People of the Thunder (North America's Forgotten Past) (24 page)

Two Petals stood naked in the moonlight, bathed in the soft white radiance. She had been drawn to this open spot, free of the shadows cast by high branches. The moon filled her, glowing on her skin, her nipples no more than dark dots on her round breasts. She raised her arms, letting the light flow over her. A faint breeze shifted her long dark hair where it hung down her back.

She heard the soft steps approaching from behind and waited until they came to a stop to her right. Just as in the Dream, she relived the moment as Whippoorwill raised her arms to the moonlight. They stood silently, side by side, arms raised, naked bodies illuminated by the glow.

“We have Danced the first steps,” she whispered.

Whippoorwill’s hushed voice spoke—the Dream inside Two Petals’ head saying,
“We are bound.”

Even across the distance, Two Petals could hear the sweet Song of her husband. It wound over the hills, through the trees, and across the leaf-strewn ground. She felt herself sway with it, and closed her eyes, letting the musical strains mingle with her souls.
I hear you, husband.

In time to the Albaamo woman’s voice, the Dream
said,
“He knows you are coming. Have you Dreamed a way to obtain the copper?”

“Yes.” She sighed, lowering her arms as the Song faded. An empty longing opened in her souls. “It will be difficult. Tricking a clever and suspicious man is perilous at best, but he has weaknesses.”

“He and deceit are old companions. He breathes treachery with every heartbeat.”

“There are things I must learn in order to distract him.”

“Use them well. His slightest suspicion will mean disaster for all.”
Whippoorwill lowered her arms. Her long black hair seemed to gather the darkness as it hung over the rounded globes of her buttocks. The woman’s slender legs were firmly braced, her bare feet on the leaves beside a rolled dress.

Two Petals said, “Trader and Old White will need you when the time comes.”

“I know.”

Two Petals turned her gaze to the forest, seeing the black shape slipping through the shadows. A large black wolf stepped into the moonlight and fixed luminous yellow eyes on them. The animal lowered his head in canine greeting.

“Your guide has come.”

They shared one final glance, bits and pieces of visions and Dreams flowing between them like colors of light.

“In the future, when you Dance, Dance for me.”

“Always,”
Whippoorwill’s Dream voice replied.

Then the woman reached down, lifted her dress from the leaves, and slipped it over her head. She walked to the wolf, each step airy. The Spirit animal turned to match her pace, and they disappeared into the shadows.

P
aunch didn’t know what to make of the Seeker. He had heard of the man—who hadn’t? But he’d always believed him to be a legend. And that was a problem. How did a lowly Albaamo farmer deal with a living legend? Especially one who had used a priceless copper gorget to purchase said farmer and his granddaughter’s lives?

For the moment, unable to think of anything else, he cooked breakfast.

The sun was casting its first faint rays over the trees and into their camp on the levee. Paunch shot nervous glances at the roll of blankets where the old man was sleeping, wondering what Dreams hovered inside that old white head. Trader and his dog had slept farther out, away from the camp. But then—for all Paunch knew—perhaps he always did.

Whipporwill’s blanket lay empty, and that worried him no little bit. But then, she’d always been odd. She often rose in the middle of the night and walked off.

Tell me that this is one of those times she will show up at just the right moment.

He glanced again at the Seeker’s sleeping form. How, he wondered, was he going to explain Whippoorwill’s odd behavior to her new master?

And then there was the Contrary. She was another matter. She sat across the fire from him, watching with really spooky eyes as he stirred the boiling freshwater mussels and added dried grapes, red currants, and paw-paws.

“Wish you could talk,” he said. He cursed himself for not learning Trade Tongue, but as a farmer what use did he have for the languages of the elite? For most of his people it was enough just to know a smattering of Chikosi. “I wish Amber Bead was here. He can talk Trade Tongue.”

And that got him to thinking. Was the old man even alive? Had so much gone wrong in Split Sky City that
the Chikosi had discovered his duplicity and hung his old friend from the square?

“Too much for an old man to know,” he muttered, glancing again at the Contrary, wondering what she was seeing. Just an old slave? But by Abba Mikko’s eyebrows, did she have to give him that dark-eyed stare? He avoided looking at her. Meeting her eyes was like looking into midnight. Each time he felt his souls sway, as if their hold on his body had suddenly come adrift.

The Seeker rolled onto his back, yawned, and made a face. When he sat up, his brightly colored blanket fell away.

Paunch watched him climb stiffly to his feet, arch his back, and step over to the side. He relieved himself, looking up at the morning sky, stretching. Then he replaced his breechcloth and stepped to the fire before squatting to extend his hands.

The Contrary said something incomprehensible, and the Seeker glanced at the rumpled blanket where Whippoorwill had slept.

He turned curious eyes on Paunch. “I think the Contrary is telling me your granddaughter is gone.”

“Elder, don’t panic.” Paunch spread his hands. “She does this. The girl has never been right.” He tried to smile reassuringly. “Power has always touched her. She’ll be back before we go. She wouldn’t just leave me.”

The Contrary laughed.

The Seeker asked some question, and the Contrary replied.

Paunch swallowed hard, saying, “I’ve got breakfast cooking. A good meal for us. Something to keep the gut happy for a long day.”

The Seeker sighed. “You aren’t planning on running, are you?”

“Who? Me?” He shook his head vigorously. “Oh, no. I’ve had my fill of hiding out in the forest.” He forced
himself to keep his attention on the fire.
By the Ancestors, Whippoorwill, get back here and set this man’s souls at ease.

The Seeker frowned at the flames, shot a quick glance at the Contrary, then asked, “I would know more about the situation with the Albaamaha. Who leads this uprising?”

Paunch scratched his head. What did he say? It wasn’t like the man really cared, did he? “Why would you want to know?”

The Seeker gave him a reproving look. “We’re Trading our way down the river. Can you think of a reason that I wouldn’t have at least some interest in the local politics?”

One thing was sure, as long as he belonged to the Traders, he wouldn’t be scrambling for his life. A single glance at the canoes had told him that untold riches lay hidden in those packs. And who knew? They might end up among the Koasti, relatives of the Albaamaha. Once there he might have a chance of slipping away with Whippoorwill. The two of them could make a home for themselves. Whippoorwill could Heal, maybe tell fortunes. Things were looking up.

“Very well,” Paunch said. “The mikkos are dissatisfied, but most are cautious, afraid to wake the Chikosi bear’s anger. But people work like slaves, only to pack their harvest away to Chikosi granaries. Those people breed like rabbits. The man who most wants to see the Sky Hand weakened is Amber Bead. The stupid Chikosi think he’s a doddering old fool. Amber Bead is clever, though. He keeps his ear to the ground. He was the one who hatched the plot to send Crabapple to White Arrow Town.” He winced. “I had already sent the boy before I heard that the mikkos disapproved.”

“And you told me that he ran right into the war party?”

Paunch nodded. “He wasn’t much more than a boy.
He must have confessed everything under torture.” He stared down at his hands. “It was my fault.”

“How close to an uprising are the Albaamaha?”

“I cannot tell, master. Much will have depended on what has happened while I was in hiding.” He looked up. “But I don’t think you want to Trade with the Chikosi. I have heard that the Koasati have marvelous things: shells, yaupon, remarkable wooden goods. Is it true that stingray spines and hanging moss are valued in the northern Trade? The Koasati have them in great abundance.”

The Seeker stifled a smile. “Yes, it is true.”

Paunch used a stick to stir the stew. “I can help you. Albaamaha and Koasati are related. According to the story, we were the same people once, back before we emerged from beneath the roots of the World Tree. They came out on one side of a root, and we on the other. Trading with them would be like Trading with brothers. My skills could be of good use to you.”

The Seeker nodded. “That is pleasing to know.”

“Whippoorwill and I will act tirelessly to help you make back the value of that gorget.” He gestured with the stick. “Do not think for a moment that we are ungrateful for your actions on our part.”

His stomach was growling at the smell of the stew. By Abba Mikko’s eyebrow, he’d dreamed of such while eating bugs and nuts in the forest. Traveling with the Traders would have him putting on fat in no time.

Trader came walking in, a perplexed look on his face. He was scratching his hair, his blanket rolled under one arm. The dog was pacing at his side, tail swinging. The man glanced around, noted Whippoorwill’s flat blanket, and lifted an inquiring brow.

“Do not worry,” Paunch cried brightly. “I’m sure she’s out in the forest. You know, attending to women’s things.”

Trader started. “It’s not her moon, is it?”

“No, no. She passed that not so long ago. Just before the Chahta caught us.”

Trader seemed to take a relieved breath.

“Nothing to worry about,” Paunch continued. “She’ll tell me before she has to go into seclusion.”

The Seeker said something in Trade Tongue, and Trader shot a glance at the Contrary, who spoke softly. At that Trader turned, staring out at the woods for a moment; then he rushed down to the canoes where they lay beached at the foot of the levee. He took quick inventory of his packs, and muttered to himself in obvious relief.

Paunch felt fingers of worry clutching at his souls as he furtively searched the woods.
Come back, Granddaughter. This is starting to worry them.

Trader said something reassuring as he strode up the incline, and squatted beside the Seeker.

“We were discussing the Albaamaha,” the Seeker said in Mos’kogee. “The ringleader is a mikko called Amber Bead. But Paunch tells me the Albaamaha are split. Some want revolt; others are afraid.”

“What would it take to start an uprising?” Trader asked, eyes on Paunch.

“One atrocity by the Chikosi and the whole country could erupt,” Paunch told him darkly. “You can’t trust their Council or leadership. Most of them are thieves.” He paused, seeing unease rising in Trader’s expression. “The Seeker and I were just talking about heading downriver and Trading with the Koasati.”

“They have stingray spines and hanging moss,” the Seeker said mildly. “Things of great value in the northern Trade.”

“I see,” Trader said with equal aplomb.

“You know this Amber Bead well?” the Seeker asked.

“Oh, yes. An old friend. Kin of mine, actually.”

Trader and the Seeker were giving each other knowing stares.

“Could we Trade with him?” the Seeker asked.

“He wouldn’t have much to Trade.” Paunch gestured at the canoes. “The kind of goods you carry can’t be parted with for a few baskets of moldy corn. No, for good value, you would want beautiful shell, things from farther south that would make you a handsome return in the north.”

“Which the Koasati have,” Trader replied, nodding. “I think I understand.” He paused. “But wouldn’t the Chikosi have those things, too?”

“Trust me.” Paunch affected ease. “They’re as crooked as a sassafras root. We’ve been dealing with them for years. No one knows how sneaky they are better than me.”

Trader nodded, a grim set to his lips as he found his bowl and scooped up some of the stew. After a taste he said, “Paunch, you’d make a lousy Trader, but your stew is pretty good.”

No one said more as they ate, but Paunch couldn’t help staring out at the trees.

Whippoorwill? Where are you?

After the meal was finished the Traders began packing.

“I’ll be right back,” Paunch called. “Just need to use the trees for a moment.”

He hurried down the slope, eyes on the swamp. Under his breath, he muttered, “Whippoorwill?”

The empty forest showed no sign of her.

“You coming?” Trader called from behind him. “Or are you going to run like your granddaughter did?”

Paunch hesitated. Go after her? For what? More hiding in the forest?

He rubbed his belly, full to bursting since he’d eaten enough for two. No, there was no turning back. If he
was to have any chance, it would be downriver, among the Koasati.

As he turned back and plodded up the slope, he asked himself,
Girl? What have you done?