People of the Mist (63 page)

 
          
“It
doesn’t take age for that, Elder.”

 
          
“Huh?
No, no, I suppose not.”

 
          
“Did
you find your cloak?”

 
          
“Eh?
Oh, no. No, it turned out that my niece brought it in the night before. She
gave it to me the… Let’s see, yes, later that day.” He nodded seriously. “I did
good by her. She was a handful as a youngster. Got that from her father, I
think. Old Half Hand, remember him? Married my sister back, oh, let’s see, must
have been four tens of Comings of the Leaves ago. He’s been dead a long
time—and a feisty bear of a man he was. Thought I’d have to take a war club to
him to teach him manners.

 
          
But
that girl he gave my sister, she’s a good one. Takes good care of me.”

 
          
“Tell
me about that morning, Elder.”

 
          
He
rubbed a callused hand on his wrinkled neck. The fingernails were long,
cracked, and brown. “I hobbled around. Couldn’t find the cloak, but it was cold
that morning. Not so bad as recently, but my old knees sure gave me a pain. No,
didn’t find the cloak, but I found a blanket.”

 
          
“A
blanket? Who did it belong to?”

 
          
“Don’t
know. Thought someone would come for it.”

 
          
“Where
did you find it?”

 
          
“Why,
over against the side of the House of the Dead. It was just lying there … on
the ground. I’d have missed it, but whoever left it there just forgot it.. and
it like to tripped me.” He shook his head. “Not so nimble on my feet these
days, and it wrapped around my foot. Folks ought to have a care for old men
like me. We fall over the silliest things, and these knees, they don’t forgive
much foolishness.”

 
          
“What
did you do with the blanket?”

 
          
“Eh?
Oh, why I put around my shoulders. It was a cold morning, you see, and I didn’t
have my cloak.” “Over on the far side of the House of the Dead? What were you
doing over there?” “Why, I thought my cloak might have been there.”

 
          
“And
why there, Elder?”

 
          
Mockingbird
grinned, his timeworn face almost insolent. “It’s dark there, you see. And
these knees don’t work. And during the dancing, there were all these people for
me to fall over and get in their way. Even an old bear like me has to make
water time to time, and, I tell the truth, War Chief, when you get old, your
water don’t come as quick and easy as when you’re young. Takes me a while to
drain the sack. Since that dark shadow was close, I could feel my way along the
wall, and leak in private. An old man like me doesn’t want these silly kids
talking about how long it takes him to pee.”

 
          
“I
see. So you thought maybe you left your cloak there?”

 
          
“Well,
it falls off my shoulders sometimes.”

 
          
Nine
Killer thought that perhaps-there was something to be said for dying young.
“About that blanket, Mockingbird. Do you still have it?”

 
          
“Eh?
Yes, yes. Someone would come asking about it. Being cold that morning, I put it
over my shoulders and brought it home. Better to have it in the house, nice and
dry, than leave it out for the dogs to mess on.”

 
          
“Would
you mind if I took a look at it?”

 
          
“Think
it’s yours, do you?”

 
          
“No,
but—”

 
          
“You
shouldn’t leave a nice blanket like that lying around where an old man might
pee on it. That, or the dogs might mess on it. Or, if you leave it lying around,
put’ it someplace where an old man like me won’t trip over it.”

 
          
Nine
Killer winced. “I—I will, Elder. Forgive me.”

 
          
The
old man bent down, his body crackling, and ducked into the doorway to the long
house Nine Killer could hear his knees grating: bone rubbing on bone.

 
          
As
Nine Killer waited, he looked across the plaza to the tall House of the Dead,
and the far wall that lay in shadow when the bonfire cast its light. A great
deal had happened back there during Red Knot’s last night.

 
          
When
Mockingbird finally shuffled out of the doorway, he carried a fine deerskin
blanket cradled in his hands. The workmanship was exquisite, peak sewn onto the
leather in intricate design. When Nine Killer took it, and unfolded it, the
image of a buck deer glistened in the firelight. A small piece of copper had
been sewn to each corner.

 
          
“That
is yours?” Mockingbird asked.

 
          
Nine
Killer took a deep breath. “No, Elder.” His heart skipped a beat, and he
carefully refolded the soft leather. “But I know who it belongs to. I promise
you, I will see that it is returned to its rightful owner.”

 
          
“Eh?
Well, good. And, War Chief, you be sure to tell him not to leave things where
an old man like me might fall over them. Get to be my age, well, you fall down,
you might not get up!” And he chuckled gleefully.

 
          
“Yes,
thank you, Elder. You’ve been a great help.”

 
          
“Good,
good. See you at solstice celebration. Wouldn’t want First Man to think we’ve
forgotten him.”

 
          
“Never
that.” Nine Killer tucked the folded blanket under Jiis arm and turned toward
Rosebud’s, but the spring had vanished from his step.

 
          
To
Panther’s surprise, Rosebud was walking toward him, a pack on her back. He
stopped short, watching her approach. “I thought you were cooking. Preparing
for the solstice doings.”

 
          
She
sighed and came to a stop. “Step back, Panther. Unless, that is, you want your
precious male soul endangered by woman’s blood.”

 
          
“Ah,
I see. The moon has placed its blessing upon you.”

 
          
Rosebud
studied him. “That’s a curious way for a man to phrase it.”

 
          
Panther
grinned. “I have to tell you, once, long ago, I was trapped in a canoe with a
woman throughout her moon blessing. I was half-dead, weak, and suffering.
Through it all, she nursed me, changed her absorbent and wrung the blood out of
it, then used that same cloth to wash my fevered head. If ever a man’s soul was
endangered, it was mine. My weapons were lying in the bottom of the canoe, and
she fed me, often with the stain upon her hands. I was on the mend during the
last days of her bleeding, and, upon making land, I met a challenger, and
killed him, weakened though I’d been.”

 
          
“Maybe
your soul is possessed and you really are a witch.”

 
          
“And
maybe there’s not much to this silly superstition of locking our women away.”
He crossed his arms.

 
          
“And
maybe there is.” Rosebud glanced around, then smiled and winked
conspiratorially. “You don’t think it’s all that terrible, do you, to have
three or four days a month to sit and relax, talk with friends, and catch up on
little things like beading? Since you’re such a knowing sort, so experienced
with life, I’ll let you know that at times I sincerely look forward to my moon.
In fact, not so long from now, I’ll make the change—and I’m not looking forward
to that at all. Where will I escape to then?”

 
          
Panther
laughed. “Rosebud, I promise, your secret will be safe with me. I’ll see you in
a couple of days.”

 
          
“Maybe
four,” she called after him. “Sometimes these things take time, and I’m worn
out from feeding that belly of yours.”

 
          
He
looked back. “But the squash was cooked, wasn’t it?”

 
          
“White
Otter is finishing it.” Rosebud waved, and walked toward the menstrual house.
Panther muttered to himself. White Otter’s cooking! For the next four days!
He’d seen women stand up halfway through a meal and quietly excuse
themselves—so rapid could be the onset of their cramps and menstruation. More
than once, he’d suspected that women just used the excuse to get away. After
all this time, it was nice to have Rosebud confirm it.

 
          
A
good woman, Rosebud. He locked his hands behind his back, slopping across the
mud in the plaza. All in all,

 
          
Nine
Killer’s whole family seemed exceptional.

 
          
He
was comparing different people he’d met from Greenstone Clan—Nine Killer,
Yellow Net, White Otter, and Hunting Hawk’s brood—when he approached the
doorway to the long house

 
          
“Elder?”

 
          
He
turned at the sharp voice, seeing Hunting Hawk hobbling across from her Great
House. Her sassafras walking stick was jabbing fretfully at the mud as she
tottered purposefully toward-him.

 
          
“Greetings,
Weroansqua. It’s a fine day, isn’t it? Just warm enough to melt the snow, but
not to dry the ground.”

 
          
“Indeed,
and tonight, with the warm air, the mist is going to roll in from the bay
again. By morning, I won’t be able to see my hand before my face.”

 
          
“Better
that than a north wind,” Panther said. “Those blow in some bad storms.”

 
          
She
was close enough now to glare at him. “There’s storms enough, and I’m coming to
brew another.” She pointed with her stick. “Rosebud in there?”

 
          
“No.
I just passed her on the way to the Women’s House. I doubt we’ll see her for
another couple of days.”

 
          
“Uhm.
Shell Comb, too.” Hunting Hawk rubbed her fleshy nose. “Well, step in. You and
I need to talk.”

 
          
“But
this is—”

 
          
“My
long house It belongs to Greenstone Clan,” she said. “And, I am Greenstone
Clan. Come and talk. Some things need to be settled between us, or the War
Chief can settle them for me.”

 
          
He
stared down into her hostile eyes, shrugged, and ducked inside. It took a
moment for his eyes to adjust, and then he stepped over to the main fire. White
Otter looked up, noticed who accompanied him, and beat a hasty retreat to the
rear of the long house

 
          
“Girl?”
Hunting Hawk called. “I want you to go and find something useful to do besides
stealing war clubs.” She pointed at the terrified White Otter with her stick.
“I won’t forget that little antic of yours for a long, long time.”

 
          
White
Otter stood in abject terror, frozen like a trapped deer, eyes glazed, mouth
open. Then she burst into flight, plunging through the doorway.

 
          
Panther
lent Hunting Hawk a hand as she settled herself before the fire. He grunted as
he lowered himself and snaked the hot pot of squash from the coals. “Don’t you
dare punish those girls.”

 
          
“As
I suspected. I thought Quick Fawn was in on it.” Hunting Hawk gave him a
scathing look. “They’re my girls. Greenstone Clan, both of them. I’ll deal with
them as I see fit.”

 
          
“Well,
whatever you’re going to do to them, you do it to me first. I sent them after
that war club, so you punish me.” He met her steely stare with one of his own.
“Did you hear? You take it out of my hide! Not theirs.”

 
          
“You
can bet I will! And I’ll deal with the War Chief, too!” she growled. “But,
before I slice him into fish bait, you’re going to tell me what that was all about.
Nobody steals from a guest in my house! Nobody!”