People of the Thunder (North America's Forgotten Past) (33 page)

“Come, the high minko awaits you.”

He followed Black Hand through the gate, finding the area enclosed by the palisade to be suddenly cramped, the building taking up most of the space. Two fierce-looking eagles had been fashioned for guardian posts. They watched him pass with malevolent eyes. He rounded the corner of the building, finding that the entry faced east.

More guardian posts confronted him with threatening visages.

At the Great Palace door, Black Hand called in Mos’kogee, “A Yuchi messenger, High Minko.”

“Send him in,” a voice answered. “Guard the door, Warrior. No one must pass.”

“Yes, High Minko.”

Bullfrog Pipe saw surprise and no little disappointment on Black Hand’s face. Bullfrog Pipe mustered all of his courage and stepped inside. As he entered the room, he held the white arrow before him as if tendering an offering.

The room was impressive, but not more so than Born-of-Sun’s. Only the huge carving of the Seeing Hand on the rear wall startled him. That single eye seemed to be looking right through to his souls. The old Yuchi relief
on the opposite wall reassured him. When had the Chikosi stolen it? What tales of woe and suffering could it have told?

He walked forward, taking a position before the fire. There he raised the white arrow over his head, the slim shaft resting on his open palms. “I am Bullfrog Pipe, of the Chief Society, and born into the Bear Clan. I come here as a messenger of the Tsoyaha. I am sent by High Chief Born-of-Sun. I bear my high chief’s blessing with words to be given to the Council of the Sky Hand.” He spoke in flawless Mos’kogee, one of the reasons he had been chosen for this great task.

The high minko was an older man, white haired, with a gleaming copper headpiece supported by a tight bun pulled severely behind his head. He wore a spotless white apron, its point hanging down almost to his knees. A stone ceremonial mace rested in his hands. This would be Flying Hawk. He looked oddly worried, worn, and old. His face was lined, as if the weight of leadership had grown too great.

The man who walked off to his right was young and muscular; a terrible scar marred the side of his face. He watched Bullfrog Pipe with a curious intensity in his black eyes. The scarred man stood stiffly, as if his back were immobile. A thick thong was pulled into his throat, as though it were tied too tight. He, too, wore a white apron. Something about him didn’t seem right. Even standing the man radiated the bunched energy of a cougar ready to pounce.

The high minko spoke. “I am Flying Hawk, high minko of the Sky Hand Mos’kogee, of the Hickory Moiety, born of the Chief Clan. You are welcome here.” He indicated the scar-faced man. “This is War Chief Smoke Shield, also of the Hickory Moiety and the Chief Clan. We wait to hear the words of the Yuchi high chief.”

“Bullfrog Pipe?” Smoke Shield asked. “What kind of name is that?”

Bullfrog Pipe shot the warrior a sidelong look. Why did the man insist on standing off to the side? Or was this some silly protocol the Chikosi adhered to? “It is a name of great honor. Among my people, it is told that in the beginning days, Wind sent his four sons off to the west. Many days passed but none returned. Wind became concerned. He, himself, went west, taking a bullfrog pipe with a pipe stem made of a snake. When he reached the land of Stone Man, he realized that this was the being who had harmed his four sons. Though Stone Man tried to trick Wind, he cunningly evaded all of Stone Man’s sorcery. Because Stone Man was made of rock, no weapon could kill him. To achieve that end, Wind built a smoke in his bullfrog pipe, and using sacred tobacco, blew the smoke through the pipe, onto Stone Man. When Stone Man inhaled the smoke, it killed him. Thereafter, Wind was able to retrieve his sons from the waters where Stone Man had drowned them.”

“Ah.” Flying Hawk nodded. “Yes, I have heard that story. Your people must have great respect for you to have given you that name.” He arched an eyebrow. “I would hope that you do not consider me to be Stone Man.”

“No, High Minko. Though our peoples are enemies, my message is carried in peace. With my chief’s blessing, I bear the words of another party for your people.”

“And what might that message be?” Smoke Shield asked mildly.

“I am supposed to deliver those words to your Council.”

Flying Hawk made a dismissive gesture. “And so you shall, brave Yuchi.” Then he smiled warmly. “Very well, we can all relax now.” He stepped down off his tripod, walking forward, taking Bullfrog Pipe’s hand.
“Be welcome here. I have sent for food and drink. You must have had a long trip. Tell me about it.”

Bullfrog Pipe met the man’s warm smile with his own. “I thank you for your greeting, High Minko. It was a long trip. I ran overland from the Tenasee to the headwaters of the Black Warrior. There, I bartered with one of your Traders for a canoe. When I encountered your people on the river, I called out to them in friendship, and extended the white arrow of peace to show them my intentions were honorable and protected by the white Power. I am proud to be bound by that Power.”

Flying Hawk nodded. “Though our peoples are enemies, you will receive the treatment of an honored guest.” He stepped over to one of the wall benches and retrieved a wooden gorget carved in the shape of a water cougar, its back sprouting wings. This he handed to Bullfrog Pipe. “I offer you a token of our respect. Take this as a gift. When you return to your people, you can show them that we treat your chief’s messengers with respect and honor.”

Bullfrog Pipe studied the piece. Hung on a deerhide thong, it was beautifully carved.

“Our woodworkers are among the finest,” Flying Hawk said frankly. “This comes from a man named, fittingly enough, Woodpecker. His pieces are in great demand all the way down to the gulf. Some have been Traded as far as the Calusa.”

“It is beautiful, High Minko.”

Flying Hawk smiled happily. “It pleases me that you like it.” He paused. “Now, about this message, what can I do to help you?”

“I need but deliver it to your Council. That is all.”

Flying Hawk’s brows lifted in amusement. “Oh, no, my friend. Our politics are anything but as easy as that. Your chief would not have sent us a message if he didn’t expect a favorable outcome.” He slapped the heavy
mace against the palm of his left hand. “If this is a peace offer, I may be able to anticipate the objections of some Council members. If this concerns territory, others could be approached with certain discretion and made more amenable.” He shot a knowing look at Bullfrog Pipe. “That is, if I agree with your chief’s objectives.”

“I see what you mean, but no, High Minko. My message concerns none of these things.”

“You said that you carried another’s message through your chief. Could it be from the Chahta? We are looking for a way to smooth our relations with them. A prolonged war will do neither of our peoples any good.”

“No, it is from one of your people, actually.”

From his expression, Flying Hawk expected any answer but this. “One of my people?”

“He and his party came to us just before solstice. The Kala Hi’ki saw them in a vision. The Trader is a man of your moiety and clan. He played the most remarkable game of chunkey! I, myself, lost many of my most prized possessions betting on the high chief to beat the Sky Hand man. They played evenly, High Minko. Right up the last cast, when Green Snake splintered his lance on the stone. It was a thing of Power.”

“Green Snake?” Flying Hawk said in disbelief. “Did you say Green Snake?
My nephew?
”

“Yes, my message is to inform your Council that Green Snake is returning to his people.”

Flying Hawk actually staggered, his legs seeming to go weak, his expression dazed.

Bullfrog Pipe stepped forward, steadying the old man’s elbow. “High Minko, are you all right? Can I—”

He caught the barest of movement behind him, thinking that Smoke Shield, too, was rushing forward to steady the old man. The whistling of a war club cutting the air was his only warning—then lightning and pain blasted through his head. His skull snapped and
jerked at the impact. He had a momentary feeling of falling; then his body bounced on the matting, his vision blurring, the world growing ever more gray and distant. . . .

Flying Hawk stumbled away from the falling Yuchi, barely catching himself before he toppled into the fire. In the process, he dropped his mace. The war club’s slapping impact as it broke the Yuchi’s skull rang in his ears. He’d had misgivings when Smoke Shield hung the strap of his club around his neck, letting it dangle down his back.

Unable to stand, Flying Hawk sat weakly, staring incomprehensibly at the dying Yuchi. The man’s arms and legs twitched, his open eyes staring with disbelief. His mouth formed a questioning O as his sight dimmed and the pupils expanded. Blood was leaking from the back of his head, pooling bright and thick on the matting.

“What did you do?” Flying Hawk whispered.

“I killed him!” Smoke Shield said through gritted teeth. “Green Snake? Living among the Yuchi? He’s up there . . . spreading his poison? No one must know this.”

“Green Snake?” Flying Hawk asked in amazement. “After all these years?”

“High Minko? Is something wrong?” Black Hand called from the doorway.

“The high minko is attacked!” Smoke Shield bellowed before Flying Hawk could gather his wits. “Quickly! Run and fetch the
Hopaye
! Go now, man! Hurry!”

Black Hand turned and vanished.

“But, I am not wounded.”

Smoke Shield bent down, peering into his eyes. “It will have to be a flesh wound, enough of a gash to enrage our people.”

“Why?” He was shaking his head.
Green Snake? He is alive among the Yuchi? Coming home, after all these years?

“Because we were looking for a reason to make war on the Yuchi, remember?”

The Yuchi? I thought we wanted them to attack the Chahta.

Smoke Shield closed his eyes as if struggling for control, his shoulders trembling. “Green Snake! Gods, what evil is he spinning against us?” Flying Hawk could hear the man’s teeth grinding. “Why now, of all times?”

“He still lives,” Flying Hawk whispered. “After all these years without word . . .” He glanced at Smoke Shield. “I honestly had come to believe that you killed him that night. That somehow you had hidden his body.”

“I only wish, Uncle.”

“Green Snake lives.”

“No!” Smoke Shield thrust a hard finger in emphasis. “You will say
nothing
of this. Not yet. This is our secret, Uncle. No one is to know until the time is right.”

The smoldering anger in Smoke Shield’s eyes was warning enough.
He’s thinking of killing me. Blaming it on the Yuchi.
“Yes, yes, you’re right.” Fear focused his wits. “Quickly, go through the Yuchi’s things. Yes, there, that knife. Someone will be here soon.” He pointed. “Here, across the chest.” He met Smoke Shield’s hot eyes. “But not too deeply, Nephew, or I shall scream loudly enough that they will know I died long after the Yuchi did.”

A faint smile crossed Smoke Shield’s lips. “Does that mean you don’t trust me, Uncle?”

“You shall be high minko soon enough without rushing things along. Crushing the Chahta will leave no opposition to your confirmation.”

The slash was lightning fast. It didn’t even begin to sting until Flying Hawk looked down. Blood was welling from a deep but clean cut across his breast.

Oh, yes, we shall have our warriors. Once again, Power has played right into Smoke Shield’s hands.

Flying Hawk considered, a slow smile growing. “I am glad I am not your enemy.”

“Yes, Uncle. I know.”

Then feet pounded outside, accompanied by rising shouts. Flying Hawk looked at the dead Yuchi. The man’s blood was soaking the white arrow.
He came here under the white Power of peace. May Breath Maker help me. What have we brought down on ourselves?

But then Flying Hawk had no time to worry about offended Power. He looked up to see the great room filling with angry people.

“Yuchi treachery!” Smoke Shield bellowed. “The high minko is wounded!”

As Flying Hawk was lifted, he thought,
Green Snake is alive!

But what did it mean?

Somewhere in the distance, thunder rumbled, as though the heavens were enraged.