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Authors: W. Michael Gear,Kathleen O'Neal Gear
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BOOK: People of the Weeping Eye (North America's Forgotten Past)
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As his vision improved, Smoke Shield could see most
of the tchkofa’s occupants were staring pensively at Flying Hawk and him. Others were talking to their neighbors in low voices. The leaders of the Sky Hand clans had been called here by a crier dispatched by the tishu minko, and had each come with his own deputy, generally a brother or favored nephew in the line of descent for rulership.
of the tchkofa’s occupants were staring pensively at Flying Hawk and him. Others were talking to their neighbors in low voices. The leaders of the Sky Hand clans had been called here by a crier dispatched by the tishu minko, and had each come with his own deputy, generally a brother or favored nephew in the line of descent for rulership.
Five men and one woman, they had arrived prior to their high minko’s entrance, as was respectful and polite. Two Albaamaha, both moiety elders, had also been summoned. They had taken places beyond the circle, and stood as was custom, their hands clasped before them. Their faces might have been carved from wood, for all the emotion they displayed.
But they shall have their day. They have grown too arrogant over the winters.
Immediately to Smoke Shield’s left sat the tishu minko: Seven Dead Mankiller. His younger brother, Blood Skull Mankiller, knelt just behind his right shoulder. Leaders of the Raccoon Clan, their voices would be critical to the coming discussions. Once the Raccoon and Chief Clans had been close, often marrying to solidify their ties, but that had changed when Flying Hawk had been a boy. That rift, too, was said to have started the night of the fire.
Seven Dead Mankiller had seen nearly thirty winters, and he carried himself with the demeanor that an often-bloodied warrior should. His dark eyes gleamed in the firelight, gravity in his straight posture. Blood Skull, his younger brother, was known to oppose Flying Hawk. He was wedded to the betterment of his clan, and he’d always been suspicious of Smoke Shield’s motives. More than once Smoke Shield had seen Blood Skull sneaking around, and once the man had almost caught Smoke Shield in the arms of a married woman—which would have brought disaster and disgrace.
Someday, old enemy, when I am confirmed high minko, you will rue the day you crossed me.
Panther Clan had the only female representation. Night Star was remarkable, not only for her sex, but for her size. Despite having passed more than fifty winters, her head barely reached as high as a normal man’s belt. Being a dwarf imbued a person with great Power, but in Night Star’s case, her shrewd head had only added to her prestige and authority. She had never taken a husband, fearing what might ensue should she become pregnant. Her reputation for celibacy had given her an advantage in the world of clan politics. She wore her gray hair in a tight bun, more a male fashion than female.
Beside her, Pale Cat had his eyes fixed on the fire. He was her nephew, a thin man with Dreamy eyes, and the most Powerful
Hopaye
in Hickory Moiety. In addition to being a Priest, he was Smoke Shield’s first wife’s brother. They had never thought much of each other—Pale Cat having opposed Smoke Shield’s marriage to Heron Wing. Because Smoke Shield spent as little time as possible with Heron Wing—especially after the birth of her son—avoiding each other’s company was relatively easy.
Hopaye
in Hickory Moiety. In addition to being a Priest, he was Smoke Shield’s first wife’s brother. They had never thought much of each other—Pale Cat having opposed Smoke Shield’s marriage to Heron Wing. Because Smoke Shield spent as little time as possible with Heron Wing—especially after the birth of her son—avoiding each other’s company was relatively easy.
Pale Cat wore a gauzy white robe decorated with images of tie snakes, Horned Serpent, and the hand-eye design. A single thin green snake was wrapped around his right hand. It was said that the little serpent whispered the secrets of magical cures to him, and often traveled with Pale Cat when he sent his souls flying through portals into the other worlds.
The man called Wooden Cougar was the head of Crawfish Clan, known as the finest weavers within Split Sky City. While for the most part a congenial sort, Wooden Cougar could on occasion become obstinate and surly. For reasons of his own, he’d take an uncompromising stand over the silliest of causes. A weak leader, perhaps he just needed to dig his feet in on occasion to prove his mettle.
Beyond his sometimes obstinate nature, no one understood Trade better than Wooden Cougar, unless it
was his nephew, Cleft Skull. Cleft Skull, too, deceived. As a child he had been struck in the head with a thrown rock that had left a dent in the left side of his head. While he sometimes stuttered, and had trouble finding words, his skill at keeping track of goods was unexcelled. When it came to calculating the benefits of war, Cleft Skull would be one to win over.
was his nephew, Cleft Skull. Cleft Skull, too, deceived. As a child he had been struck in the head with a thrown rock that had left a dent in the left side of his head. While he sometimes stuttered, and had trouble finding words, his skill at keeping track of goods was unexcelled. When it came to calculating the benefits of war, Cleft Skull would be one to win over.
Old Camp Moiety was seated to Smoke Shield’s right. First came Vinegarroon. Named for the dark creature that lived under logs, he was as ugly as his namesake. Nearly as wide as he was tall, with a pockmarked face, broad froglike mouth, and protruding eyes, he wore an alligator cape over his shoulders, the skinned head sewn on backward to hang down over his spine. He said the Spirit of the slain beast told him when anyone tried to slip up unannounced behind him. Long scars ran up and down his right leg, received in a battle with the bull gator whose hide he now wore.
But as formidable as Vinegarroon looked, he liked to spend his time with children and elders. His laughter could shake trees when he heard a bawdy joke, and his appetite was the thing of legend. It was said he once ate an entire deer during a solstice feast, and the doing of it took him but a single night. Some thought he stored extra food in his oversize genitals. Perhaps that was the secret of his large brood. His five wives had borne him twenty-four children so far, and three more were on the way.
His brother, Fire Wing, had been sired by a different father after Vinegarroon’s was drowned in an accident. While he shared some of Vinegarroon’s features, he was a great deal easier on the eye. With a high forehead, his hair slicked with grease, and sporting an eagle-tail hairpiece, he had deep-set but unfocused eyes. His sharp cheekbones gave his face a triangular effect that emphasized his pursed mouth. He was the quiet one, slow but methodical in his approach to problems.
Hawk Clan sat in the next position, and Black Tail, the
Hopaye,
was an old man, white haired and frail
looking. His eyes had gone gray and milky, but his mind remained sharp. No one, it was said, knew so many of the rituals. From the time he was a boy, he had studied the arts of Healing. Even Pale Cat deferred to the Old Camp Moiety’s
Hopaye
. On this day he wore a simple tunic woven from undyed hemp. His right hand had developed a wobble over the years, and Smoke Shield had never seen it still.
Hopaye,
was an old man, white haired and frail
looking. His eyes had gone gray and milky, but his mind remained sharp. No one, it was said, knew so many of the rituals. From the time he was a boy, he had studied the arts of Healing. Even Pale Cat deferred to the Old Camp Moiety’s
Hopaye
. On this day he wore a simple tunic woven from undyed hemp. His right hand had developed a wobble over the years, and Smoke Shield had never seen it still.
More an attendant than anything else, Pearl Hand acted as the old
Hopaye
’s guide, eyes, and assistant. Pearl Hand was young, having not quite passed twenty winters, but he had taken on the duties and trappings of Black Tail’s authority. Everyone believed that after the old man’s passing, the clan would confirm Pearl Hand’s status as their new leader. He was a quiet but firm man, not taken to boasting or to misusing his authority or position.
Hopaye
’s guide, eyes, and assistant. Pearl Hand was young, having not quite passed twenty winters, but he had taken on the duties and trappings of Black Tail’s authority. Everyone believed that after the old man’s passing, the clan would confirm Pearl Hand’s status as their new leader. He was a quiet but firm man, not taken to boasting or to misusing his authority or position.
The final seat belonged to Deer Clan. There, Two Poisons watched Smoke Shield and Flying Hawk with probing eyes. He was nearing fifty now, and his reputation as a speaker and leader was justly earned. His voice in Council carried more weight than his low clan should have merited. For this meeting, he had painted his face in alternate lines of red and white, signifying that he would require a potent argument to switch from one side to the other.
His sister’s son, Smells-His-Death, sat beside him, chewing on his lower lip. He was new to the Council, having replaced his older brother when the man died from an infected leg. Of them all, he was at once the newest and the most unknown.
Finally, in the back stood the two Albaamaha elders, Amber Bead and Red Awl. While they had no actual voice in the Council, prudence had often necessitated hearing their opinions, especially when policy might affect relations with the Albaamaha. They might be a subject people, but not even the blindly foolish would chance igniting their passions.
Amber Bead’s old face sported star tattoos on his sunken cheeks. He had his white hair pulled back into a ponytail and wore a simple light blue tunic. Most thought him a mouthpiece for Sky Hand policies. The old Albaamo wasn’t prone to disagree with anything. Smoke Shield dismissed him as nothing more than a hand-licking lackey.
Red Awl, however, was another matter. He was younger, his hair thick and black. Noted for calm judgment, he had come from a small farmstead upriver near the fall line. His wise council had not only kept the peace among his own people, but had led him to moderate several serious differences of opinion with the Sky Hand conquerors.
Smoke Shield studied the man. If trouble was coming, it would be at this man’s hands. He was too new, his motives undetermined. People looked up to him as a rising leader. This was the kind of man who could be dangerous, the sort the Albaamaha would rally around. Red Awl and his wife, Lotus Root, were too good to be true. Smoke Shield needed little imagination to see him and his gorgeous spouse conspiring to discredit the Sky Hand.
What are you plotting, Red Awl? How close are you to treason?
Flying Hawk stepped forward from the tripod and walked to the Eagle Pipe where it rested on its small altar. With great ceremony, he poured chopped tobacco from a painted gourd, then used a small wooden pestle to pack the bowl. Seven Dead, the tishu minko, stepped forward and lit a twig in the sacred fire. This he held to the bowl as Flying Hawk pulled on the long stem.
Turning, Flying Hawk exhaled the blue smoke and raised his hands. “Hear me, gods of the Sky, Earth, and Underworld! I am Flying Hawk Calls the Morning Mankiller, high minko of the Chief Clan of the Sky Hand People. I have come here to speak and hear the truth! Know that my words come from the heart, without deceit
or falsehood. Carry these words to all beings and know that they are just.”
or falsehood. Carry these words to all beings and know that they are just.”
He stepped back as each of the Council members in turn of their rank came forward to take a pull from the pipe, exhale the smoke toward the high roof, and repeat the dedication.
When they finished and returned to their places, Flying Hawk took the floor. He let his gaze take in each of the seated chiefs.
His voice rose firm and clear. “In the beginning, all was Power. Breath Giver breathed this Power in and out. When the Sky was separated from the waters, before Crawfish brought the first land from the depths, Breath Giver’s Power was divided in two. Then, when the land was formed, it was split into three. Order was separated from Chaos, and what was one, was many, but equal. Each of the worlds—Sky, Earth, and Underworld—had its own kind of Power, and it was harmonious and in balance.
“The People have tried to live with this harmony. They have tried to keep Power in balance. When we use one kind of Power for some worthy purpose, we attempt to restore the balance that Breath Giver intended. We are not gods, or Spirit beasts. We are not arrogant in the belief that we know better than Breath Giver’s wisdom. We are only men, seeking to do what is right. What is in harmony.”
Again the Council uttered a soft assent and nodded their heads.
Flying Hawk clenched his fists. “But now the balance is shifted. Alligator Town has been attacked. Blood has been spilled. Fire has scorched the lives of the survivors. The dead cry for justice. Chaos is loosed on our land. Our harmony is disrupted. Can you feel it? Does it shake your realms as it does ours?”
Growls of anger went from lip to lip.
“In the beginning times, when Eagle Man slew the monsters,” Flying Hawk continued, “he gave us the
knowledge of how Power had to be restored when it is out of balance. He taught us that it is up to men to struggle to keep the harmony. The burden of that struggle has been placed squarely on our shoulders.”
knowledge of how Power had to be restored when it is out of balance. He taught us that it is up to men to struggle to keep the harmony. The burden of that struggle has been placed squarely on our shoulders.”
Flying Hawk lowered his gaze to the Council, then fixed it on Pale Cat. “
Hopaye,
what happens when Power is out of harmony?”
Hopaye,
what happens when Power is out of harmony?”
Pale Cat stood, the folds of his robe falling straight. “Soul sickness, High Minko. We are weakened; illness comes upon us. The ghosts of the dead congregate around the living, pawing at them, demanding that their murdered Spirits be freed to follow the path westward, there to pass through the Eye Hand into the Sky World.”
Flying Hawk nodded slowly. “We all know the route to the afterlife. Just as we all know how we’ll end up if we do not restore balance to our lives and souls. The
Hopaye
has told us we will sicken. And we will. But rotting from within isn’t the only danger. If we do not respond, the Chahta, Yuchi, Pensacola, Charokee, and others will think us weak. They will believe that Power has abandoned us. Mark me, they will come, war parties bristling, eagerly anticipating the joy of picking our bones clean before their rivals have a chance to do so.”
Hopaye
has told us we will sicken. And we will. But rotting from within isn’t the only danger. If we do not respond, the Chahta, Yuchi, Pensacola, Charokee, and others will think us weak. They will believe that Power has abandoned us. Mark me, they will come, war parties bristling, eagerly anticipating the joy of picking our bones clean before their rivals have a chance to do so.”
Two Poisons stood, head tilted skeptically. “I do not question that something must be done, High Minko, but is now the time? We are late into fall. Most of the young men are up hunting, laying in meat for the winter while their families collect hickory and beech nuts. The berries are ripe, and people are spread all over the country.” He gestured at the Albaamo, Amber Bead, who stood behind him. “We must have all the food laid in that we can get. If not, how can we feed those hungry mouths robbed of their harvests when the White Arrow Chahta burned it?”
Amber Bead nodded his agreement, shooting a curious glance at Flying Hawk.
“We do not recall our warriors,” Flying Hawk said firmly. “We don’t have time.”
“Then will you draw warriors in the dirt?” Night Star asked. “And perhaps have the
Hopaye
breathe life into them? Is our Power that great?”
Hopaye
breathe life into them? Is our Power that great?”
“Do not mock me, Chieftess. You know better than that.”
At the tishu minko’s nod, Blood Skull stood, crossing his arms. “Ah, but that seems to be the problem, doesn’t it? The Chahta attacked when they shouldn’t have. Knowing full well that we do not have the forces to respond.” He gestured around the Council. “We understand the grievance, High Minko. And well do we know the danger of chaos when out of balance with order. The question is: What do we do to maintain ourselves until we can accumulate enough warriors to attack White Arrow Town?” He smiled grimly. “That is, outside of blowing Spirit into warriors you’ve drawn in the dirt.”
BOOK: People of the Weeping Eye (North America's Forgotten Past)
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