People of the Thunder (North America's Forgotten Past) (35 page)

Again the applause, but Pale Cat kept his face expressionless. Throughout the tirade, not once did Flying Hawk look up, or nod his approval. Instead, he seemed removed, oblivious, as though some more important consideration preoccupied his souls.

But what?

Then Blood Skull stepped forward and raised a knotted fist. “I, too, call for war.” He glanced at Smoke Shield, nodding slightly. “I have served the war chief as second on many raids. I will be happy to do so again,
but I would have us ponder this: Before we go to war, we
do
need to know why. If this is truly the act of some rot-infested souls, we need to stamp it out, make an end of it. If, on the other hand, this is some tragic mistake, we must know that, too.”

Blood Skull glanced around, avoiding the glowering Smoke Shield’s eyes. “What if this is not what it seems? What if this Bullfrog Pipe acted alone? For the purposes of revenge? What if, in fact, it was his idea alone to perpetrate this foul deed?” Blood Skull spread his hands. “What if our reaction here tonight is to serve some schemer’s purpose, and the Yuchi chief, like us, is being lured into a bloody conflict that will blind us to some other person’s plans?”

Growls of discontent rose from among the spectators.

Blood Skull finished, saying, “If the Yuchi chief did this thing the way we are currently led to believe, we have no choice but to drive a fiery lance through his heart. I will drive that lance myself. But I want to do so knowing that it wasn’t just some lone demented Yuchi, driven by his own twisted Spirits, who plunged us into this.”

In the uproar that followed, Pale Cat saw the look Smoke Shield gave his second. It burned with undisguised loathing and hatred.

Flying Hawk, however, finally raised his eyes and focused his attention on Smoke Shield. A look of premonition and misery lay behind them.

Now that is most interesting.

Lightning flashed, its hot light lancing through the smoke hole in a strobe of blinding white. People started, smiled uncomfortably, and then the deafening crack of it shook the building around them.

M
orning Dew had never liked lightning and thunder. She had been a little girl, believing herself safe in the palace at White Arrow Town, when a bolt of it hit the roof, shattering the center pole and raining bits of burning thatch down on top of her. A hard rain—like this one—had drowned the fire before it even got started. She had been left cowering, huddled into a little ball beneath one of the benches. Meanwhile people ran about, stamping on flames and screaming in panic while rain lashed the great room.

Now Morning Dew waited, hating the fear in her gut, but being brave for little Stone’s sake. For the duration of the storm, she had crouched beside Stone’s bed, holding his hand, trying to control her desire to flinch at each lightning strobe, and soothing his worry as thunderbolt after thunderbolt cracked and banged around them.

She looked up at the roof, illuminated by the flicker of the fire. Bits of soot had rained down from above when the house shook under the impact of nearby thunder.

“Why is there thunder?” Stone had asked.

“Power is on the move, little one.” She tried to give him a reassuring smile. “The snakes call the thunder, just as they call the rain. That’s why you should never kill them. Thunder, lightning, and rain are their particular Power. It goes back to the beginning times, to just after Crawfish brought land up from the deep waters to make the earth. That’s when snakes first crawled out of the Underworld. Where they went, the water followed. Even to this day, that’s why you find them around springs and rivers.”

“But thunder comes from the sky.”

“That’s right. That’s why snakes are so Powerful. Even though they are beings of the Underworld, they can call the clouds and rain. It’s just the way they are. Power must always balance, Stone. It is part of the harmony of our world.”

“Oh,” he said, seemingly unconvinced.

She glanced uneasily at the door, wondering what was happening in the tchkofa.

Like the rest of the city’s population, she, Stone, and Heron Wing had been standing at the foot of the great mound, sections of matting over their heads for protection. People had been frantic for news. It wasn’t every day that a Yuchi tried to murder the high minko. Speculation had run rampant. Rumors passed from lip to lip. In some, Flying Hawk was dead; in others, he remained unhurt. Heron Wing had waited for each bit of gossip, Morning Dew, holding Stone’s hand, close behind her. They had watched as Pale Cat made his way carefully down the rain-slick stairs. The
Hopaye
had called out that Flying Hawk was fine, waving down the shouted questions. Then he had walked up to Heron Wing, saying, “The Council is called. Come with me.”

Heron Wing had nodded, turning to Morning Dew.

Forestalling her, Morning Dew had said, “I’ll take Stone home. Make sure he has supper and is put to bed.”

Heron Wing had just nodded, her mind no doubt on why Pale Cat would insist she be in the tchkofa with him.

Morning Dew tucked the blanket around Stone’s chin. A Yuchi messenger had tried to kill Flying Hawk? In the name of the gods, why? In the entire time she had been in Split Sky City there had been no rumors of trouble along the northern border. To her, the act was that of a madman. Of course the Sky Hand would respond; they’d mobilize every warrior on hand to march north. This would not be any petty border skirmish, but a long, drawn-out war, with large armies marching back and forth. Pitched battles would be fought, towns burned, and a great many souls sent weeping to the afterlife.

She listened to the night, hearing the soft patter of rain. The worst of the storm appeared to have passed.

Stone’s eyes had grown heavy now that the terrible thunder had faded. Only the rolling distant rumbles of it came out of the north.

Morning Dew heard wet steps beyond the door and looked up as Heron Wing stepped in, her clothing soaked, her hair in limp strands over her shoulders.

“What has happened?”

Heron Wing stepped over to the fire, struggling out of her wet dress. She dropped the soggy garment onto the matting and shivered as she hovered, naked, over the flames. “The vote, as expected, is for war.”

“You don’t sound happy.”

“I’m not.” She bent, throwing another piece of wood on the flames.

Morning Dew stood, stepping over to pick up the dress before she leaned out the door to wring the fabric.

She reentered and placed the dress on clean matting to dry. “Could I get you something? Make you tea?”

“Yes, please. We don’t have much time.” She glanced at Morning Dew. Water droplets beaded on her normally serene face; they sparkled on her long lashes. Her eyes, however, were troubled. “Night Star would like to talk to us. We’re to wait until most people have gone home.”

“So there’s more to this than meets the eye?”

“Perhaps.”

Morning Dew nodded as she went about warming the tea. As it heated, she studied Heron Wing. The woman’s stomach remained flat, her waist narrow above rounded hips that tapered into muscular thighs. Her high breasts with their dark pointed nipples remained firm and provocative.

I hope I look half as good at her age
, she thought.

“Something bothering your souls?” Heron Wing asked, giving her an appraising look.

Morning Dew smiled. “Just thinking of the future.”
She waved it off. “More to the point, why would the Yuchi high chief send an assassin to kill Flying Hawk? Is there some reason I don’t know?”

Heron Wing’s classic brow arched as she took the tea Morning Dew poured. “You and Pale Cat think a lot alike. He is wondering the same thing. Something happened in the palace when he was stitching up the wound in Flying Hawk’s chest. He smells a skunk among the raccoons. That’s why we’re called to Night Star’s.”

“And you want me to go? What would I know about Born-of-Sun?”

“I haven’t the foggiest idea. Have you ever met him?”

“Once, long ago. I was still a girl, he just barely a man.”

“I see. And?”

She laughed. “I thought him one of the most unusual young men I’d ever met. He speaks fluent Mos’kogee. He was charming, intelligent, and had a smile that made my heart flutter.”

“A rogue?”

“Hardly. I thought he was responsible beyond his years.”

“That is his reputation.” Heron Wing chugged the tea, shivering again, but most of the moisture had been wicked away by the fire. “Find me something warm and dry to wear. We don’t want to be late.”

“And Stone?”

“Wide Leaf will be here soon. I saw her in the crowd outside the tchkofa. She had to attend to some things first. I don’t think she’ll be—”

“I’m here, I’m here,” the old woman called as she stepped in through the door. “By the Ancestors, it’s a wet one out there. You be sure to wear a rain hat.” She stepped forward, dress dripping on the floor. “Bless you, lady. That fire is the finest thing I’ve seen in years.”

Heron Wing pulled her dry dress over her head, saying, “I don’t know how long we’ll be.”

“See you when you’re back.” Wide Leaf gave a toss of her hand.

Morning Dew followed Heron Wing out into the night. Once again, it was pitch black. This time, beads of rain spattered down on the piece of bark she held over her head.

“I would have you think,” Heron Wing said. “Could Great Cougar have thought this up? Could this be a way of distracting us, diverting our attention away from the Chahta?”

Splashing through the puddles, Morning Dew considered the idea. Heron Wing had a clever mind. Could that indeed be the case? She remembered the man, keen-eyed, smart. He was a devout warrior, attending all of the rituals and ceremonies.

“No,” she stated firmly. “The Yuchi came under the white arrow of peace. Great Cougar—cunning warrior that he is—would never abuse Power in that way.”

“You’re sure?”

“As sure as I am of anything.”

“But,” Heron Wing mused, “if someone else abused the white Power, Great Cougar wouldn’t hesitate to strike, would he?”

“Make no mistake about Great Cougar. He will use any advantage given him in war.” She stopped short.

Heron Wing made a few steps, then turned. “What?”

“One thing you do not want to try and do is lay this at his doorstep. I tell you, he is an honorable man. If the Sky Hand were to accuse him of misusing Power in this way, it would goad him to any length to destroy you. There could be no hope of peace until an apology was offered.”

“Then,” Heron Wing mused, “we must try and ensure that no such charges are made.”

Morning Dew looked up at the night. “Gods, has the whole world gone mad?”

“Apparently so,” Heron Wing agreed. “Though only Power and the gods know how we can stop it.”

In the pitch black, Flying Hawk climbed step by step as he made his way up the steep Sun Stairs. The wood was wet, slippery. Many of the steps slanted downward and were even more treacherous. As soon as the weather improved, he would have workers out to reset them. It was a constant labor, made more pressing in wet weather when the squared logs turned in the damp soil.

Three warriors traveled with him, offering their hands, warning him when the steps were sloping.
Three warriors. Perhaps I should have more.

Was it his imagination, or did he hear dark wings beating in the air above him?

He glanced up into the night, feeling the patter of rain on his head and shoulders. Images of a Dream came back to him. In it, he’d seen his dead brother’s body as it had been the day Flying Hawk had killed him. He had still clutched the stone he’d used to pound his brother’s brains out of his head. That’s when the mysterious Spirit Being had come. The Being was handsome, a glow surrounding his body.

“You have done everything,”
the Being had said.
“All that will be, you have wrought to obtain the high minko’s chair.”
And then he had said,
“In the end, it is a struggle between brothers.”

At the time, Flying Hawk had thought that referred
to him and his own brother. Now, hearing that Green Snake was alive and returning to the Sky Hand, could it have been something else?