People of the Thunder (North America's Forgotten Past) (40 page)

She took it, feeling the weight, staring into the stark white color that seemed almost translucent. “You would offer this for Morning Dew? In whose name?”

“In the name of her grandmother, Old Woman Fox. She would like to have her granddaughter back. Is that sufficient in Trade?”

She hefted the heavy tooth, wondering if it was really as valuable as the old man said. She considered Green Snake’s bowl. No, this was a first offering. Played correctly, she could drive the price up. If this was an opening to communications with the Chahta, it would have to be handled delicately.

“I don’t know if this is enough, or not. I have my own plans for Morning Dew.”

“And those are?”

“Is there a reason I should share them with a stranger?”

“Since I am here as an agent of the current matron of the White Arrow, it might be prudent. If your plans for Morning Dew coincide with mine, it might have a serious effect on the value of our Trade.”

Heron Wing narrowed her eyes, studying the man. He seemed completely at ease, as if negotiating the fates of peoples was as ordinary as bartering for a used blanket. “Morning Dew is the matron of the White Arrow Moiety. Her son, if she ever has one, will become high minko. Eventually this madness with the Chahta must end. I think she will be an excellent and talented leader among her people. In the future I would rather see us dealing with her than any other.”

He nodded slightly, considering the sincerity of her words.

She seated herself, handing the tusk back. “All right, you have offered Trade for Morning Dew. It’s not enough when compared with the future of my people. Do you wish to offer anything in addition to some tooth I cannot judge the value of?”

“I’ll think it over.”

“Good. Now, where did you know Green Snake? A lot of men could be named that.”

“And many are.” He smiled. “Believe me, it’s a common name all across the land. This one, however, lived here, once. Hickory Moiety, born of the Chief Clan. Then, oh, perhaps ten winters ago, he had an altercation with his brother. Fled into the night, horrified at what he’d done.”

She realized she’d stopped breathing, that he was watching her, studying her reaction. “What do you
want from me?” She tried to keep her voice normal, and failed.

“Nothing. At least not the way you think,” he whispered softly. “I am called Old White, but to most I am known as the Seeker. Perhaps you have heard of me?”

She frowned. “Legends . . . stories . . . tales of a man who traveled to far-off lands. The Seeker was supposed to find the ends of the earth, or so the story goes. I know the Natchez and Pensacola believe the legend.”

“Always a legend.” His lips bent in a wistful smile. “But then, there are worse things: like traveling around thinking you’d killed your brother, only to find out ten winters later that you’d just knocked him half-silly.” He paused. “Or half-insane.”

She shook her head in slow disbelief. “You really know Green Snake? How is he?” She hesitated. “I have hoped that he married . . . that he’s happy. I’d always thought that, well, maybe he settled among the Caddo, or perhaps the Natchez.”

“Sometimes, yes, for a season or two. He took the name of Trader. Nothing else. People on the rivers know him only as that.”

“But is he happy?”

Old White’s bushy eyebrows arched. “
Happiness
can be a relative term. Are you happy, Heron Wing? Wait! Now, before you pry away at me for an answer, ask yourself that same question. But ask it deep down between your souls, where the life you’re living rubs against the Dreams you once had for yourself.”

She sat stunned. “Who
are
you?”

“It appears that I am a legend.” He clapped his hands to his thighs.

“You speak our language as if born to it.”

“A man has to come from somewhere. I’ve yet to meet one that hasn’t—though some scoundrels would claim it so.”

She watched him, mind racing. “Why hasn’t Green Snake sent word that he was alive?”

“He did,” Old White snapped angrily. “The Yuchi who carried the message was murdered. Now people are preparing to go to war over it.”

She glanced down at the bowl. “Traded from the Yuchi.” She felt her souls slip sideways, staggering. “That’s why they killed him.” She stood, pacing, mind racing. “Smoke Shield must be half-frantic!” She turned. “You wouldn’t know this mysterious message the Yuchi was carrying, would you?”

“Oh, yes.”

“And it is?”

“Let us Trade. Who heads the opposition to Smoke Shield and Flying Hawk in Split Sky City? There is one, I’m sure. Just as there is among the Albaamaha.”

She stared at him, her heart thumping out a steady beat in her chest. What kind of brazen fool would dare ask a question like that?
What is your game here, stranger?
“As far as I know, our Council is united.”

The corners of his lips quivered. “And my memory of Green Snake’s message is slipping away ever so slowly.”

What did she do? Her desperation struggled against years of innate caution. She sighed, her heart sinking. This man knew her weakness.

“The opposition doesn’t really exist as such. Not organized like you would expect. The Albaamaha are already ahead of us on that front. We have held some meetings, trying to understand what is going on. Some of us have suspicions. That’s all. There are problems—things that don’t make sense. But there are only a few of us: those who fully understand Smoke Shield’s ability to plot and manipulate.”

“From your words I take it that you and your husband are not close.”

She gave him a hard glare in response.

He nodded. “I suppose you’re wondering if the Chahta could have made this recent raid?”

“Who
are
you?”

He stood, stepping to the door, looking out. Then he went outside. Checking the rest of the house, she figured. When he returned, he said, “I am Old White, the Seeker. And I also know for a fact that Great Cougar was in Feathered Snake Town at the same time he was supposedly here killing Albaamaha. I know that because I saw him there.” He pointed. “With these eyes. The other thing I know is that Lotus Root has twenty-three scalps that Smoke Shield’s warriors buried outside the hut where they found the tortured Fast Legs.”

She shot to her feet. “You can
prove
this?”

“Oh, yes.”

“I can have my brother call the Council. How soon can you produce Lotus Root?”

He waved her down, smiling kindly. “I admire your enthusiasm, Heron Wing, but there are other considerations. The Albaamaha are only part of the puzzle. We also have to deal with the Chaktaw.”

She smiled. “Chaktaw? You don’t often hear that pronunciation here.”

“Whatever you call them, Great Cougar is planning something daring for the first new moon past equinox. Old Woman Fox wants her granddaughter rescued before the attack. Then, too, we’ll have to deal with Born-of-Sun. He acted in good faith, sending that poor runner.” Old White pulled thoughtfully at his chin. “Breaking the peace when a white arrow is offered is most definitely unacceptable.”

She laughed, finding his assurance ludicrous. “Is that all?”

“Well, the major parts. There are some other things: details like copper, medicine boxes, Trade, balancing the Power, and a few other minor concerns.”

“Who else knows you are here?”

“The Albaamaha ringleaders.”

“And they are . . . who?”

He shook his head. “No, Matron. That is mine.”

“I am no matron.”

“You should be. You would serve your clan and people well.” He looked at her. “For the moment we will deal with you, and only you. You can trust anyone you wish, but I will only trust you.”

“Why?” she asked. “How do you know I won’t just turn you over to Smoke Shield? I’m married to him, after all.”

Old White pointed at the bowl. “You would have broken my arm to get that away from me.” He paused. “Why?”

“He Traded it.”

“Trader did?” He made a wounded face. “It came out of
my
canoe!” At her expression, he shrugged. “Well, yes, it was his idea to give the things away among the Yuchi during solstice. He did hand out each and every one. Well, at least the ones the Contrary didn’t.”

“Contrary?” She frowned. “What Contrary?”

“It’s a long story.” He gave her a harried look. “You haven’t lived until you travel in the same canoe with a Contrary.”

“And Green Snake’s message?” she asked, trying to keep the hope from her voice.

“The Yuchi messenger was supposed to announce to the Council that Green Snake would be returning to his people. That he offered compensation for the murder of his brother. That it was a matter of Power, of restoring the harmony.”

She felt a sudden excitement. “That is why Flying Hawk looked so confused in the Council. That is why the old fire wasn’t in his eyes when Pale Cat stitched him up. He knows.”

“What would that knowledge be worth, Heron Wing? What would it change? Who would it threaten?”

“Smoke Shield,” she said softly. “He hated his brother, envied him, and took everything he ever had.”

“How do you feel about Green Snake?”

“I will never forgive him.”

“For what?”

“Not taking me with him.”

A long peeling rolled up from under the sharp chert blade, exposing white and straight-grained wood. Trader studied the wooden shaft he worked on. It was good white ash and straight as a stretched cord. He would have preferred to find his own; but this one looked perfect, and he’d Traded for it with a single freshwater pearl.

He lifted the shaft, testing the balance. A great deal of work lay ahead of him.

Thank the Spirits for that. His troubled souls were going to need the time, and working wood was as good a way to think things through as any.

Smoke Shield is my brother. I gave up everything, for nothing.
He slowly shook his head, heart mired by the sadness and injustice of it all. Another of the thin peelings rose from the chert blade.

It felt like being robbed—a great hollow had opened inside.

I was a fool.

For that, he would never forgive himself.

The anger drove him to snap the stone in half. He closed his eyes.
Stop. Take a moment, and think.

He laid his shaft aside, and stood, looking up at the sun, now high in the sky. Around him the city teemed with activity, smoke blowing on the breeze, midday light casting shadows from the thatched roofs. He could
hear talk, the thumping of the pestles in mortars, and chopping as someone took an adze to wood.

He stepped into the house and walked to the back, to rummage through his packs for a chert blank. This was good tool stone from the lands south of Cahokia. He studied the piece in the dim light, searching the milky gray chert for flaws. Finding none, he walked to the door, stepped out, and froze.

She sat on the log, back bent, elbows resting on her knees as she squinted up at the sun. Her long hair was free, the wealth of it falling down her back. She wore a bright blue dress belted at the waist with a strip of alligator hide. Her wide cheeks were smooth in the light, a serenity reflected in the set of her lips.

His knees went weak, his heart hammering at the bottom of his throat. The endless longing came welling up within him, almost suffocating. The world seemed to stop, to stretch into this one endless moment. He had to blink to ensure this wasn’t a trick, some phantom conjured by his endless longing.

“I would like you to sit,” she said gently. “It would be easiest if you continued to work on your chunkey lance. Nothing must be said in a hurry. It is a good day to just enjoy the sun, and live for this moment alone.”

He swallowed hard, and tried to still his frantically beating heart. Desperate joy—fit to burst his chest—wavered with a consuming and terrible fear.

What if she hates me? How could I stand that?

She shot him a single, pleading glance, as though she, too, were on the verge of fleeing.

In the confusion of hope and fear, it took all of his will to step over and lower himself to the log. He fought the desperate urge to reach out, touch her. From her delicate scent, he knew that she’d washed her hair in water scented with redbud flowers.

When he lifted his small antler tine to chip a sharp edge on the stone, his hands shook.

“How . . . How did you know I was here?” His voice came out choked.

“Old White came to Trade some sort of tooth thing for Morning Dew.”

His mouth had gone dry. He just kept gripping the stone as if it alone in the world was real. “I—I don’t know what to say. So . . . many things . . .”

“Then say nothing.” She shifted slightly, her face still to the sun. “Old White said that you had just learned about Smoke Shield.”

He nodded.

“I wish you’d killed him that night. It would have made everything so much easier.”

“He’s your . . . husband.”

“Clan marriage.” Her hand flicked in a tormented gesture. “People . . . People do some very stupid things when their souls are wounded and bleeding. They let their grief carry them into terrible mistakes. When a person is young, she can’t see past the confusion. I didn’t. You didn’t. We just act, Green Snake. Then, for the rest of our lives, there are the consequences.” A fragile smile crossed her lips. “But then, here I sit, so perhaps I am no smarter now than I was then.”