People of the Thunder (North America's Forgotten Past) (36 page)

After that, the Spirit Being had extended arms that turned into mighty black wings and leapt into the air. The sound they had made was exactly like what he had just heard. He shot a nervous glance into the storm-thick night sky.
Are you up there, even now, watching me?

At a sudden pain, Flying Hawk raised a hand to his chest. Oh, he remembered that Dream. Unable to sleep, he had walked out into the great room and stared at the large carving of the Seeing Hand. The hair had stood at the back of his neck, for he would have sworn the great carved eye in the hand’s palm had been crying.

Was it crying for me? Or for my people?

He shook off the premonition, wondering where Smoke Shield had disappeared to. Even with three warriors, if Smoke Shield was up there, he could “accidentally” bump one, sending the whole lot of them tumbling down the long ramp, or off of its sides. The younger warriors might only end up with broken bones, but it had the probability of killing an older man like him.

Green Snake is alive, among the Yuchi!
And now they were going to war with them.

Fleeting images of a bright-eyed boy flashed from his souls.

Ah, Green Snake, I never did right by you.

He had been the first hope. Smart and quick of wit and body, Green Snake had been what neither Flying Hawk nor his brother, Acorn, had been. It was as if Power had granted his line a second chance, drawing the distinction more clearly between Smoke Shield and Green Snake: red and white, two versions of the same boys. Choose between them. But even that chance had ended in disaster. It all went back to the night of the terrible fire. Power had been shifted long ago, taken by
the self-same Yuchi against whom they were now going to war. Everything had gone wrong with the capture of High Minko Makes War and the loss of the war medicine.

Now, so far away from those terrible days, he was still living in their shadow. He wondered, “If Father hadn’t been the brutal and soul-sick man he’d been, would it have changed anything?”

“Your father is the finest war chief I have ever seen,”
Kosi Fighting Hawk had said.
“He has handed the Yuchi one stinging defeat after another. The warriors believe in him. And that is half the challenge of war.”

He carefully placed his feet, taking another step, wishing the wind wasn’t whipping around. It was always stiffer so high on the stairway. The wooden steps were shifting. He needed to have a crew attend to them. His chest continued to sting with each movement he made.

Did I have to let Smoke Shield do this to me?

Did any of this have to happen?

He looked out at the night, wondering what had happened to the boy who had once been called Grape. How did he end up like this?

“It always comes down to brothers.”
He swallowed hard, blinking back tears.

Old White clapped his hands in satisfaction as he stood in the morning sunshine. Puffy clouds scudded off to the northeast, driven by mild winds from the gulf. For two days the group had huddled beneath the landing ramada until inquiry had brought Old White to a Skunk Clan man who was willing to Trade the use of an empty house for a copper nugget.

In between bouts of pouring rain they had moved
the packs here, swept out the refuse, driven out a nest of mice and two wood rats, and taken up residence. Paunch spent most of his time inside, looking odd with a completely shaved head. He had the most peculiarly shaped skull, like an oversized crabapple with dents in it. Looking at him took some getting used to.

Funny what people would do to themselves to avoid being hung in a square.

“Are you going out?” Trader asked, appearing in the door behind Old White.

“I think it’s time one of us looks around.” He nodded at the neighbor woman who had come out to pound corn in her pestle. Her name was Squash Blossom, and she’d been most curious, fascinated to hear they were Traders and staying for a while. She had taken to bringing bowls of steaming corn, beans, squash breads, and anything else, just to shoot speculative glances at their packs where they rested on the benches.

She had also proved to be a literal fountain of information on who was doing what to whom. According to her gossip, one would have thought she’d been present in the tchkofa when the decision was made to go to war against the Yuchi.

“Do be careful,” Trader told Old White in a low voice.

“Oh, always.” He took in the crowded houses, the ramadas, and screened latrines. It had been some time since he’d been in such a warren of humanity. “I want to see what they’ve done to my city.”

Two Petals ducked out the door wearing a knee-length dress and without a word matched his pace, as if she’d planned this all along.

I had just made up my mind myself.
But then, one didn’t question a Contrary.

Or did he?

“I notice it was cold last night,” he offered as he took a winding path that led around the shops where
mica—Traded down from the north—was fashioned into ornaments and jewelry. After two days of rain, the craftsmen were busily engaged, sitting cross-legged as they carved designs into the shiny stone.

“Cold indeed,” she replied. “I see ice everywhere I look.”

“Find any in Trader’s bed?”

“Oh, yes.”

He cast her a sidelong glance. “How is that?”

“Time only stops for an instant,” she whispered softly, her hands flicking this way and that. “Time lives and breathes, full and empty when we need it most. Why can’t we stop the river, Seeker?”

“Because it was Created to flow.” He smiled sadly. “You like him, don’t you?”

“Wouldn’t have him in my bed, that’s sure.”

“Then why do you go to his?”

“I have to be distracting. Failure would bring disaster. This is a hive. Can’t you hear all the buzzing?” She was staring around at the people, the packed houses. “Thoughts and souls . . . souls and thoughts.”

“I have some of the Kala Hi’ki’s tea if you need it.”

“The only time a person gets stung is if they move too fast. Can’t threaten the bees. It makes the flowers lose color. The petals fall like leaves, but then, it’s winter. Can’t have leaves in winter . . . they’ll grow out brown.”

Old White let it go, figuring she had enough trouble keeping her Contrary thoughts in check without him adding to her confusion. That she could walk through such a large city and not be overwhelmed was progress enough from that first night at Rainbow City. And her mood was lighter, more cheery than the silent, inward-looking person she’d been on the trip downriver.

Was that just part of being Contrary? Sad and introspective for a period, then bouncing and happy?

He rounded a charnel house, passed one of the burial mounds, and stepped out on the eastern edge of the plaza. Across the chunkey court, the tchkofa stood, ringed by its palisade, looking like a mother turtle and her two babies where the round roofs protruded. The roofs had been covered with earth, and grass was growing on the soil.

The old familiar guardian posts stood watch, and the colors on the Tree of Life gleamed red and white. On the north, the high minko’s palace stood defiantly against the sky. He stopped, just staring at it.

“The funny thing about time,” Two Petals said, “is that you can get lost in it. When you bend it around, it takes you right back to where you started.”

“Yes, it does,” he whispered, then forced himself to study the Raccoon Clan palace atop its mound. “I have forgotten how big Split Sky City is. Somehow, after the Azteca and Cahokia, this place had grown small in my memory.”

“When a snake swallows his tail, does he ever go all the way through?”

“Oh, yes. That’s the magic of it, Contrary. He passes from this world to the next. Turns himself inside out, from the flesh to the Spirit.”

He continued walking, responding to greetings. They encountered people going about their business, baskets perched on shoulders, jars in their hands. No one seemed to think twice at his presence, and that in itself was eerie. He was used to being the Seeker, and here he had become nameless. The irony of it carried a certain amusement.

They passed groups of men, all talking about war, about Yuchi treachery. But here and there, he caught snatches of other conversation.

Most of it hinged on why.

“At least some are wondering,” he noted.

“Seeds are such small things,” Two Petals said. “Isn’t it odd how with just a little water and dirt they can become such large things as trees?”

“It’s the water and dirt, all right,” he agreed. “The best plantings are those well tended.”

She stopped suddenly, eyes aglow.

He followed her gaze to where she had fixed on an open spot in the trampled grass. She was listening intently, then laughed, crying, “That’s funny!”

“What’s funny?”

“I’ve never seen a bird whirl around like that. It’s some kind of crane, isn’t it? How can it spin like that? Gods, it’s a golden blur.”

Not for the first time did he wish he could see through her eyes. It might even have been worth the kind of pain the Kala Hi’ki had endured just for a glimpse. Though, truth be told, he had seen some wondrous things while under the influence of the Spirit Plants.

He continued his walk, bits and pieces of memory coming back to him. In the eye of his souls, he could see a stickball game in the southern half of the plaza; he himself had run there, his racquets swishing in the air as he searched for the ball.

“Never was much good at that,” he mused.

He remembered childhood friends, the sights of the Busk, with the women Dancing and Singing along the margins of the great plaza.

“I am home.” And he wondered at the curious interplay of emotions. “What sort of man would I have been if I’d stayed here?”

“There is darkness there,” she said, eyes fixed on something he couldn’t see. “Let’s go a different way.” And she struck off, headed due east across the wide plaza.

He had to hurry, forcing himself to keep step. He kept having images flash, sights of long-gone days.

Is that where the darkness lies?

He was puffing as she led him around the tchkofa and paralleled the chunkey court. They were almost even with the Tree of Life pole when she stopped, staring at the empty wooden squares. She walked forward, almost in a trance. A young woman dressed in a simple brown dress stood before one of the squares, seemingly lost in thought. Her long black hair was worn loose, gleaming in the sunlight. She carried a brownware jar propped under one slim arm.

Two Petals walked up beside her, paused, and reached out to finger the wood. The woman’s eyes widened, a look of dismay on her face.

“Their relief tingles against my skin,” Two Petals said. “The blood made you what you are. They know that.” She looked at the woman, eyes losing focus. “He is coming for you.”

“Who?” she asked, responding in Trade Tongue.

“The final knot.”

“I’m sorry,” Old White interrupted gently. “My friend here has mistaken you for someone else.” He grabbed Two Petals’ elbow, whispering in Oneota, “Come, let’s go look at the river.”

When he glanced back, the woman was still staring, her lips parted, a shining disbelief in her eyes. Then she turned and fled.

“Power is Dancing.” Two Petals pointed up. “Look at the colored lights.”

But when Old White followed her finger, all he could see was a pattern of puffy white clouds against the light blue sky.

Something just happened back there. It wasn’t idle ramblings.

But what?

He glanced up, nervous at being this close to the great palace. But when he turned to go, Two Petals fixed her eyes on the high palace atop its mound. A frown lined her smooth brow.

“Are you all right?”

“He’s the final obstacle before I join my husband,” she said in a worried voice.

“What husband?”

Even as he asked, she turned, hurrying back toward their house.

Morning Dew rushed into the house, blinking in the gloomy interior. Heron Wing sat on one of the benches, the raccoon bowl resting lightly in her lap. She laid it carefully aside, standing. “What’s wrong? You look like you just stared into the eyes of a snake.”

Morning Dew lowered her jar, smoothing her dress to keep from shaking. “The oddest thing just . . .” She swallowed hard. “I was going to fetch water. Normally I avoid looking at the squares, but for some reason, I stopped before my . . . my . . .”