “It’s
late. I’m going back to find my robes. Great Tayac, I must say, it’s been an
enlightening evening. I will consider your words, and your advice, most
carefully.”

 
          
With
that she turned, and hobbled back behind the mat divider. No sooner had she
undressed and settled on her sleeping bench than Copper Thunder bellowed,
“Someone has taken my war club! Who? Who has done this thing? When I find him,
I will kill him"

 
          
Nine
Killer entered, the House of the Dead with the matting-wrapped bundle under his
arm. He nodded to The Panther as he passed the outer fire. With
uncharacteristic reverence, he touched the Guardians as he passed down the long
corridor to the sanctum. He nodded in response to the question in Green
Serpent’s eyes, and laid the bundle on one of the sleeping platforms.

 
          
“So,
that’s it?” Green Serpent asked from where he bent over Red Knot’s bones.

 
          
“That’s
it.” Nine Killer took a deep breath, uneasy at the conspiracy he had entered
into. The Panther entered the sanctum, hands clasped expectantly before him.
The eternal fire lit the House of the

 
          
Dead
with a dancing yellow light, the wood popping as if in protest of what they
were about to do.

 
          
Panther
unrolled the matting, lifting the heavy war club from within. He held it up,
staring at the polished hardwood with its intricate carving. “I’d never noticed
before. It’s crafted in Black Warrior style.” “That means something?” Nine
Killer asked as he glanced across at the old priest. Green Serpent was singing
a prayer song to himself, gently shaking his rattle to appease the ghosts.

 
          
The
statue of Okeus, illuminated by the jumping flames, seemed to be grinning at
them, his shell eyes gleeful. The god’s expression was enough to set Nine
Killer’s teeth on edge. He jumped at each creak when the building reacted to
the wind. The scamper of a mouse behind the matting might have been an angry
demon stalking ever closer.

 
          
Panther
raised the war club in the light, his eyes tracing each of its smooth lines.
The copper spike reflected a bloody orange. Just moments before, at the
entrance to the House of the Dead, Nine Killer had taken the mat rolled war
club from a half-frantic White Otter before she dashed off to her mother’s
house and well-earned safety.

 
          
Nine
Killer shivered, aware of the ancestral ghosts staring down at him from the
raised gallery where their smoked bodies lay wrapped. Okeus’ eyes had a
jaundiced sheen now, one that could sicken the soul.

 
          
“This
pointed kind of stone on the end”—Panther tapped the sharpened tip—“comes from
the mountains above the bend of the
Serpent
River
. This stone is traded all through the
central region, portaged over the divide and carried down the
Black Warrior River
. Some is carried down the
Serpent
River
to the Father Water and clear to the coast.”

 
          
“And
the copper?” Nine Killer asked, almost envious of the thick spike protruding
from the heavy beam of the war club. “From the far north. Up beyond the head of
the Father Water. It comes down the rivers, much better metal than what you
have in the mountains here. I’ve seen sheets of it as long as two men’s arms,
and almost as wide. I knew a chief one time who wanted to be buried in a copper
lined grave. I don’t know if he was or not, but that’s the kind of wealth the
Serpent Chiefs have.”

 
          
“Amazing,”
Nine Killer muttered.

 
          
“No,
War Chief, just a bunch of people like any others. No better, no worse. Save
that wonder for the birth of your next child. Now there, my friend, is
something truly miraculous.”

 
          
Nine
Killer ran his fingers down the shaft of the war club. “I’ll say this, Copper
Thunder did good work when he made this.”

 
          
Panther
chuckled. “Copper Thunder? Make something like this? Don’t wager your life on
it. No, indeed, War Chief, he stole this.”

 
          
“Stole
it?”

 
          
“But
of course. Just like he stole the spider gorget and all of his accouterments.
Okeus alone knows who he found to tattoo his face, but it certainly wasn’t done
in a nobleman’s house atop a mound. No matter who he is today, he was a slave
among the Serpent Chiefs. And before that, he was the son of a Trader.”

 
          
“I
don’t understand.”

 
          
“Indeed?
War Chief, could a slave become a Weroance?” “Of course not! They’d have to be
born into the … Ah, L see.”

 
          
Panther’s
eyes glinted. “Curious, isn’t it? A Weroance can always end up a slave, but
never can a slave end up as a Weroance.”

 
          
“Except
for Copper Thunder. He seems to have ended up as a Great Tayac.”

 
          
“True.”
Panther grasped the heavy war club, extending it, hefting its weight and
balance. “Kwiokos, I believe we are ready for you.”

 
          
Green
Serpent raised his voice in the last of his song, the rattle shish-shishing in
time to the droning words. Then he faced Okeus and the ancestors, raised his
hands, and bowed.

 
          
The
Spirits appeased, he slipped his rattle into the rope belt at his waist and
crossed to the other side of the fire, where Red Knot’s bones lay on the
matting. Her skin soaked in a pot to one side, the tanning process now under
way.

 
          
Green
Serpent picked up her skull and brought it over to the platform. “Forgive us,
Red Knot, but we must see to this. Help us, Red Knot. We seek the man who did
this to you. Give us your help in bringing this killer to the punishment he
merits.”

 
          
After
Green Serpent set the skull on the platform, Panther lifted the war club,
placing the pointed stone tip in one hole, and trying to align the copper spike
with the other indentation.

 
          
Nine
Killer took a deep breath, and used his fingers to steady the war club against
the girl’s skull. “Let’s turn her the other way.” He reached out, grasping the
skull. The smooth bone was cold, like stone under his warm fingers. As Panther
held the war club, Nine Killer tried to fit Red Knot’s skull to the two spikes.