People of the Thunder (North America's Forgotten Past) (26 page)

“And who could that be?”

“Wide Leaf has no idea, but she says that young men have been dispatched to most of the Albaamaha mikkos.” She looked back in the direction Wide Leaf had taken. “I hope to the gods that she’s careful.”

Morning Dew reached for the tea bottle again. “Drink?”

Heron Wing took the bottle and raised it to her lips. She didn’t even seem to taste the sweet tea, her gaze instead drifting toward the plaza, resting for a moment on the tchkofa. She seemed to ignore the two men practicing on the chunkey court. A knot of children were watching, shouting encouragement. “Whatever it is, Wide Leaf says that tension and speculation have grown overnight in the Albaamaha village. No one seems to know what’s happening, but it’s important enough that Amber Bead has left for the hills. He was gone before sunrise.”

“Amber Bead?” Morning Dew wondered. “I thought he was just an old man.”

Heron Wing gave an absent shrug. “I’ve always thought he was more; but then, what do I know?”

“I think you know a lot.”

“Most of the Council ignores him for the most part.”

Morning Dew considered that. “I don’t know him.”

“Maybe none of us are supposed to.”

“Meaning?”

“I’m not sure.” Heron Wing waved it off. “Perhaps it is nothing.”

“The Albaamaha could suspect what we do, that the raid was a sham.”

“Let’s go for a walk.”

“To the Albaamaha village?”

“No. I was thinking of the canoe landing. Maybe we should go poke around among the Traders. If anything is happening, that’s where the rumors fly.”

“What about my hickory oil?”

“It should be cool by the time you return. No one will bother it.”

Morning Dew slipped inside, finding capes for both of them, then matched Heron Wing’s stride as she started across the plaza.

“You and Wide Leaf have been together for a long time.”

Heron Wing smiled. “She raised me. I asked her once if she’d like to go home to the Koasati, but she just smiled. She told me she’s been here for most of her life. She’s not sure she’d know anyone down there. Honestly, it was a relief. Allowing her to be a spy worries me, though. People know we’re close.”

“You didn’t send her?”

“It was her idea. For years now, she has shared my counsel. Offered her own, in fact.” She made a face. “Once, years ago, I didn’t listen to her advice. I’ve never made that mistake again.”

“What advice was that?”

“She told me that if I married Smoke Shield, I would regret it.”

Enough said there.
“You seem to inspire loyalty from your slaves.”

Heron Wing laughed. “I have found that I can get more out of people by treating them with respect, listening to their ideas, and helping them than by ordering them around.” A pause. “It’s a skill that has served me and my people well over the years.”

“You would have made a formidable matron yourself.”

“No. Then I’d have to spend my life tied up in plotting, mischief, and politics.”

Morning Dew chuckled. In a more serious tone, she said, “I want to thank you for everything you’ve done for me. But for your advice, I’d be dead now. Or worse, broken and beaten. If I ever leave here, I hope that I can act with your wisdom and skill.”

They touched their foreheads as they passed the Tree of Life pole with its red-and-white spiral. To the right, the high minko’s palace rose as if to challenge the skies. A team of young girls were practicing stickball, passing, running, their long black hair flying out behind them. A group of boys watched, more interested in the girls than the game.

They passed Minko Vinegaroon’s massive mound, not as high as Flying Hawk’s but with a larger building atop it. Not only did the structure serve as the Skunk Clan chief’s, but its large council chamber was used to conduct most of the Old Camp Moiety’s internal business. At its base were the houses of the Skunk Clan leaders, their granaries, and society houses. Winding through these, Heron Wing called greetings to people.

Occasional dogs and children stepped out to watch them pass. The workshops where shell was processed sent the familiar onion odor into the air as men and women cut, ground, and incised beads and gorgets. To
the northwest stood the charnel house. When a member of the Skunk Clan died, he was taken there, laid out on benches, and his flesh carefully removed from the bone. Only after the proper rituals were completed were the bones given to relatives for final burial.

Morning Dew, though familiar with the scent of death, had never particularly cared for it.

Just past that they walked around the stoneworking shops where men ground and polished sandstone, granite, and claystones. Most of Split Sky City’s pipes, statuary, axes, adzes, and war clubs were finished here. Two lineages—with workshops across from each other—specialized in shaping sandstone disks for paint palettes.

Winding through tightly packed houses, Heron Wing led the way down the slope to the canoe landing. Morning Dew tried to remember the last time she had been here, walking in a half daze as she climbed the slope, her mind on captivity and the fate of her husband and family.

It seemed like a lifetime past. That day she’d been unable to see much for the press of people who had come to watch the returning warriors enter the city in triumph. Now, on an average day, the beach was lined with canoes drawn up parallel on the sand. The ground was black, stained from old campfires, rotting refuse, and almost glittering with flakes of stone, bits of broken pottery, and rocks spalled in the fires.

Ramadas were placed haphazardly: occasional shelter for Trade goods brought in from up and down the river. Here visitors from the other towns landed and displayed whatever goods they had brought with them. The blankets laid out on the ground created a colorful patchwork, their surfaces crowded with wooden bowls; boxes; folds of fabric; jars of corn, beans, squash, dried fruits, nuts; haunches of meat; hides; tools; and the other minutiae of Trade.

Heron Wing slowed as they passed a blanket set out by an Albaamaha family. A line of fish had been laid out, the dead eyes starting to dry, mouths agape.

“A good catch,” Heron Wing noted.

“Power was with us, great lady,” the fisherman said. His wife looked up, nodding, unsure what to say in the presence of a high-born Chikosi.

“Where are you from?” Heron Wing asked, bending down to inspect the largest of the catfish.

“Our farm lies south of Hickory Town. Just to the south.”

“Ah, you were away from the Chahta raid.”

“Oh, yes,” the man said quickly. “Fortunately, they went north. But we’re closer to the river, safer for the most part. Could I interest you in the fish?”

“No, not today, but he’s a fine one. I wish you the best of Trade.”

“And to you,” he said, and touched his chin.

One by one, they passed the blankets, talking, praising the goods.

“What do you think?” Morning Dew asked.

“I think whatever Wide Leaf heard, it hasn’t made it here, yet.”

Morning Dew looked around, then stopped to inspect a wooden bowl. It was a beautiful thing, made of walnut, carefully hollowed out, polished, and waxed to a sheen that accented the perfect grain. The handles had been formed in the shape of a raccoon’s head on one end, its tail on the other, rings rendered in the carving. The four five-fingered feet had been cunningly carved into the bowl’s legs so that it stood free.

“You like that?” a young Sky Hand man asked.

“It’s beautiful.”

“So are you,” he said brazenly. “And for you, I would make a special Trade. Just a little something and a smile are all it would take to send my souls into flight.”

“What kind of something did you have in mind?” Heron Wing asked.

The man shrugged. “I am Gray Squirrel, of the Deer Clan and Old Camp Moiety. From up at Thunder Town. I just Traded for this bowl. But for the Chahta raid, I’d have brought it down sooner. I obtained this most special bowl from a friend of mine. He’s half Yuchi, half Sky Hand. Now, he lives on the other side of the divide. He’s got a Yuchi wife, you see.”

“Yuchi?” Heron Wing asked, impressed. “It’s good work for the Yuchi.”

“They do all right,” Gray Squirrel agreed. “But this bowl isn’t Yuchi. It comes from the Illinios way up on the Mother Water. Look at the excellence of this workmanship. You don’t see the like among the Yuchi.” He cocked his head, looking shrewdly at the bowl. “Now, a piece like this would make a wondrous gift . . . perhaps something to give at a marriage, or perhaps for a special occasion like the Busk Feast. Then again, maybe you have a cherished uncle, someone who has spent most of his life as a teacher and guardian.”

Morning Dew ran her fingers over the smooth wood. “What news did your Trader friend tell you of the Yuchi?”

“The most incredible things.” Gray Squirrel sat back knowingly. “They are bursting with news.”

“Not about Chahta raiders, I hope.” Morning Dew carefully replaced the bowl and picked up a wooden cup decorated with the Seeing Hand design.

“No, not the Chahta. The big news on the Tenasee is that Traders came through from the north. Remarkable Traders, like in the old days. That’s where this bowl came from. It cost me a shell cup that my Yuchi friend has been admiring for years. These Traders brought all kinds of wondrous goods, and the blind Priest up there . . . you’ve heard of him?”

“I have,” Heron Wing agreed. “The one who escaped from us summers ago.”

“Yes, he’s the one. He saw them coming.”

“I thought you said he’s blind.” Morning Dew, herself, had heard of the Kala Hi’ki. The greatest of the Yuchi Priests, he lived at Rainbow City.

“Nevertheless, my Yuchi Trader friend told me the Priest saw them coming. Who knows? Perhaps he actually got word from the Kaskinampo. Those people are thick with each other.”

“And these Traders?” Heron Wing asked absently, her eyes straying to the next blanket.

“That’s the remarkable thing. One was a Contrary, a woman. She sees everything backward. The other is supposed to be the legendary Seeker. You know, the man who has traveled all over the world. But the biggest thing was a chunkey game.”

Heron Wing had taken a half step, her attention on the next blanket. She was interested in Albaamaha rumors, not Yuchi ones. Still, Morning Dew hesitated, loath to leave the magnificent raccoon bowl. “Chunkey is chunkey,” she said.

“Not this game. The young Trader played for the Traders’ lives against Chief Born-of-Sun. They had to play to twenty-one. And on the last cast, the young Trader made the cast of a lifetime.” Gray Squirrel grinned. “He shattered his lance on the stone.”

“I thought you said there was only a Contrary and the Seeker?”

Heron Wing was clearly impatient, but too well mannered to drag her away.

“Ah, but there is a third.” Gray Squirrel reached down, lifting the bowl, fully aware that Heron Wing wanted to take herself to the next blanket. “And here’s the odd part. The young Trader, he’s Sky Hand.”

“Sky Hand?” Morning Dew asked, reluctant not to
reach for the bowl one last time. What did she, a slave, have to Trade for such a piece?

“He goes by the name of Trader—that’s how he’s known on the river—but according to what my friend told me, his name is really Green Snake.”

The gasp caught both Morning Dew and Gray Squirrel by surprise. They both turned to see Heron Wing, mouth open, staring wide-eyed.

“I’m sorry,” Gray Squirrel asked. “Do you know this Green Snake?”

Heron Wing stepped back on shaken legs. “What did you hear of him?”

“The story told up on the Tenasee is that he’s traveling with the Seeker and this Contrary. He and Born-of-Sun played chunkey at the solstice. The Yuchi wanted to keep the Seeker and the Contrary. But this Trader, Green Snake, won the match.”

Heron Wing seemed to have trouble finding her voice, and the look of confusion on her face left Morning Dew staring in disbelief.

“Did . . . Did you hear anything else about him?”

Gray Squirrel hesitated, apparently unsure how to use this newfound interest to his best advantage. “I heard that he’s Sky Hand. Supposedly Chief Clan, which is why Born-of-Sun . . . Are you all right?”

Heron Wing’s eyes had lost focus, her hand going to her breast. A pinched frown lined her brow. She reached down, running her fingers along the raccoon bowl’s smooth wood, touching . . . what?

“What would you Trade for the bowl?” Morning Dew asked, distracting Gray Squirrel.

“Oh, it would take a lot,” Gray Squirrel replied, sensing his advantage.

“A moment ago, you just asked for my smile and a little something,” Morning Dew reminded, flashing him her best smile.

“This bowl came straight from Green Snake’s canoe,”
he shot back, no doubt guessing that such information could drive his Trade higher.

Heron Wing slipped a trembling hand into her belt pouch. She withdrew a small copper pendant, one of the hanging scalp designs that featured a spinning four-legged spiral, below which hung a narrowing tail of copper. The design was indicative of the four directions of the turning heavens. It had been hung from a shell-beaded thong.

He took it, frowning. “I don’t know . . .”

“That belonged to War Chief Smoke Shield,” Heron Wing said, swallowing hard. “I won it from him during the solstice games. He in turn received it from the
Hopaye
Pale Cat. It was a marriage gift.”

“I’m not sure,” Gray Squirrel said cautiously. “This could be from anyone.”

Morning Dew pointed a finger. “Under the Power of Trade, that is the truth. Take the copper pendant. As it had belonged to Smoke Shield, you can Trade it for
ten
bowls among the Yuchi.”

“That bowl comes from—”

“Take it, or leave it,” Morning Dew insisted, holding her hand out for the pendant.

“It is a Trade,” Gray Squirrel said, clutching his fingers around the pendant. Heron Wing reverently lifted the bowl, staring at it as if it were precious beyond belief.

“Oh, and one last thing,” Gray Squirrel told them, sure they wouldn’t back out now. “If you can believe the stories the Yuchi tell, this Green Snake is supposedly on his way here.”

“What?” Heron Wing asked anxiously.
“Here?”