People of the Thunder (North America's Forgotten Past) (32 page)

“There you are!” a voice called.

Amber Bead turned, gasped, and leapt to his feet. “High Minko!”

Flying Hawk walked down the slope to the beach, favoring his bad knee. The women had stopped to gape, their actions frozen.

“Oh, it’s all right,” Flying Hawk called in passable Albaamaha. “Go back to work. I’m just here to chat
with my old friend.” They remained frozen, looking more like deer caught in a hunter’s surround than reassured.

Flying Hawk sighed as he reached the flats, walking over to Amber Bead. “This is a good place. Came here to think, did you?”

“Yes, High Minko. How . . . How did you know?”

“I have my ways.”

The words touched his souls like ice.
What else does he know?
He couldn’t help it; his eyes went to the surrounding trees, wondering if even now he was being spied upon.

“Oh, relax,” Flying Hawk muttered. “One of my warriors went past in a canoe a half a hand’s time ago. He saw you sitting here. It was just luck that I mentioned I needed to speak with you.” He paused, looking out at the river, seeming to ignore the women who still watched with worried eyes. “Yes, a nice place indeed. I won’t tell. I have my own places to disappear to. Men like us need them.”

“Yes, High Minko.”

Flying Hawk looked at him, eyes speculative. “It has recently been brought home to me that I do not pay enough attention to you.”

“You have other concerns more pressing than worrying about an old man like me.”

“Perhaps, but recent events have brought it to my attention that there have been problems in our relationship with the Albaamaha.”

“There have?” He tried to stifle the fear that had hunkered in his gut.

“This thing with Red Awl.” Flying Hawk shook his head. “I have heard Smoke Shield’s side of the story. Some of it I believe; some I don’t.”

“Really?” he asked, intrigued in spite of his better judgment.

“Whatever it was, it’s over, Councilor.” Flying Hawk clapped a hand to his knee as he seated himself on Amber Bead’s log. “Then the Chahta raid brought things into focus for me.”

I’m sure it did.
Everything was back to normal. Flying Hawk was scheming.

“We cannot allow the Chahta to treat us this way. Not the Sky Hand, and not the Albaamaha.”

“No, we can’t.”

Flying Hawk lowered his voice. “I am planning on dealing with them, but in due time.” He looked at Amber Bead. “In order to do this thing, I need Albaamaha help.”

“I see.”

“I need you to think something over for me: What would it take to get five hundred men for several weeks just after the equinox?”

“Five hundred men? You wish to build something? Ah, the rotting palisade!”

“Oh, curse the palisade. Yes, yes, it needs repair, but I have something else in mind. A fortified settlement up on Clear Water Creek Crossing. There is a ridge there, burned off at the moment, with good soil. It sits just at the head of navigable water.”

Amber Bead blinked. “You wish us to build you a town? Way up there? How far away is that?”

“Three days’ hard pack overland.”

“How will you defend it?”

“With warriors,” Flying Hawk said, amused. “Don’t look so shocked. And, no, your people don’t have to build the whole town, not right away. For the moment, I just need enough food packed up there to keep a small band of warriors. I want to use the location for a warriors’ camp. They will be able to run patrols through the forest, keep us from being surprised like we were this last moon. At the same time, we will put in some gardens. My people tell me the soils are good for corn. If we can hold it through the summer, we can put up a
palisade after the next harvest. For that, I would need additional workers.”

“A town at Clear Water Creek Crossing?” The idea still amazed him.

“A first step,” Flying Hawk countered. “If we can defend it, a second town can be built a little farther downstream. Eventually we would have a line of forts down that valley, a way of buffering attacks against our people here.”

“So, for the moment, all you want is for us to pack up enough food to keep your warriors from hunger?”

“That is correct.” He looked out at the river, lost in thought. “This wouldn’t just be for us, Amber Bead. Your people would be working for their own protection. Can you ask the mikkos to approve this thing?”

Amber Bead kept his face toward the river, realizing the women had managed to get back to at least a semblance of working, though they had grown suddenly awkward and clumsy in their movements.

“And perhaps, when this is all finished, you could join me?”

“Join you, High Minko?”

“I was thinking of fishing.”

“Excuse me?”

“At the ponds. The old borrow pits where we took dirt to build the mounds. Those are kept stocked just for the chiefs to fish. I would be happy to have you join me.” He nodded his head thoughtfully. “It would be an occasion like this. A chance for us to talk without having to be so formal.”

“It would be my delight, High Minko.”
I would rather dive down and be eaten by a water panther.

“Good. Anything you need, Councilor, just ask.”

Amber Bead tried to fit all the pieces together, and it came to him. “I will ask the mikkos to come here, High Minko. I am much more likely to get a satisfactory answer if I have them all in one place, and being
just outside the walls of Split Sky City, well, it will lend a certain gravity to the discussions.”

Flying Hawk smiled. “Excellent idea. Perhaps you can tackle the problem of Red Awl’s replacement while you are at it? I’m sure someone suitable can be found.”

“Of course, High Minko.”
We will discuss a great many things. And Lotus Root can tell her story to the assembled mikkos.
“I will make preparations immediately.”

Flying Hawk sighed. “If only I could count on everyone the way I do on you.”

“Oh, you can, High Minko. I assure you.”

Finding a replacement for the bow Lotus Root had stolen hadn’t been easy. Smoke Shield had used the bow Fast Legs had given him during the Chahta raid, but it hadn’t really suited him. The bow Smoke Shield now held was a good one. Made of imported Osage orangewood, it was a tightly grained stave. He had often admired the bows that came through Trade from the west. This one was perfectly balanced, just the thing he needed to replace the weapon Lotus Root had made off with.

This piece had been offered by a Trader down at the landing, a fellow from Thunder Town who claimed to have obtained it several years ago. The Trader complained that the pull was too heavy. Smoke Shield had found a suitable string made of gut that appeared to be the correct length. Now he slipped the loop over the notches and bent the bow stave behind his leg. Grunting, he slipped the upper loop into the grooves and settled the string into place. Lifting it, he tested the pull.

It took effort, but with this, he could drive an arrow clear through a man. The next thing would be to shoot it.

“New bow?” Flying Hawk asked as he entered the palace great room. He was winded, puffing from the long climb up the Sun Stairs.

“I Traded with a Deer Clan man from Thunder Town.”

“Don’t lose that one,” Flying Hawk said darkly.

“Uncle.” A surge of frustration began to build. “Don’t try—”

“High Minko!” A warrior burst into the room. “A canoe has just landed. It is a Yuchi! He brings a white arrow.”

Smoke Shield’s rage filtered away. “A white arrow? He is a messenger?”

“Yes, War Chief. He wishes to address the Council.”

“Go and alert the tishu minko. Tell him to call the Council,” Flying Hawk ordered.

“No!” Smoke Shield reached out, placing a restraining hand on his uncle’s arm. He gave Flying Hawk a warning look. “Bring him here, Black Hand. The high minko and I will see him alone.”

“Alone, War Chief?”

“He carries a white arrow, does he not? We will be perfectly safe. The high minko and I will hear his message, and then, having time to consider it, will bring him before the Council.” He gave his uncle a wink where Black Hand couldn’t see. “We are better forewarned as to his intentions. That way we can inform the Council before he makes his announcement.”

“Do it,” Flying Hawk ordered.

No sooner had Black Hand turned and left than Smoke Shield hurried to the door, looking out. Reentering, he waved down Flying Hawk’s question and asked, “Is anyone else here?”

“My slave.”

“Send him away.”

Flying Hawk’s eyes had narrowed. “What are you plotting this time?”

“This Yuchi may just turn out to be the solution to a very large problem.”

The Yuchi messenger, known as Bullfrog Pipe, held the sacred white arrow before him as he started forward. Split Sky City wasn’t what he had expected. As he followed his guide up from the canoe landing—bearing the white arrow so that all could see—people flocked out to watch his progress. The sight of this many Sky Hand and Albaamaha—all watching him with hostile eyes—was daunting. They cleared a path for him, making way for his escort, the warrior called Black Hand.

He had not expected to see such a large city, nor the great buildings, let alone so many of them. Several thousand people had to live here, just inside the palisade alone. And he had passed seven substantial towns already. More, he knew, were downriver.

That he was escorted by only one warrior was heartening. A guard of twenty would have left his heart hammering in his chest, and fear sweat beading on his brow. It was one thing to proudly claim the honor of bearing Trader’s message back in Rainbow Town. It was another to be here, alone, in a sea of hostile Chikosi faces. The eerie thing was the silence with which they watched him; but then, the Tsoyaha and Chikosi had been enemies from time the Mos’kogee had first migrated into this land.

He had seen the high minko’s mound from the river, as he looked up beyond the escort of warrior-laden canoes
that followed him downriver. Perched on its high mound, the place might have been the home of gods, rather than men.

Now, as he passed along the northern base of one of the moiety mounds, the sight of the high minko’s structure atop its stupendous earthen mound amazed him. To the north, burial mounds and charnel houses rested atop the finger ridges overlooking the river.

The path skirted a deep drainage; the slope had been dug away to make climbing nearly impossible. A force of attacking warriors would slip and slide trying to storm it, subject the entire time to a hail of arrows. He looked down to see a tangle of brush and pointed logs at the bottom. No stealthy approach from that direction.

Black Hand led him around the head of the ravine and to the western wall of the great mound. This they skirted, people following along behind him like a human river. He peered again into the depths of that sheer-walled ravine.

If they kill me, throw me down into that mess, no one will ever find my body.
It was a sobering thought.

I am
Tsoyaha! The knowledge lent him courage. He held his head up straight, remembering how his people were born of the sun. When he cast his glance skyward, it was to see Mother Sun, beaming down on him with love and admiration.

The way led to a flat along the northern base of the mound. Here a small plaza had been leveled, a clay chunkey court running northward to the edge of the bluff.

At the long stairway, he took a deep breath, then started up, following in Black Hand’s steps.

He climbed and climbed, counting the wooden steps as he went. The knowledge of how high this was awed him. Nevertheless, aware of the crowd that had gathered below, he forced himself not to look back.

Only when, breathing deeply, he reached the high gate did he stop and glance down. Below him the people looked like colorful dots. Beyond the bluff with its charnel houses and mounds, the river gleamed in the light like a wide silver band. Beyond the opposite shore, endless fields, dotted with tiny distant houses, stretched to the far forest. Rolling up from the south came a solid black line of clouds, flickers of lightning at the fore. It looked like he’d just beaten a nasty storm to Split Sky City.

“Stunning, isn’t it?” Black Hand asked in Trade Tongue.

“I’ve never seen anything like it.”