People of the Thunder (North America's Forgotten Past) (38 page)

Love? Old White glanced at Trader, seeing him well enough in the gloom to know disgusted irritation when he saw it. In Natchez, he asked, “Who is she?”

“No one.”

“Ah, I see. So that’s why you’ve been so peculiar since we’ve come home. Is there anything I need to know about her?”

“She currently owns Morning Dew. You’re going to have to approach her if we’re going to Trade for her.”

“I am going to have to approach her?” Old White smiled and sighed. “For a single man, Trader, you seem to have the most interesting entanglements with women. Is there a reason this one is such a problem for you?”

“I was to marry her.”

Love . . . and an unfulfilled marriage. He could see Trader’s upset in the bunched muscles of his shoulders. The man was flicking the heavy war club as if it were a willow wand.

“All in time, Trader. That was the distant past.”

“Turns out she’s married to this Smoke Shield. The war chief everyone talks about.”

Old White bit off a curse. He still hadn’t found the right situation to tell Trader what he suspected. But certainly, he wouldn’t do it now, not in advance of such an important meeting.

“If you would prefer, I will approach her.”

“It would make my life easier.”

“But someday, if you stay here . . .”

“That’s for another time, Seeker.”

“What are you babbling about?” Paunch asked anxiously. “That turkey talk is driving me crazy! You’re not going to do that in front of the mikko, are you? He’s going to be suspicious enough as it is!”

“Our apologies, Paunch,” Old White soothed. “It was personal business between Trader and me.”

They were making their way past Albaamaha houses, most with dormant gardens. The way wound through the village. Occasional dogs barked at them, and now and then a person would look out, sometimes calling a name, as if expecting someone who was late.

“This way.” Paunch led them to one side, stopping before a large house set off from the others.

“This is it?” Old White asked.

“Yes.” Paunch stepped forward, scratching at the door. “Mikko?” he whispered. “Are you there?”

“Who comes?” The voice was strained, as if worried at the interruption.

“It is Paunch, Elder. I have news.”

“Paunch?” the voice asked in surprise. “One moment.”

Old White could hear shuffling sounds inside the house. A moment later, the wooden door was opened and an old man peered out. He stared for a moment at Paunch. “Is that you?”

“Of course!”

“What happened to your hair?” He looked past him, voice hardening. “And who are these people?”

“Just let us in!”

Old White stepped forward. “We need to talk, Elder.”

“Come back later.”

“No,” Trader said forcefully, stepping forward. “We will speak now. In private. I think you would prefer that to having this discussion before the entire Council.”

Old White nodded to himself. The timbre in Trader’s voice brooked no refusal.

“Paunch,” the old Albaamo growled, “so help me, when this is over . . .”

“He is doing only what we ask him to,” Old White said in Mos’kogee, glancing around. “But I would suspect that the longer we stand out here discussing it, the sooner someone is going to get suspicious.”

The door opened, the old mikko reluctantly making way.

Old White followed Two Petals inside to find a doubled hanging of thick fabric. Just the sort of thing to let a man slip out without flashing the light from inside.

The room was neat, the matting clean. Benches lined every wall. The fire was burning brightly, illuminating wall paintings of the Albaamaha World Tree, the Long-Tailed Man, and other culture heroes.

On the floor, no less than six plates lay, food partially eaten. Cups, half-full of liquid, stood beside the plates.

Old White glanced at the doorway leading into the back room. So, were five or six hiding back there? And, more to the point, were they armed and waiting to spring out and kill the intruders?

“Paunch,” the old man cried, “what are you doing here?”

“You must be Amber Bead, the Albaamaha representative to the Council.” Old White stepped forward. “And if we hear correctly, the leader of the Albaamaha resistance against the Chikosi.”

The man’s ashen expression was answer enough. Old White saw the door hanging to the back room sway the slightest bit. He gestured. “The rest of you need not interrupt your suppers. If you are part of Amber Bead’s conspiracy, we would speak with you also.”

“In Abba Mikko’s name,” Amber Bead almost pleaded, “who are you?”

“Ah! Yes. Poor manners on my part.” Old White pointed as he spoke. “This is Trader, and this is Two Petals, the Contrary. As for myself, I am known as Old White.”

“The Seeker,” Paunch added reverently.

Amber Bead’s frown deepened. “I’ve heard something of a man called the Seeker.”

“I am he.”

“What are you doing here?”

“Power has sent us. But we need a little more information.” Old White seated himself calmly on a bench, lacing his fingers around his left knee. “Specifically, we need to understand how relations have grown so
bad between the Albaamaha and Chikosi that people are considering open revolt.”

“I’ll tell you,” a sharp voice came from the back room. A woman burst through the doorway, her hair shorn in mourning. Behind her, four muscular men, each with a knotted wooden club in his hands, followed. Nothing in any of their expressions boded for a peaceful evening discussing politics.

Old White reached out, laying a restraining hand on Trader as he started forward. Paunch had crouched down, looking anything but happy.

With his other hand, Old White fished in his belt pouch, producing a small cloth sack. This he held out over the fire, saying, “Easy now. You don’t want me to drop this.”

“What is it?” the woman demanded.

“Poison ivy. It’s nasty stuff when it burns. Within moments, everyone in this room will be hacking and coughing. In some people—as I’m sure you know—it makes the throat swell shut. It would be a shame, but Amber Bead’s house would be uninhabitable for a time. People would wonder why he moved out after so many people ran gagging from here.”

All eyes went to Old White’s sack.

“Now,” he said pleasantly, “we’ve just arrived here. The last we heard, poor Paunch and Whippoorwill were being hounded through the forest like driven deer. So why don’t you introduce yourselves and fill us in on all the events that have transpired since?”

The woman glared, a boiling anger behind her eyes. This one, Old White decided, was going to be trouble.

Amber Bead threw up his hands. “Who
are
you people?”

“Traders,” Trader said simply. “But very
important
Traders.” He gestured. “Please, have a seat. We need to know all there is about Split Sky City politics. Then, as
a gesture of good faith, we’ll be happy to leave Paunch here with you.”

“And what is his purpose?” the woman asked, hard eyes fixing on Paunch.

“Well, we needed to find you, it seems. So we Traded a gorget for him from Great Cougar,” Old White explained. “You see, if he’d hung Paunch and Whippoorwill on his squares, we’d never have been led here to interrupt your suppers. So please, be seated. The food is getting cold.”

“If you are just Traders then I am the high minko,” Amber Bead muttered.

“Might as well lie down and go to sleep,” Two Petals said, her eyes fixed on the woman. “This is going to be a most boring night.”

Trader looked up at the faint light graying the eastern horizon. The air was cool as they stepped out of Amber Bead’s house. He kept glancing behind him, anxious lest one of the distrusting young Albaamaha men sneak up and brain them from behind. Two Petals, however, seemed oblivious. With her foresight, she’d warn them, wouldn’t she?

“Smoke Shield, Smoke Shield, Smoke Shield,” Old White mused. “That’s all you hear about. He must be a madman. And to think, he’d actually dress his warriors as Chahta? What a cunning war chief he is. Twisted, evil, but cunning.”

“One thing’s sure, he’s got the Sky Hand fooled. How could he do it, Seeker? It seems like every lie and plot can be laid at his door. To hear the Albaamaha tell it, he’s an evil Spirit in human form.”

“I have potions, powders, poisons. We could send him
food laced with a concoction of water hemlock, night-shade, sacred datura, and death camas. And then there are the mushrooms. I have some green fungus scrapings. The slightest inhalation will make a man vomit his guts out. You name it, I have it . . . concentrated.” Old White patted his pack. “Of course, if he is guarded by some malignant Power, it might warn him.”

“My heart aches for Lotus Root. She has suffered so much. Now she’s running, unsure of which course to take.” Trader frowned. “On top of everything else, she has to wonder who we really are, and how we found them.”

“It must have been something of a shock,” Old White agreed. “One minute, you’re plotting a meeting with the mikkos, the next, three strangers walk in the door and want to know everything.”

Trader glanced at Two Petals. “You know, Seeker, if you hadn’t Traded that gorget for Paunch, we would have known none of this. He’s been like a thorn in a blanket on the river; but he led us to just the right people, at just the right time.”

“Next time the Contrary suggests buying slaves, I won’t haggle for so long.” Old White made a sucking sound with his lips. “This is a prickly knot to pick. It makes me even more suspicious about that Yuchi messenger’s death. There has to be someone . . .”

“Yes?” Trader glanced at him.

“If the Albaamaha are organizing an uprising, they can’t be the only ones.”

“Then who else?”

“Surely you know enough of politics to realize that there’s always an opposition. It’s the nature of men, be they Sky Hand, Azteca, Zuni, or Kaskinampo.”

“You’re right. Someone must be against Smoke Shield.”

“And don’t forget, he could do none of this without Flying Hawk’s approval.”

Trader nodded. “Don’t I know? He raised me. I’ll
never forget his rages and poor judgments. In my later years, I have come to believe that killing his brother changed something in him. You wouldn’t believe the fits he’d fly into over the smallest things. We were jumpy as grasshoppers around him.”

“It goes back to his youth.” Old White glanced at him. “Did he ever speak of his boyhood?”

“Rarely. I think it was too painful. Everything led back to the fire. Something terrible happened that night. Both of us were smart enough to never ask. Even at the mention of it, his face would cloud; if the subject wasn’t changed, there would be a storm.”

“He had a very difficult childhood.”

“You knew him?”

“Oh, yes. He and Acorn both. My memory is of frightened, dead-eyed boys. Bear Tooth used to beat them unmercifully. I think their souls were both broken during those days.”

Trader frowned; then his eyes widened. “Breath Giver take me, you’re Kosi Fighting Hawk!”

“Who? Oh, the boys’ uncle. No. He was Raccoon Clan, the tishu minko married to Midnight Woman’s sister, Rose Bloom. He was a good man, but never up to facing down Bear Tooth. After Makes War’s capture and death, Midnight Woman married Bear Tooth because he was an able warrior. You must understand: The people were stunned. Their high minko had been captured and tortured to death—the war medicine had been lost. Bear Tooth brought a new Spirit to a wounded people. He restored the Power, but by the Horned Serpent, he was a brutal and abusive man.”

“People didn’t talk much,” Trader added. “At least not when I was around. But I did hear enough to know that while they missed Bear Tooth as war chief, not many missed him as a man.”

“And your mother?” Old White asked. “What happened to her?”

“Childbirth. After my brother and I were born, the bleeding didn’t stop. The story is that we were both large, the birth difficult. I came first, my brother sometime later.”

“Did you ever hear what the fight was about? The one where Flying Hawk killed his brother?”

“A buffalo.” Trader looked up as they slowed before the gate. A yawning warrior stood there, almost weaving on his feet.

“A buffalo?”

“Buffalo are rare in this country. They were both hunting, so the story goes, and both shot it at the same time. By the time the animal died, they had shot their quivers empty. Somehow they got into it over who had actually killed the buffalo. It turned to blows, and as they were rolling around on the ground, Flying Hawk picked up a handy rock and brained his brother. He has punished himself ever since.”

“The passions people can get themselves into.” They nodded at the guard, reaching back to pull Two Petals after them. She was staring at empty space over the warrior’s head, whispering about the fireflies.

Since it was too early in the year for fireflies, and since the guard—who didn’t speak Trade Tongue—didn’t know what she was saying, it was easier to simply pull her away than explain why she wasn’t a witch.

“I’m starting to have a passion of my own: Smoke Shield. Who
is
he?” Trader racked his brain. “I have gone through all of the cousins I can think of. Obviously he took a man’s name that I don’t recognize. Is he someone from one of the outlying towns? A boy I never met, or only heard of and have forgotten after all these years?”