People of the Thunder (North America's Forgotten Past) (49 page)

Old White sighed, stretched his aching back muscles, and rolled his arms as he stepped out into the frosty night and away from the Albaamaha Council House. Low clouds scudded from the north, breaths of wind tugging at him. His entire body longed to do nothing more than lie down and sleep. He yawned as he looked back at the Council House. Yellow light glowed from the doorway, people standing around in knots, speaking in low voices.

Off to one side, Trader talked to Whippoorwill. Was it Old White’s imagination, or did a large black wolf lurk in the inky shadows behind her? He blinked, craning his neck, but the thing had faded into the night.

I must be tired. I’m seeing things.

Lotus Root emerged, squinted in the darkness, and walked over to him, the bulky fabric sack cradled in her arms. She stopped an arm’s length away, as if uncertain.

“It’s all right,” he said. “Whatever it is that you wish to say to me.”

“I am still uncertain.”

“So are we all,” Old White agreed.

“Did you mean what you said in there?”

“I did.”

She looked away, as if searching for something in the night. “If only I could believe Whippoorwill’s vision is true.”

“It will be.”

“A great deal remains to be seen.”

He smiled. “Do you understand what you must do? How difficult it will be?”

“I do.” She looked up, arms clutching the fabric pack to her chest. “How do you think she found him?”

“She said he called to her . . . that she dove down to find him.”

“How could she have known?”

“Because it is a thing of Power.” Old White glanced at Whippoorwill’s slim form. “I think your people would be well served to follow her counsel.”

Lotus Root gave him a level stare. “You know, Chikosi, I will never forgive you.”

“I know, and I understand.” He smiled. “But I have learned many things in my travels: One is that nothing is forever. Not even Split Sky City, though the Chikosi and Albaamaha may go on for a long time yet.”

“Then I shall see you when I am called.” With that she turned, walking off into the darkness, her bundle clutched to her chest.

Amber Bead had waited discreetly. “Seeker?”

“Yes?”

“The runners have been dispatched. We shall know soon enough if what you say about Great Cougar is true.”

“If Trader and I are wrong, it is an inconvenience. Assuming we are right, however, it will save everyone a great deal of grief.”

Amber Bead scuffed at the dirt with his foot. “No matter. We still have a great deal to overcome. It does not pay to underestimate Smoke Shield.” He looked back at Trader. “You are wagering that the Council will take the word of a stranger and a disgraced Chikosi . . . Chief Clan though he might be.”

“That is true.”

The old man sighed, looking back at the mikkos. “Come the morning, there will be doubts.”

“There always are.”

Amber Bead shook his head. “I have never placed much faith in Power. Too often its name has been invoked to the detriment of my people.”

“And it will again, no doubt. But for the moment, Trader and I must ride this river, and trust to the forces that have brought all of us together.”

“Bringing Smoke Shield and Flying Hawk down, let alone convincing the Council—this may kill us all.”

“No man lives forever, Amber Bead.”

“No. But then, I have no desire to end my days on a Chikosi square.” And with that he walked away.

Old White took a tired breath, seeing that Trader was alone. He hadn’t seen Whippoorwill leave, but Trader stood, head down, as if lost in thought.

Old White walked over, and said, “It’s late, Trader. I’m so tired you may have to carry me home.”

“Age has crept up on you?”

“That and a lack of sleep. If you find a woman in your bed tonight, would you mind moving your blankets outside?”

Trader stared back at the darkness where Whippoorwill had stood. “When she left, she called me husband.”

“Lucky Trader.”

They started for the dim trail that led up onto the terrace.

Trader asked, “What was in the pack Whippoorwill gave to Lotus Root?”

“Bones.”

“Red Awl’s?”

“So it would seem.”

“Do you think we solved anything back there?”

“That, my young friend, is going to depend on the future.” He sighed. “All we have to do is discredit Smoke Shield and Flying Hawk, manage to stay alive, and figure
out a way to keep Great Cougar and his warriors from killing any Chikosi. Or the other way around.”

“Right. Overthow a high minko and his tricky war chief, and stop a war. Shouldn’t be any trouble at all. If Heron Wing, Swimmer, my canoe, and I are missing in the morning, you carry on without us.”

“And then there’s Two Petals.”

“She can carry on, too.”

“Your confidence is so reassuring.”

It was then that the first stiff gust of wind came howling down from the north.

The equinox celebration barely had a chance. The rituals, of course, were attended to, offerings made at sunrise to thank Mother Sun for her journey north and the promise of the planting season that would begin with the first new moon.

The games were poorly attended, stickball matches more battles against the blowing wind than the opposing teams. Most people spent the day struggling to keep the thatch from peeling off their roofs and their possessions from tumbling away. The celebratory feasts were held inside buildings that swayed and rocked as gusts savaged them, whistling and hissing around gaps in the eaves.

Anything that wasn’t tied down went twirling away, including baskets, latrine screens, ramada roofs, and occasional bits of fabric. Little whirlwinds, spawned in the gaps between houses, sucked up bits of debris, charcoal, and ash, and batted them this way and that. Fine grit filtered down into stew pots and coated bedding, food, and matting.

People passed with their arms up, trying to shield
their eyes and mouths from the grit, bits of thatch, and matting that pattered against them.

Trader and Old White had slept late, hardly bothered by the shuddering house around them. The poles creaked and groaned while the wind sang a rasping sound through the thatch. Particles of soot filtered down, shaken loose from above, only to scurry this way and that as they rode the draft. Trader had tied the door hanging by its corners to keep it from flapping, but it batted back and forth with crisp snaps.

The draft carried away the fire’s heat, wicking it in all directions. Trader grumbled to himself, poking at the embers that boiled their smilax, lotus, and hominy corn stew.

“We could have done without this,” Old White muttered, his buffalohide cape pulled tight around his shoulders.

“Thankfully, we’re not out on the river.” Trader studied Swimmer where he lay beside one of the pole beds. His normally black hair was tinged gray with fine soot and dust.

“Put a lid over that,” Old White suggested as a beetle fell from the weakened thatch, just missing the stew pot.

“You worried about eating a beetle?”

“Food’s food,” Old White told him. “Among the Yamparika I ate crickets, grasshoppers, and other things. In dry years they make nets and drive the hoppers like we do deer. Then they smack them with flails. They grind them up on stones, make a kind of bread out of them, and bake it on flat rocks. But here, who knows? Some beetles can be poison. Among the Azteca I heard of people mashing them to make poison for their arrows.”

Trader hurriedly placed a flat piece of bark over the rim. “Poison beetles?”

Old White shrugged. “My guess is that beetles don’t like being eaten any more than any other creature.”

Outside they could hear someone shouting. Voices—barely audible over the din—called back and forth, then faded. Then more people ran past, their words carried away with the wind.

“What do you suppose that’s about?” Trader glanced at the door.

Old White looked up at the roof, then cocked his head to listen. He sniffed the angry air. “I don’t see our house falling apart, can’t hear anything collapsing, and I can’t smell smoke, so nothing upwind is burning. Whatever it is, someone else can handle it.”

Trader made a face. If fire broke out on a day like this, everything downwind would go up. “I saw a town like that. Over among the Caddo. They had a big wind, and one of the houses caught fire. Burned the whole place down. Killed ten, maybe twenty people.”

Old White extended his hands to the coals. “Can’t think of a better reason to build a roof from earth. Now, down in the southwest, you’ve got to work to burn one of the towns. All the walls are made of dried mud bricks or stone. They put dirt over the roof. To burn those towns you have to set a hot fire inside, something that will catch the inside poles on fire.”

“I’ll keep that in mind next time I have to burn a southwestern town.”

Trader checked under the lid to see the stew boiling. “How do you think Great Cougar is doing? He and his warriors must be having a miserable time of it. If he’s on the way, the trees are lashing, branches cracking and falling. Some of the old forest giants will be crashing to the ground.”

“Better him than us.” Old White stared thoughtfully at the coals. “Might slow him down some. If he’s at the head of that big a war party, it’ll give him fits.”

Trader pulled out their bowls. “You really think Smoke Shield has Two Petals?”

Old White took his bowl, lifted the lid off the pot,
and dipped out some of the boiling stew. “That would be my best guess. If she were anywhere else, we’d hear. A Contrary, as you well know, causes commotion. But if he had her hidden away in the palace he might be able to keep a lid on her just like we’ve done with that pot.”

Trader sighed. “What if she’s actually up there?”

“I don’t know. I’ve been wondering.” Old White blew across his steaming bowl. “The thing is, Trader, we can’t just climb up there and start searching the place.”

“Maybe we should go as soon as we eat?” He nodded his head toward the shaking walls. “This is about as good a distraction as we’re going to get. Smoke Shield might be out trying to be useful, you know, tying down roofs and such.”

Old White shot him a disbelieving glance.

“Well,” Trader said in frustration, “we have to do something! She’s
our
Contrary! The gods alone know what he’s doing to her up there. Beatings? Rape?”

“May the ghosts of the long dead help him if he does.”

“You sound pretty unconcerned given what you’ve learned about Smoke Shield.”

“You didn’t see her with Black Tooth at Cahokia.”

“Could we be so lucky with Smoke Shield?”

“We can hope.”

“I still think we should go up there.”

“If she’s up there, it’s because she wants to be,” Old White countered. “She’s seen it all. Trust her.”

“All right,” Trader muttered. “I’ll go. Alone.”

Old White screwed his face into disgust. “Now, that’s just—”

“Anyone there?” a woman’s voice called at their door.

Swimmer barked happily, his tail wagging.

“A moment!” Trader called. He lowered his bowl and walked over to unlace the ties.

Heron Wing, followed by a slim man, ducked past the flap. Trader took long enough to glance out at the houses around him, seeing ripped thatch and naked ramadas. Then he retied the flap and turned.

“Dark in here,” Heron Wing said wearily. Her hair was in disarray despite having been pinned back into a severe bun. Her cloak was speckled with bits of matting and other debris. She wore a plain brown dress, belted at the waist.

The man who accompanied her was a little older than she, with pleasant features. He was staring at Trader, a slight smile on his lips. He wore a white knee-length shirt. Pouches were tied to a rope belt. A large gorget and strings of white shell beads hung at his throat. The cougar-hide cape had been thrown back on his shoulders. Gleaming black hair was pulled in a bun held in place by a long copper pin. His face had been tattooed in dotted lines.

It took a moment, then Trader smiled. “Pale Cat?”

“Green Snake?”

They clasped each other, a warm joy in Trader’s heart as he held the man at arm’s length. “You look good, old friend.”

“As do you.”