People of the Thunder (North America's Forgotten Past) (47 page)

Smoke Shield had revelations when he was in the sweat lodge. Something about the close, hot darkness and the biting steam that prickled on his skin. Here there were no distractions, just the darkness and the heat. Notions and ideas came upon him, usually to be brought to fruition later, as had happened with the White Arrow Town and the Chahta raids. Now he was considering the Prophet.

Nothing in Smoke Shield’s life had prepared him for Two Petals. The woman filled his thoughts as he spooned water onto the hot stones. It exploded as it trickled over the hot rocks, bathing his slick skin in steam.

He gasped, drawing the heat into his nose and throat. It prickled along his arms, coaxing sweat to bead. He leaned his head back in the darkness, and whispered, “Thank you, Power.”

That it had sent the woman to him was a gift, one that he still could not comprehend.

“Nephew?” his uncle’s voice called.

Rot it all, why did the man always have to interrupt him here?

“Coming.”

He reached out, muscles lax from the heat, and pulled back the hanging. He crawled out into the cool daylight to find Flying Hawk standing with his arms
crossed, a dark look on his face. Smoke Shield climbed unsteadily to his feet, slicking the moisture from his wet skin.

“Blood Skull tells me that you have recalled the scouts from the Horned Serpent River Divide. Is this true?”

“It is.”

“Why? By the gods, they’re our eyes on the Chahta!”

“I did it to allow Great Cougar to send his warriors into my trap.”

“Trap? What trap? This afternoon the Albaamaha mikkos are meeting to discuss moving our supplies north!”

Smoke Shield chuckled to himself. “Do you trust Power, Uncle?” He cast it away. “Of course you do. That’s why you’ve been brooding over the murder of the Yuchi. Forget it. White Power is weak, draining away like the falling river after a flood. Soon it will be gone. Faded. The red Power is in ascendance.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Let me ask you, what is the last thing you would expect Great Cougar to attempt?”

Flying Hawk frowned. “A massed strike at Split Sky City.”

“Good answer—and the right one. I should have seen it myself.” Smoke Shield looked down at his glistening body. He tightened the muscles in his belly, enjoying the way the light gleamed on the rounded knots outlined under his skin. He could almost feel Two Petals’ fingers skipping lightly across them before dropping lower.
No, don’t think about it. Not now.
He didn’t want his shaft stiffening in front of Flying Hawk.

“Great Cougar is going to strike at Split Sky City?”

“That’s just what he’s going to do.” He forced his gaze to meet the old man’s. “Uncle, did you know that our scouts have grown bored? Did you know that some
have even taken to gambling with the Chahta, sharing fires?”

Flying Hawk blinked, slowly shaking his head. “What?”

“They’ve been out in the forest for how long? Think about it. What’s a lonely, bored man going to do? The Chahta speak our language. We have the same customs and rituals. And now that they’re sharing food, gaming, swapping stories, what kind of easy prey would they be for the cunning Great Cougar?”

“I don’t believe it.”

“Of course not. We aren’t meant to.” He looked around at the city. “Not that I have any particular fondness for the fools, but I have called most of them back rather than allow them to be needlessly butchered.” He waved it off. “Oh, I left just enough to be captured by Great Cougar. He’s probably on his way now, followed by a horde of warriors.”

“How do you know all this?” Then Flying Hawk’s face brightened. “You have a spy?”

“Oh, yes. One sent by Power. She has told me things.”

“This woman you keep in your quarters?”

“The very same.” Smoke Shield flexed his right arm, watching the muscles bulge.

“And how does she know these things?”

“She has seen the future and told me how it will all happen,” Smoke Shield said, looking off to the south.

Flying Hawk clearly thought he was raving, but just enough doubt remained. To still it, Smoke Shield said, “Oh, it will occur just like she says it will, Uncle. And what if I had ordered our warriors north? When Great Cougar drove his forces through the hills to the west, there would be nothing to stop him. Split Sky City would be like a fresh ear of corn, ready for the shucking.”

“But our plans . . .”

“
I
have changed them.” Smoke Shield crossed his
muscular arms. “So when the Great Cougar’s warriors arrive, we shall crush them like a nut between two stones.”

“What of the outlying farmsteads? Even if the scouts are captured—as you insist they will be—we’ll see smoke, and the Albaamaha will come fleeing before them!”

“Great Cougar’s plan is to make haste. He’ll leave the Albaamaha alone for the time being, figuring he can burn them out on the way back as a distraction to lure us into ambush after ambush. I don’t intend on letting him do that. Just the opposite, actually. I want to drive his survivors east, into the hills. They’ll be easier to hunt down that way.”

“Your spy told you all this?”

“She sees the future. Power is my ally, Uncle.” Smoke Shield’s eyes narrowed. “And don’t you forget it. Act against me, and I will know.”

He had asked the Prophet,
“Should I kill Flying Hawk now and become high minko?”

“No.”
She had stared into his eyes, a slight smile on her lips.
“He still has a role to play. Flying Hawk’s moment of surprise must be complete. Only when sad tears well in his eyes will he fully understand.”

Smoke Shield narrowed his gaze as he studied his baffled uncle. Yes, he would enjoy the sight of the old man’s tears. For that promised moment alone, he would bide his time.

Flying Hawk lifted his arms helplessly. “Blood Skull also tells me that you have ordered the warriors to make camp north and east of the city.”

“That’s right. I want any of Great Cougar’s spies who might slip through to think we’re unprepared. He will see an unsuspecting city, our defenses collapsed and laid flat. In that last moment, the discipline of his warriors will break. They will charge forward expecting an easy slaughter . . . revenge for White Arrow
Town. And then I shall hit them from each side. The surprise will be complete.”

“Your spy told you all this?”

“Some. The Prophet may know the future, but I know war.”

Flying Hawk nodded, a strange light in his eyes. “But . . . what about the Yuchi?”

Smoke Shield laughed. “Power will warn me. The Prophet will tell me the way to smash the Yuchi. And after I demonstrate my leadership by breaking the Chahta, my warriors will follow me to the ends of the earth!”

As he sat before his house, Trader ran the shaft of his new chunkey lance through his hands, feeling irregularities in the wood. Then he reached down for the damp piece of hide. He’d dabbed it on a bowl of finely sifted sand. Wrapping the sand-impregnated hide around the shaft, he began laboriously running it up and down the wood, smoothing and shaping.

“We have more than enough to worry about as it is,” Old White said mildly. “Do I need to remind you that the last person Two Petals was seen talking to was Smoke Shield? I don’t need to tell you how the Chikosi feel about a married woman bedding any man she’s not supposed to.”

“I said, leave it be.”

Old White sighed before he looked down at Swimmer. “Your master could kill us all.”

Swimmer thumped his tail in reply, then dove for his stick, figuring that any attention was an open invitation.

Trader growled under his breath, then added, “Last night was a miracle, a Dream. I would not Trade that for anything.”

Old White tossed the stick. “Just don’t forget who she’s married to.” He watched the dog charge off, catch the stick on a bounce, and come trotting back. “Hang it, where is Paunch?”

“Maybe the Albaamaha mikkos delayed the meeting?” Trader lifted the lance, staring down its length with a practiced eye. “One of them might be late getting here. Even if equinox is tomorrow.”

“Paunch should have at least come and told us that it was postponed.”

A female voice spoke in accented Mos’kogee. “They refused to let him come for you.”

Trader glanced up and stared.
“Whippoorwill?”

The slim woman rounded the corner of their house, her long hair shining. She wore a clean brown dress belted at her narrow waist. Her feet were clad in moccasins, and she carried a fabric pack over one shoulder. Slim brown fingers clutched the strap. Whatever the pack contained, it wasn’t very heavy, but bulky, with irregular knobs and lumps sticking out here and there.

She walked up, cocking her head, and Trader almost shivered at the sight of those knowing dark eyes. “My sister sent me. Come.”

“Your sister?” Old White asked.

“The Contrary. She’s busy. If you still wish to address the mikkos, you must come with me.”

“Why are you doing this?” Old White asked.

“Because Power is battling over the future. I am on the side of my people.”

Trader reached for his war club while Old White grabbed up his pouch of herbs. After giving the reluctant Swimmer a stern order to stay, they hurried after the girl.

“They wouldn’t let Paunch come?” Old White asked.

“Lotus Root and her people don’t trust you.”

Trader kept shooting glances at the woman. Whippoorwill seemed completely oblivious to the fact that
she’d vanished in the night after coupling with him on a distant river.

“Where have you been?” Trader demanded.

She gave him an eerie glance. “Where I needed to be.”

Shaking his head, Trader was aware of Old White’s prying look. But the Seeker held his peace as they threaded their way through houses. They skirted around the plaza where people were congregating in expectation of a stickball game between Thunder and High Towns. Walking wide of the crowd, they exited the south gate. Whippoorwill, Trader noticed, walked with an airy grace. She almost seemed to float as she led them serenely through the Albaamaha village and down a slight rise to a large Council House.

There, two burly Albaamaha stepped forward to bar their progress. Trader recognized both men from the night at Amber Bead’s. “No one may pass. This is Albaamaha business.”

“Power calls them,” Whippoorwill said, as if that were explanation enough.

“I said,
woman
, that no one will pass.”

Old White stepped forward, withdrawing his hand from his large belt pouch. “We would speak with the mikkos.”

“Go away, old man.” The Albaamo grinned.

“And you.” The other smacked his club into his hard left palm as he grinned at Trader. “You’ve got a club. Try and use it, please.”

Old White sighed, raising his hand. “Have either of you ever seen chili?”

Both bent to stare at the fine red powder on the Seeker’s hand. Old White blew.

“You old fool!” one cried. The other backpedaled, wiping at his face.

The second man barely hesitated, his club swinging in an arc, cracking loudly as Trader blocked it. But before
he could strike a counterblow, the man sneezed. Then both were sneezing and then pawing at their faces.

“Witched!” the first howled. “We’re
witched
!”

The second man had dropped his club, hands to his face. He staggered back against the wall, sniffing and coughing.

Whippoorwill walked past them, unconcerned, through the doorway.

“I’m going to have to get some of that,” Trader told Old White.

“I’m afraid the source is far, far from here.”

Trader ducked through the doorway and stepped into the Albaamaha Council House. The place was rude in comparison to the fine buildings other peoples constructed for the purpose. The benches were uncovered, the floor just dirt without matting. High overhead the wall poles had been bent together and tied, saplings running between them and covered with thatch. A crackling fire burned in the center.

About the margins, a collection of twelve old men were seated along with assorted women of similar age.

Lotus Root held the floor, a warrior’s bow in her hands, arrows scattered at her feet. She gaped in disbelief.

“Master!” Paunch cried from the side. “Trust me, I tried to . . . Whippoorwill?” He struggled to his feet, rushing across the floor to hug his granddaughter. “By the Ancestors, I was so worried about you! Where have you been?”

“Bringing the Traders,” she said simply, and walked over to Lotus Root. “You will let them speak. Red Awl’s ghost knows. Like me, he too has seen. He was right all along.”

“You dare call up my husband’s ghost?” Lotus Root’s eyes widened.

Whippoorwill slung the pack from her back, handing
it over. “This is what you seek. He is here, returned from where the Chikosi left him.”

Trader watched Lotus Root take the pack, open it, and glance inside. She started, swallowed hard, and sank to the floor as if her legs had lost all strength.

Old White walked over to Lotus Root. The woman looked dazed. He reached down, pulled the fabric on the pack back with one finger to glance inside, and then let it fall closed again.