People of the Weeping Eye (North America's Forgotten Past) (23 page)

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Authors: W. Michael Gear,Kathleen O'Neal Gear

BOOK: People of the Weeping Eye (North America's Forgotten Past)
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“How do I know you’re the Seeker?”
The old man spread his arms, white feathers on his staff fluttering in the cold wind. “Could any other man alive have my kind of luck?”
Somehow, the resignation in the man’s weary voice did more to reassure Trader than anything.
“He has no luck,” the young woman declared. “None at all. He died of starvation when he was a boy. Have you ever seen such a poor wandering corpse?”
“Corpse?” The Seeker cast a nervous glance at the woman. Two Petals, is that what the old man called her?
“You might want to know,” Trader said warily, “according to legend, this place was cursed by a witch. That’s why it’s abandoned. If you value your health, you might want to leave now.”
“Bad curse,” Two Petals agreed. “That’s why you’re here. Evil’s flying all around you.”
Despite himself, Trader couldn’t help but cast uncertain glances at the surrounding darkness.
“She’s a Contrary,” the old man reminded. “If there was danger anywhere about, she’d know.”
“Why are you here?” Trader demanded. The thought of that copper, gleaming in its coating of rock, ate like cactus juice in his souls.
“Not my fault,” the young woman insisted.
“Yes, it is,” the Seeker growled irritably.
“What do you want?” Trader insisted.
“Don’t want to camp here,” the Contrary said as she walked forward, bent down, and began petting Swimmer. “Not a good place at all. Roast duck! Can’t stand it. Wouldn’t eat it if it was the last food on earth.”
The Seeker lifted his staff helplessly. “We mean you no harm. By the Power of Trade, I swear that.”
Memories of Snow Otter lingered in Trader’s souls. “I have recently discovered that sometimes, that’s not enough.”
“He wouldn’t have killed you,” Two Petals said. Was she talking to Swimmer or him?
“We will be happy to add to your meal,” the Seeker offered.
Trader began, “If you wouldn’t mind, I’d prefer—”
“The copper is worried,” Two Petals stated.
“What copper?” Trader and the Seeker said simultaneously.
“The copper that Trader wants us to see.”
Trader and the Seeker gaped at Two Petals.
“How do you know this?” the Seeker asked.
“Not from any vision I’ve ever had.” Two Petals giggled as Swimmer licked her face.
The Seeker came forward, his staff lowered. “It’s a long story, I’m afraid.”
Trader swallowed hard. “You’ve heard about the copper?” He should kill them now. Drive an arrow into the old man, then the girl. Then keep shooting until his quiver was empty.
“I’ve heard of no copper.” The Seeker was peering at him in the darkness. “But whatever you possess, I am bound by the Trade. Besides, I have no use for copper.”
“That would make you a rare man, indeed.”
“Among the rarest.” The old man looked back at the rushes. “Go tend your fire. I’ll get my packs.” Then he turned back into the darkness.
Trader stood, his bow half drawn. Two Petals seemed oblivious, having found the place on Swimmer’s belly that he loved having scratched.
Was this really the Seeker? He searched his memory for the stories. Supposedly the man of legend carried two packs, one of wood, the other something heavy in a cloth bag. But anyone trying to imitate him would know
that. Or this could be some elaborate ruse, the girl playing the role of a Contrary to deceive him.
“Demon dog,” Two Petals told Swimmer. “I’ve never seen such an evil one.”
Fox Squirrel! He hadn’t told the story to anyone else. She must have heard of the copper and sent these two after him.
“It won’t work,” he said, drawing his bow. “You can leave now.”
“Going as fast as we can,” Two Petals answered. “Hurry, hurry, run, run.”
“If you’re going to shoot her,” the old man said, emerging from the rushes, “it would be a relief if you did it quickly. Traveling with a Contrary isn’t as soothing as you would think. Of course, I’m not sure what Power would do to a man who murdered a defenseless Contrary. Might take his copper away from him.” As the old man walked past, he added, “On the other hand, it removes a burdensome complication from my life.”
Indecision weighed on Trader like a great stone. Frozen, he tried to comprehend what was happening. Adding to his confusion, Two Petals stood and pointed between her breasts. “Right here, that’s where you’ll shoot me.” Then she walked calmly past him, Swimmer bouncing at her heels, tail wagging.
Trader shook his head as if to dislodge a swarm of insects and realized he was standing in the darkness, his bow at full draw, pointed at nothing.
He sighed, allowing the arrow to slowly slide between his fingers. When he stepped around the house wall, it was to find the Seeker inspecting his precious copper. Two Petals and Swimmer were just as engrossed with his roasting duck.
“No wonder you were wary,” the Seeker said, looking up in amazement. “You could buy an entire town with that.”
“Where … Where did you come from?” was all he could ask.
“I never had a mother,” Two Petals replied. “This duck is little more than charred ash.”
He glanced at the duck, still only lightly browned. The inside would still be raw.
“It’s not even warm inside.”
“I know,” the Seeker said. “You get used it.” A pause. “I think.”
Trader still had wits enough to note the wooden pack that the Seeker had lowered to the floor. Atop it lay a cloth bag, something heavy inside. The other pack that the old man had placed on the ground lay partially open, a stack of something that looked like acorn bread inside.
“This is a Dream,” Trader told himself.
“We should be so lucky,” the Seeker muttered, straightening from the copper.
“Why are you here?” he insisted. “How did you find this place?”
“Ask her.” The Seeker jutted a thumb in Two Petals’ direction. “Had it been up to me, I’d have made camp upriver just before dark.” He glanced around. “But not as nice a one as this.”
“That’s right,” Two Petals insisted as she turned the duck on its spit. “No secrets between us. All is as clear as the night sky.”
Trader looked up, seeing that clouds had covered the last of the stars.
“Yes.” The Seeker turned speculative eyes on Trader. “That’s the question, isn’t it? Why would Two Petals lead me up some obscure stream in the darkness to a young Trader with a fortune in copper?”
“I have no idea,” Two Petals insisted. Her tongue protruded from the side of her mouth, a dedicated expression fixed on the cooking duck. “The notion would never have lodged in my souls, that’s for sure.”
“Are you both crazier than head-struck geese?” Trader demanded.
“After two days in a canoe with her,” the Seeker noted, “it might be a relief to find out I was.”
“Acorn cakes would be terrible with this duck,” Two Petals insisted. “I’d rather eat mud.”
“Tomorrow, I say we all go our separate ways,” Trader insisted, knowing full well he wasn’t going to get a wink of sleep that night. His war club was going to be ready in his hands. At the first hostile move, he’d spring to his feet and brain them both.
“Separate ways,” Two Petals agreed. “Three is too many. Never make it to Split Sky City that way.”
“Split Sky City?” A cold shiver ran down Trader’s back. “What do you know about Split Sky City?”
“Been there a lot,” she said. “And I never saw you try to kill any man there.”
The old man was watching Trader the way an osprey might a sunning fish. “You look like you’ve just seen a ghost, Trader.”
I
n all of her life, Morning Dew had seen nothing to match the day of her marriage. The night before, she had stood at the high gate atop the palace mound. Despite the light rain that fell, she could see a sea of campfires out beyond the palisade. That entire day had been a confusion of introductions. She had met the chiefs from this village and that, the clan leaders, two chiefs, and no less than five subchiefs of the Natchez. All of the Chahta lineages had sent either their leaders or distinguished representatives.
Through it all, she had sat beside her mother just to the right of Biloxi’s panther-hide-covered tripod in the great hall. Behind her had been the huge wooden carving of Falcon, his wings spread, talons wide as if to grasp prey. The great bird’s mouth gaped, its tongue protruding the way it would in a terrifying scream.
She had been dressed in her finery, as befitted the daughter of Sweet Smoke, matron of the Chief Clan, and the sister of Biloxi Mankiller, high minko of the Chahta. Through it all, she had acted with the modesty and decorum expected of so exalted a woman. She had seen approval in Old Woman Fox’s dignified nods.
Yes, this is fulfilling my destiny,
she had thought.
That night she had been sleepless, her souls playing the events of the coming day over and over. Her friends and kin had been briefed on the route she would run. They knew what to do. The only worry had been the drizzling rain.
The first thing she checked after relieving herself in the brown ware bowl she reserved for such things was the sky. To her relief, the clouds were breaking, scudding off to the northeast. To the south, the horizon was a pale blue. The cool damp air would be perfect for her run.
She had gobbled breakfast the way a starving woman would. She even ignored Grandmother’s heckling. Of course she wouldn’t eat this way in front of Screaming Falcon. In the eye of her souls, she was already in the house newly constructed for her beside the tishu minko’s. She could see the fire, casting its warm yellow light onto the freshly plastered walls.
Screaming Falcon’s steady hands were removing the cape from her shoulders, his smile betraying his anticipation. She could feel her skirt sliding down her hips. Then her nimble fingers would pluck the knot free on his apron, letting it fall away to expose him, stiff and ready for her. A warm tingle spread through her hips, causing her to sigh.
“There will be time enough for that later,” Old Woman Fox growled, reading her expression. “I swear, I’ve never seen a woman as taken with a man as you are.”
If any cloud blotted her day, it was the death of two of the captives hanging from the squares before the palace. They had apparently succumbed in the chill rain.
She passed the interminable hands of time in the company of her friends, trying to laugh at their gossip, halfheartedly hearing the crowd as they chopped apart the bodies of the dead captives. The whole process bored her. The last thing on her mind was the disposition of war trophies. This night, she would take a trophy of her own.
Will his seed catch?
she wondered. The timing might be right, even if she was only a week out of her second visit to the Women’s House.
The sun had dragged its way through the sky. Not even a young woman’s impatience could stop it entirely.
Sweet Smoke entered the house, a knowing smile on
her face. “The people are assembling.” She looked at the expectant girls surrounding Morning Dew. “You will all make it a race to remember?”
A chorus of cheers came in return.
Morning Dew’s heart began to pound. “Is
he
ready?”
“As anxious as you, my daughter.” A look brimming with love and wistfulness filled her mother’s face. “Look at me. I’ve waited for this day, but now I hesitate. How did this happen so quickly?”
“Thank you, Mother.” Morning Dew stood, flexing her fists, nervous energy pumping in her muscles. She had chosen a short skirt that wouldn’t inhibit the run. It was white, made of light fabric, the pattern of a falcon woven into the front to impart swiftness to her bare feet.
“You have a blanket, Daughter?” Old Woman Fox asked Sweet Smoke, “You know, for the presents?”
“I do,” Sweet Smoke said, but she didn’t take her eyes from Morning Dew’s face. From the intense scrutiny, she might have been memorizing every line of her daughter. To Morning Dew, she asked, “Are you ready?”
“Too ready.”
“The rest of you girls, outside.”
Like chattering quail, they ducked past Sweet Smoke and into the sunlight.
Morning Dew’s mouth had gone dry. She gulped deep breaths, trying to still the anticipation. Mother leaned out the door, looking toward the tishu minko’s. She gave a slight nod, then beckoned. “Be fast, Daughter.”
For a moment, Morning Dew hesitated. Now that the time had come, it took all of her will to step to the door.
“Well … go!” her mother prompted.
Morning Dew ducked out, turned, and picked her path. She ran with all of her might, heading for the gap between the storehouses. She barely noticed her friends, gathered along the way. A great shout rose as she charged across the plaza. The cheers of her friends and
kin were mixed with glimpses of them, all jumping, gesturing with their arms. She dared not glance back; a greater shout told her Screaming Falcon had begun his pursuit.
It’s too far!
In a moment of panic, she feared that Screaming Falcon’s hand would fall on her shoulder at any moment. Redoubling her efforts, she sprinted full-out for the storehouses. She was still ahead as she flew between the buildings, only to find a basket in the way. It hadn’t been there last night.
She jumped it, almost stumbled, and careened around the storehouse. Turning to the left, she took off along the palisade wall.
“Right! Right!” the crowd shouted on cue.
Gods, it was working, wasn’t it? She desperately hoped Screaming Falcon had taken the ruse. She pounded past the palisade gate. Fifty paces beyond it, a large granary blocked the view from behind. She cut left again, heading for the base of the palace.
Screams and laughter carried on the air. Perhaps Screaming Falcon was having a harder time of it than she was? A lighthearted giggle vied with her heaving lungs. Weaving in and out, she passed ramadas, kicked at a barking dog that raced along beside, nipping at her, and raced past her mother’s house. At the corner of the mound, she glanced back long enough to see Screaming Falcon pounding behind her. Rounding the mound, she leaped a storage pit and wound through the houses. When a young man stepped into the gap she was running through, she only had time to extend her arms, knocking him flat on his butt.
She staggered, caught her balance, and ran on. Behind her a wild shout went up from the crowd. Reaching the storehouses again, she cut right, figuring he’d never guess at the turn.
Gods, her legs were on fire, her lungs burning for breath. Her feet felt like blocks of wood. A glance behind
her showed Screaming Falcon, no more than twenty paces back. For a moment their eyes held. A wide smile broke his lips.
She struggled to find more, to charge her legs.
She could hear him now, his hard bare feet slapping the damp ground.
“Almost got you!” he shouted behind her.
Entering the plaza, she shot another glance to find him a step behind her. Again he smiled, then, for no apparent reason, seemed to trip.
She almost stopped, but heard the crowd cry, “Run!” Doggedly, she continued on her way, lungs heaving, throat dry. Despite the cool air, sweat dampened her skin and ran down between her bouncing breasts. She could feel her muscles trembling and exhausted as she rounded the palace mound again.
She was flagging, down to a dogtrot.
“One more time around the palace,” Screaming Falcon called softly from behind. “Let’s give them a show like they’ve never seen.”
Step by step, she made herself continue. Her chest felt like it would explode. She kept tripping, almost staggering. She rounded the palace mound, heading for the densest part of the crowd. Finally, when she could go no farther, his hand clamped on her shoulder. He steadied her as she came to a stop, kept her from falling as she wobbled on her spent legs.
A giant shout, fit to rend the very air, rose from the packed plaza.
“A run that will never … be forgotten,” he gasped, white shining teeth behind his smile.
“I love you,” she managed between heaving gasps.
“Here they come,” he said, looking at the surging crowd.
“The bride!” they sang. “We want the bride!”
“Can’t have her,” Screaming Falcon declared. “Caught her. Fair and proper.”
“The bride! We want the bride!”
For long moments, Screaming Falcon denied them, only to have them surge forward. Grasping hands tore them apart, and Morning Dew felt herself lifted. They bore her like a slain deer to the blanket on the ground before her mother’s.
“Presents! Presents!” they chanted.
Morning Dew, laughing, panting for breath, was placed on the blanket. A sea of people pressed forward. Some laid hides upon her, others baskets of food. Someone placed a wooden carving on her lap. Another laid a fine Nodena bowl down. The pile grew around and on top of her. She couldn’t stop laughing as the gifts continued to come, some draped over her head, others pressing in from all sides until she was buried. The weight continued to grow, pressing her down so that she tucked her arms in, hunched under the pile.
Gods, were they laying half the village on top of her?
From beyond the darkness of robes, fabrics, pottery, carved boxes, and baskets of food, she heard Mother’s voice. “Is there any more?”
Someone cried, “Any more and we’ll kill her!”
Had she ever heard such laughter and shouting?
“If you think the groom’s covered, you ought to see the bride!”
Morning Dew wondered if her back would ever be straight.
Mother’s voice rang out, “Take it away! My daughter will be crushed!”
Screams of delight broke out, and Morning Dew suffered under the melee as grasping hands pulled away the gifts, some women shouting, “Mine! Mine!”
Daylight pierced the gloom as the weight diminished. Morning Dew couldn’t stop the laughter as she watched the scrambling women grabbing up the gifts. Someone stepped on the Nodena pot, crushing it.
In the end, battered and exhausted, the last of it was plucked up and Morning Dew was surrounded by a ring of smiling women, each clutching whatever booty they had snatched from the pile.
Morning Dew coughed. “I could have used all that!”
“You’re rich enough already,” Old Woman Fox told her, leaning forward with Mother to pull her to her feet.
“What a run!” one of the women cried as she clutched a finely woven basket.
“What a pile of gifts,” Mother added. “I thought you’d be crushed.”
“I was,” Morning Dew replied wearily. “I’m dead.”
“Then I guess I’ll spend the night with that handsome young Screaming Falcon,” Old Woman Fox said thoughtfully. “I can teach him a lot more than some virgin girl can.”
“A dried husk just ruins a firm cob,” another added wryly.
“Come,” Mother said, shooting a disapproving glance at Old Woman Fox. “Let’s go meet your husband.”
Mother held her hand as they led the procession to meet Screaming Falcon. He looked as disheveled as she, his hair mussed, his apron askew. But his grin was the stuff of sunlight on a morning meadow. He laughed as he stepped forward, took her hand from Mother’s, and raised it high for the crowd.
The shouts and cheers were deafening. It went on and on, people screaming, stamping their feet, Dancing, and jumping. Through it all, Morning Dew, still out of breath, could only smile, glance at Screaming Falcon, and wish she could sit down.
As the noise dimmed, Screaming Falcon called, “Is anyone hungry?”
Gods, where do they get the energy to shout and jump like that?
Morning Dew wondered as the crowd whooped and yelled.

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