People of the Thunder (North America's Forgotten Past) (41 page)

He tried to still the churning in his souls. “I have Dreamed of you . . . every night.”

“Why didn’t you ask me to go with you that night?”

“I thought . . . thought you’d hate me.”

“Hate you?” she cried, blinking back tears. “I
loved
you with all my heart!”

Loved!
A fact from the past. Not the present. He lowered his head.

Softly she added, “And I never stopped, Green Snake. Not for one moment.”

The world seemed to swim, the stone forgotten in his hand. “All those years . . . wasted . . .”

“Oh, no. Think of the things you’ve seen, the peoples you’ve met.” She looked around, eyes moist. “This place
would have chewed you up, digested, and deposited your souls in the latrine of its petty squabbles.” She paused, struggling with herself. “If you had stayed, you would have had to kill him anyway. Or he would have killed you. That part was inevitable. He hates you too much.”

“I didn’t mean to hate him.”

“To know Smoke Shield is to hate him. You have had ten precious years free of his poison.” She gave him a look filled with longing. “He doesn’t know that you’re here. You could turn around, climb into your canoe, and paddle away. You have a life out there.”

He took a deep breath, stilling the trembling inside. “I
don’t
have you!”

A desperate hope lay behind her misty eyes. “Are you still the same man I once knew?”

He shook his head. “Something died in me the night I struck Rattle down. Now I travel from town to town, people to people. I serve the Power of Trade.”

She smiled, on the verge of tears. “He takes. You serve. You are still the man I once knew.”

“Am I?”

“Oh, yes,” she whispered sadly. “Wiser now, gentler, but seasoned and tried. You can’t hide that soul shining in your eyes, Green Snake.” A pause. “Not from me.”

Words deserted him.

“You have friends up and down the river?”

“Many.”

“Wives?”

“No.”

She steeled herself, fists knotting. In a strained voice, she said, “I need to collect my son, Morning Dew, and a couple of packs. We could be on the river with enough time to reach Great Corn Town before dark. Or there are camps along the shore where people often stay.”

His gaze bored into hers. “Why?”

“You have filled my Dreams since I was a little girl. Can’t we live them now? Morning Dew would get back
to her people. You could teach my son things he would never learn here. If he chooses to return someday, he will do so with great knowledge and wisdom. I would see some of the same marvels that you have, and enjoy life with a man I love. Smoke Shield will never have the opportunity to finally destroy us.”

“Living on the river comes with risks and miseries of its own: heat, cold, insects, bad food, bad water, and at times, some very dangerous people.”

“Something must be given up for another thing gained.”

He nodded, smiling. “If it were only that easy.”

She arched her eyebrow in an old and achingly familiar way.

He threw his head back, a warmth spreading through his chest. The sunlight seemed brighter, warmer. His heat was beating regularly again, the richness of his blood coursing in his veins.
I am alive!
He laughed, feeling it bubble up from deep inside him.

“Then, we’re leaving?” Hope leapt in her voice.

“Staying,” he told her gently, and saw the worry grow in her eyes. “It is more than just you and I. Power has sent us to restore the balance.”

“At what price?” Her voice turned hollow. “I won’t lose you
twice!
”

He glanced up. “Here comes trouble.”

Squash Blossom had rounded the corner of her house, a heaping plate in her hands. She hesitated at sight of Heron Wing; then she pasted a big smile on her face as she hurried forward.

“Clan Leader! Come to Trade with our new neighbors, I see?”

Heron Wing recovered immediately. “Indeed. And I wouldn’t want to interrupt his meal.” She stood, saying stiffly, “I will send Morning Dew here this afternoon. See if she meets your requirements. If so, we can discuss the value of the Trade you offer.”

He got to his feet, trying to tell her so many things through his level gaze.

She smiled. “I have a duck roasting. Until later.”

Trader watched her go, then resettled himself, struggling desperately to control his pounding heart. He shot a glance at Squash Blossom, wishing he could strangle her. He was surprised to see her looking wistfully after Heron Wing.

“Poor woman,” she said obliviously. “She’s so good, and the war chief, he treats her terribly. Whatever you Trade with her for, you treat her right, you hear me?”

“
I won’t lose you
twice
!”
The words Sang in his souls. “I’ll Trade her the sun and stars, Squash Blossom.”

Old White pondered the ways of Power as he walked slowly home. He could feel it, crisp in the air around him. Since the
Katsina
had appeared to him in the Oraibi kiva, his life had been orchestrated. Nothing seemed left to chance, as if he and the people involved were gaming pieces, moved across a blanket by Power. He had been called to the Contrary, and she had led him to Trader and his copper. They had needed a box, and the Kaskinampo had brought the war medicine. Their trials among the Yuchi had been for a purpose. Green Snake had asked Born-of-Sun to send a messenger, only to have him murdered by Smoke Shield, who was Trader’s not-so-dead brother. The Chahta had played their role, providing Paunch to take them to Amber Bead—and Breath Giver alone knew what role Whippoorwill would finally play. Smoke Shield had taken Morning Dew, who now resided with Heron Wing. And Old Woman Fox had wanted her back desperately enough to betray Great Cougar’s raid. All of the pieces
had been prepared, moved into position. The very intricacy of it amazed him.

He glanced over his shoulder at the high minko’s palace atop its mound. Somehow, it had all started there with death and fire, setting the waves of the future in motion. It had led to murder and attempted murder among brothers, to passions that even now burned so bitterly in human souls.

But who plays for which Power?
That he could only wonder. And, finally, what were the stakes? And who would gain in the end?

He chuckled nervously to himself, sensing the coming climax. He could feel it—a tension in the very air around him. Was it his imagination, or did the city seem to wait, anticipating the final confrontation?

He shook himself free of the foreboding. When Power was involved, something had to be sacrificed as an offering. And, were that the case now, what was demanded? A life? Someone’s happiness? Did the red Power of Raven Hunter demand additional chaos and strife, or was Wolf Dreamer’s white Power the force that needed appeasement?

Let it be me,
he pleaded. He was old, tired of the burden he’d carried over so many trails, from one end of his earth to the other.
I have done your bidding, waiting for my time to atone.

He passed around the head of the sheer-walled ravine that separated the Skunk Clan palace from the high minko’s. The walls were almost vertical, having been dug out, the earth carried to build the high mound and to create a defensive barrier too steep to be stormed by warriors attacking from the river. In that narrow defile, a literal rain of arrows could be directed down on any hostile forces.

That was the way of men: the needs of war constantly in balance with the desires for peace.

In contrast, he would remember the glow in Heron
Wing’s face when she had returned from Trader’s. The effect had been as if she’d shed the weight of the ten hard winters since Trader’s disappearance. The woman had literally beamed with joy and anticipation, her steps airy.

Could that be the trap awaiting us? Is that the fatal flaw Smoke Shield’s Power has bet on?
The ramifications of Trader and Heron Wing being exposed were too painful to think about. Smoke Shield would strike with rage and merciless efficiency.

“Gods,” he whispered. “Love is our weakness here.”

But it was too late to step back. Trader and Heron Wing had met, each assured that their passion burned just as brightly as it had those long winters ago.

“You could kill us all,” he muttered unhappily.

He rounded the Skunk Clan mound and picked his way through the houses. If Smoke Shield hadn’t hesitated to kill a messenger under the protection of a white arrow, would he even pause at the notion of murdering his brother?

He rounded the corner of their house to find Trader seated on his log. The partially formed chunkey lance lay across his lap, forgotten, as Trader stared blissfully up at the sun. He seemed to radiate joy.

For the moment Old White watched him, emotions torn.
What did I miss in life that I never loved like that?

He considered the women he had known: the Forest Witch, Silver Loon, and all the others. Oh, his passion for them had burned brightly at first, a consuming fire that had roared into an inferno so hot it had scorched them both, only to fade into ashes as the fuel was spent.

Prodding himself forward, he walked up and settled wearily on the log. “So, she came.”

“She came.” Trader sounded Dreamy.

“I don’t suppose I need to remind you that she’s a married woman.”

Trader shot him a sour look.

Old White nodded. “That’s what I thought.” He rubbed his bony shins. “Well, when the time comes, given your influence with the woman, she’ll Trade us Morning Dew.” He chuckled. “She’s a sharp one. An excellent Trader. She’s going to hold out for all the advantage she can get. I think, in the long run, she’s going to be more concerned with long-term benefits to her people than all that Trade Old Woman Fox sent.”

Trader grunted noncommittally.

Old White shot a glance at their doorway. “Given your lack of concern, Two Petals must have returned.”

Trader’s rapture finally cracked. “You didn’t find her?”

“No.” Old White felt the first premonition. “No one even mentioned her. I thought surely she’d be back by now.”

Trader’s smile faded. “Did you ask Heron Wing about her?”

Old White made a face. “For some reason her mind was on other things.”

Trader shook his head. “It’s not like her to be gone this long. Something’s wrong. Let’s go find her. You take the Old Camp side; I’ll search the Hickory half.”

Old White sighed. The day had already worn him out. The notion of searching up and down through half of Split Sky City was dismal. He hitched himself to his feet. “Meet back here just after dark. It shouldn’t take that long. A Contrary usually generates a lot of attention. Just head toward the center of panic.”

Trader nodded, slapping his thigh to call Swimmer before he started off.

Old White took a breath, planning to crisscross back and forth between the palisade and the plaza.

Gods, tell me that the price we have to pay isn’t Two Petals!

A cold fear began to build deep between his souls.

Hair was such an amazing thing. Paunch ran a hand over his bald scalp after passing an old acquaintance. The man hadn’t even given him a second glance. Of course, Paunch had applied a healthy amount of puccoon root to his face, hands, and neck to darken and redden the skin. Somehow it made him look older, different.

The changes in his fate still left him off-balance, unsure what to make of life, the world around him, or the Power that seemed to swirl through the very air. Farmer one moment, then fugitive, captive, slave, and now he was free again, and in the service of his people.

He hurried through the gate, nodding at the warrior who stood there, and traced his way to Amber Bead’s house. There he scratched on the door, and was bid to enter.

He ducked past the hangings and into the dim room. Amber Bead sat by the smoking fire, a question on his face. “It is Paunch; you may come out.”

Lotus Root and her guards stepped out from the back room. She shot him a hard look, as if trying to pry out his true loyalties.

“I did just as you ordered. I made my way to their house just in time to see the Seeker leave. By staying far behind, I was able to see that he went to Heron Wing’s house. He was there for a time, and then she left. It was odd; he stayed there. The clan leader was gone for, oh, perhaps a hand of time, and then the Seeker went back to his house. I waited, but he and Trader just sat talking while Trader whittled on a stick. And I have no idea where the Contrary has gotten off to.”