People of the Thunder (North America's Forgotten Past) (21 page)

A couple of Albaamaha shot him glances from under lowered brows.

“So let us bring an end to this. Let Lotus Root make her false accusations and I will respond to them. I could be persuaded to let this thing drop if the people who took my warrior and tortured him will step forward and announce themselves. I will leave their judgment to Chief Sun Falcon, taking no part in it.”

He spread his hands. “So no one knew what was going on up there in that ravine? Is that what I am to understand from your silence? Or do you all fear some terrible reprisal in the night?” He grunted disgust. “Then let the guilty come forward tonight, alone, so that none of the innocent ones are implicated because of kinship or ties of friendship.”

Smoke Shield pointed at the darkening woods. “We cannot afford dissent! Not now. The Chahta have just reminded us of who the enemy really is. Think of their timing. We are consumed with rumors and false charges, weakened by our distrust of each other. As that festers, here come the Chahta, seeking scalps.” He lowered his pointing finger. “Meanwhile, do not forget who raced out into the forest to drive the raiders off! Remember that Sky Hand warriors stand between you and the enemies of both of our peoples.”

His gaze fixed on a pretty young woman. Her dress conformed to a perfectly proportioned body. Long dark hair hung over her shoulders, and he liked the look of her oval face, uptilted nose, and downcast eyes.

Perhaps he would pay her a visit later. The young man she stood beside would have to make do with a string of beads for compensation.

The morning was cloudy, a smell of distant rain borne by the southern breeze. In winter, Trader had come to realize, it often warmed before a storm. The warm air enhanced the muddy smell of the river as he and Old White stood at the Feathered Serpent Town landing. Around them, a crowd of people had come to say farewell. They wore their finest dress, and he caught the smoky odor rising from their clothing. Trader saw to the loading of his last pack after reassuringly patting the war medicine box, undisturbed the entire time.

Old White was in the process of handing the two erstwhile guards small sacks of tobacco, saying, “This is narrow leaf, mixed with a plant called kinnikinik. It only grows in the far north, up toward the Western Mountains. Save it for special occasions, for there is no other like it anywhere in this part of the world.”

Chief White Bear stood beside matron Clay Bell, watching thoughtfully. “You are sure you will not stay?”

“We are Traders, Great Chief.” Old White bowed slightly. “As much as we have been delighted with your kind hospitality, and enjoyed our time at Feathered Serpent Town, we serve the Power of Trade. It now calls us downriver. Given what you have told us, there is good reason to believe that we might brighten some lives in White Arrow Town.”

“They may not have much to Trade. Most of their goods will be needed to obtain food to replace what the Chikosi burned.”

Trader signaled Swimmer into the canoe. “We shall do what we can for them. Part of the Power of Trade is to balance need with demand. If it builds goodwill, I think we can take a loss this time.” He grinned. “But next time we pass through, we’ll expect to get it back.”

Two Petals had fixed her eyes on the trail heading up for the trees, as if waiting for something. She might have stood alone on an empty shore, completely oblivious to the activity around her.

Old White turned to Great Cougar, who was fingering the shining copper gorget. “War Chief, as much as it grieves me, I must ask for that back. Perhaps next time we come through we can come to an agreement.”

“Are you sure you won’t take the cup in Trade?”

“Oh, don’t you worry. I’ll be back for that.”

“With the gorget?”

Trader watched, curious as Old White shrugged. “Who can say? Some chief downriver might find the bargain right. Trade is never a sure thing.”

Great Cougar sighed, the fingers of his right hand still caressing the metal. He made a gesture with his left, and two warriors emerged from the trees. Led by ropes, the Albaamaha captives followed, their hands tied behind them. Even across the distance, Trader could see the relief on the old Albaamo’s face. For her part, Two Petals smiled, appearing suddenly to be back in this world.

The slender Albaamo woman had a slight and beguiling smile, as if she’d known all along. Her eyes seemed to enlarge as she stopped before Two Petals and said, “I am ready, Sister. My steps follow your Dance.”

Two Petals—unable to understand a word of Albaamaha—replied in Trade Tongue, “He wails in grief. You will hear his call through the water.”

The Albaamo woman nodded. “I will find him.”

There is more to this than the Contrary has told us.
An eerie shiver traced down his back. But then he should have known enough to take it in stride.

“I would take it badly, Seeker, if I were to learn that you told the Chikosi our war plans,” Great Cougar added.

Old White smiled. “War Chief, assuming that they have any brains at all, they already know you are going to lie in wait for them, attempt to disrupt them in your own lands, and then kill as many as you can.”

“I never told you that.”

“No, you didn’t. On my word as a Trader, Flying Hawk shall learn as much about your plans as you have learned of the Yuchi’s.”

Two Petals stepped into the canoe and watched the Albaamaha climb into Trader’s boat. “Our Dance grows faster. Bones will rise from the water before copper sinks,” she muttered in Trade Tongue.

Trader shot a nervous glance at his copper, then took his seat, lifting the paddle and letting the Chahta push his birch-bark canoe into the current. Swimmer was sniffing curiously at the Albaamaha, eliciting smiles from the young woman; the old man pulled back as if afraid of being bitten.

“Swimmer, these are our new slaves,” Trader told the dog. To the Albaamaha, he added, “Don’t mind Swimmer; he won’t bite you if you don’t bite him.” Then in Trader Tongue, he asked, “Do you have names?”

Both gave him blank stares, so he repeated the question in Mos’kogee.

“I am Whippoorwill,” the woman said, smiling brightly at him.

“Paunch,” the old man admitted. He kept casting nervous glances back at the Chahta who pushed Old White’s canoe out. Two Petals was seated as usual, facing the rear, an oddly satisfied smile on her face. Then
Paunch whispered, “By Abba Mikko, I don’t believe this. I thought I was dead for sure.”

“Well, I’m not one to dash anyone’s hopes, but there’s no guarantee as to how this whole thing will play out.” Trader jerked his head back toward the landing. “That’s only one town. We’ve several more to pass before the confluence to the Black Warrior. And perhaps you noticed that people are a little nervous here?”

“Did the Seeker actually Trade that gorget for us?” Paunch asked incredulously.

“He did.” Trader gave him a scowl. “Though I can only hope you’re worth it. If you have to thank anyone for your lives, thank the Contrary.”

“My sister is remarkably Powerful,” Whippoorwill told him as she glanced across at Two Petals. “She Dances with time, her feet beating the sacred rhythm of the stars, moon, and sun.”

Sister?
Trader narrowed an eye. Whippoorwill couldn’t speak a word of Trade Tongue, but she seemed to have understood Two Petals’ talk about underwater wailing?

Gods, not another one!

Great Cougar stood on the canoe landing, letting the river water lap at his toes. The Traders’ canoes—followed by a ragged flotilla of fishermen and the curious—rode the currents toward the south.

“Do you think they suspect?” Clay Bell asked.

“I do not. No, if anything they think we’re being absolutely practical in our plans for defense.” He shrugged. “Perhaps they won’t even carry their stories to the Chikosi, but I doubt that’s the case. They may indeed have come from upriver as their goods and that birch-bark canoe indicate, but they asked too many questions.
For whatever reason, they have an interest in our plans.”

“You played that artfully, War Chief,” Clay Bell said softly. “It would have been different several days from now. The warriors will be coming.”

“I just hope I delayed the Traders long enough for the runners to get downriver to warn the other chiefs.” He sighed, fingering the copper gorget. “The Seeker played a good game to obtain the Albaamaha spies. I wonder if he’ll get his value’s worth?”

“They are up to something,” Clay Bell agreed. “We had better get back. We have work to do. The coming days are going to tax our energy. Hiding so many warriors is going to be difficult.”

“Oh, yes. But Power is with us; I can feel it. If we do this right, they’ll never know we’re coming.” The hard part would be moving so many warriors in silence and stealth. But the last thing the arrogant Chikosi would expect was a major assault on Split Sky City. He had a plan for the Chikosi scouts. They were already bored, watching for a raid that never seemed to come. His scouts were watching their scouts. Some had even taken to calling back and forth to each other. It was a weakness he could exploit.

Great Cougar smiled. “When I asked that old Albaamaha if his people had been cutting pine logs, he had no idea what I was talking about.”

Clay Bell smiled. “Then those rotted palisade walls at Split Sky City haven’t been replaced yet.”

“Too bad,” Great Cougar mused. “I suspect a Chahta wind is about to blow them down.”

“Wake up,” Heron Wing said as she nudged Morning Dew’s shoulder.

“Huh?” She blinked, finding the room in total darkness. Only the faintest of red eyes marked the hot coals in the hearth.

“Shhh! Don’t wake Stone.”

Morning Dew sat up, her hair spilling around her.

“Get dressed.” Heron Wing added, “We’re going out.”

“It’s the middle of the night.”

“That’s the whole point.”

“The point of what?” Morning Dew asked as she pulled a long-sleeved dress over her head.

“Plotting.”

“We’re plotting in the middle of night?”
I’m confused.

“All good plotting is done in the middle of the night.” Heron Wing led the way to the door, and then stepped past the hanging.

Morning Dew followed her out, wishing she’d learned to keep better track of the stars to tell the time; but when she looked up at the inky sky it was to see an infinite black. Instead, a faint drizzle settled from the darkness. She hurried along, following Heron Wing’s dark shape as she wound through the maze of mortars, ramada poles, and fire pits to the edge of the plaza.

“Careful,” Heron Wing said after tripping. “It’s dark as pitch out here.”

“Where are we going?”

“Pale Cat’s. No matter what, you are to speak of this to no one. I have a specific reason for asking you along tonight. We need your expertise.”

“We do?”

But Heron Wing said no more as she made her way along the edge of the plaza. How the woman found her way was remarkable. Morning Dew had to stop several times, calling out to reorient herself.

“Take my hand.” Heron Wing reached back, grasping Morning Dew’s. The surefooted woman led her on a winding course through the Panther Clan houses,
past the charnel house with its unmistakable smell of decomposition, and to the base of the
Hopaye
’s ramp. Step by step they felt their way to the top, entered the palisade, and finally, with the glow around the door to lead them, crossed to the Panther Clan palace.