People of the Weeping Eye (North America's Forgotten Past) (24 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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Through the afternoon, they sat side by side, eating, drinking, receiving the endless line of well-wishers.
“Never seen a run like that.”
“If ever there was a perfect marriage, it’s yours.”
“Seeing this, well, it presages great things for our people.”
“Seeing you two I know why the Sky Hand’s days are limited.”
“Never seen a pile of gifts that high. People will talk about it for summers to come.”
By the time they got a break, Screaming Falcon asked, “Still hungry?”
“I’ll burst like an overripe gourd.”
“Me, too.” He glanced around. “Think anyone would notice if we slipped away to our house?”
“Yes.”
“Do you care if they do?”
“No.”
“Good.”
He stood up, offering his hand.
She rose on stiff legs, letting his hold steady her. “I thought Biloxi wanted you there when he burned the prisoners.”
He glanced at the crowd surrounding the two remaining captives on squares. “I’ve taken my share of glory.”
People watched and jabbed each other playfully as they made their way across the plaza to the new house. She could hardly care.
“Sore?” he asked.
“I’m going to feel it in the morning.”
They ducked into the house, and cheering erupted behind them.
“I guess they know what we’re going to be doing.” She glanced at the door as he placed the hanging over it.
“Let them.”
She stood in the dim light, watching him.
“We gave them quite a run.”
“Did you really trip in the plaza?”
“I wanted to see how far you could go.”
Then his hands removed the cape from her shoulders.
 
 
T
rader sat across the fire from Old White. They’d stretched a hide over the house corner, piled the packs beneath it, and waited while a drizzling rain fell from the morning sky.
Still perplexed, Trader fingered his war club and listened to the old man’s story.
“I had made my way as far as Morning Star City, down in the Caddo lands,” Old White said. “That’s the first time she called to my Dreams. The Caddo Healers were as puzzled as I was.”
“So you came straight north?” Trader asked, staring across at Two Petals. Swimmer was sprawled across her lap, his sides rising and falling, his nose mashed against the ground in a most uncomfortable-looking manner. Dogs were funny. They could sleep in peculiar positions.
“I went to the Forest Witch. She lives at the edge of Natchez territory.”
“I’ve heard of her. Dangerous, isn’t she?”
“I’m an old friend.”
From the way the old man said it, he was more than that. “It seems like a long way to come for a Dream.”
“It is at that.” Old White cast a knowing gaze at Two Petals. “But, no matter what you might think about Dreams, I found her. Now, I’ve been many places, seen a Contrary or two in my day, but never one so young.”
“That’s when you took her to Silver Loon?”
“It seemed the thing to do.”
“Like the Forest Witch, people fear her.”
Old White smiled wistfully.
“Let me guess,” Trader said. “Another old friend?”
“You’re quick for someone so young.”
“And, it seems to me, you’ve survived a lot of frightening women for a man of your age.”
“Must be my charm.”
“Or you’re just as Powerful a witch as they are.” Was that it? Was the Seeker a witch, too? Trader tightened his grip on his war club. He could well imagine what a witch might want with a wealth of copper.
“A witch?” The old man shook his head. “No, but I’ve been rightly called a sorcerer. I have some knowledge of magic and plants. I’ve learned sleight of hand, and how to make things like hides move and jump. I’m a fair Healer, but through medicines, not Spirit Power. Though, I have to tell you, with the help of the plants, I’ve sent my souls to the Spirit World. Scary place, that.”
Trader fought a shiver.
“How did she know of Split Sky City?” Trader nodded toward Two Petals.
Old White rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “She knows I’m headed there.” He glanced at Trader. “That, you, too, are from there is something entirely unexpected. She struck you square last night when she mentioned it.”
Trader looked down at his war club. “I killed a man there.”
“And you fled.”
Trader ground his jaws.
“Interesting,” Old White said absently.
“What? That I killed a man?” Trader said hotly.
“No. Only that coincidence has amazed me more often than not in my life.” His expression sharpened. “But this, I suppose, is more than coincidence.”
“Meaning?”
“That you are destined to go with us.”
“My path lies south. To the Natchez … perhaps to the gulf itself.”
“Where you will Trade your copper? For what?”
“I don’t know. Some favor from a chief.” He glanced at the copper. “For that, I can spend a delightful and
lazy winter. Eat all I want of delicacies, have a warm and compliant companion in my bed every night, and fill my canoe with the best the south has to offer for my next trip north.”
“You could buy a town with that. More, a chieftainship. Do you plan to be a chief, and rule over several towns?”
Trader shot him a scowl. “What would
I
do with a chieftainship? Especially one full of strangers. And who’s to say any clan would sell such a thing?”
“For such wealth,” Old White mused, “believe me, they would.”
“So there I’d be. Stuck with all the inconsequential troubles of clan politics, petty jealousies, and all the interminable little squabbles that people insist on occupying their time with.”
“Not to mention your neighbors. You’d have to defend your boundaries, plan raids in retaliation for theirs. You would never be bored.”
Old White watched the expression on Trader’s face, reading his thoughts as clearly as if he’d spoken. “What?” the old man asked. “Doesn’t appeal?”
“I’ll stick with my original plan.” Trader had become aware that Two Petals had finally turned her penetrating stare from the dog to him.
Old White slapped his knees. “So, there it is. You’d squander a fortune that would have humbled a lord of Cahokia for a winter’s worth of pleasure, just to paddle back up the river with a pittance—extravagant though it might be—and do what? Fritter it away for a few skins here, a couple of medicine plants there, a couple of carved shells, some fancy fabrics?”
“It’s what I do.”
“And what if you capsize? Snags and sunken trees, floating rafts of tangled driftwood washed loose in the spring floods—all these things make a Trader’s life hazardous.” He lifted an eyebrow. “Not to mention the petty chieftains that have sprung up in the dead
shadow of Cahokia. As it is, the Michigamea may take it all.”
“The Power of the Trade will protect me.”
“Will it?” Old White wondered. “Last night you were ready to kill us both. Great wealth, as you have discovered, tempts men to ignore the laws of Power.”
“Chiefs who disregard the rules of Trade get bypassed by other Traders.”
“Somehow, I fear those days are passing.” He nodded. “There will be more like Black Tooth.”
“I
don’t
have to pass through Cahokia.”
“No, but his kind are gaining prestige and authority. Not that Black Tooth will be a problem any longer.” Old White pointed a finger. “If you are determined to head south to the Natchez, my advice is that you buy a chieftainship.”
“I told you, I’m not interested in being a chief.”
“After all,” Two Petals said pointedly, “you weren’t born to it.”
Old White started, fixing his keen gaze on Trader. “Really?”
Trader tried to wave it away. “My past is dead.”
Two Petals laughed, her eyes almost glowing as she studied Trader. “Just like the present. Dead and rotten. Bones. The future is turned to bones.”
“No matter who you’ve killed,” Old White said softly, “that piece of copper will buy you forgiveness.”
Trader swallowed hard, remembering the sounds and smells of his home.
“No, you don’t want to go back,” Two Petals told him. “Not Trader. He’s happy traveling alone, with no name, and no place to call home.”
“Stop it!” he cried, leaping to his feet. He stood at the edge of the stretched hide, watching the rainwater drip onto the wreckage of the collapsed walls. The surrounding trees were wet and dark against the cloudy sky. Rain had stained the exposed rocks on the bluff to the east. His breath puffed coldly in the chill air.
Two Petals’ voice, though low, sent a shiver through his guts. “She never thinks of you. You are gone from her memory. The wistful smiles she has in the quiet moments are for someone else.”
Trader didn’t look back; he stumbled over the fallen wall, walking fast as he passed through the desolate houses. The knot in his throat threatened to choke him. In his panic, even the copper was forgotten.
T
he smell of wood smoke told Amber Bead he was on the right path as he followed a trail down from the Albaamaha cornfields. Walking through the countryside always irritated him. On the trek, he passed field after field, each worked by a family. Even now, with the corn, beans, and squash harvested and packed to granaries inside the city walls, the extent of his people’s labor was manifest. The stripped cornstalks rattled in the breeze, brown leaves waffling in the wind. Below the dead stalks, rows of bean plants lay hard and withered. The squash vines that laced between the mounded soil beneath the cornstalks had been picked clean of all but the most immature of fruits. Those pitiful remnants had shriveled, blackened, and waited for the spring.
Throughout the long summer months his people spent from daylight to dark tending these fields, sweating in the blazing sun. They broke their backs hoeing, planting, and, when the rains failed, carrying water up from the river. When the rains did come, they spent their time pulling weeds, picking worms and bugs from the plants, and pollinating the squash blossoms. In late summer, they even worked through the night, chasing away raccoons, crows, and other pests.
Then when fall came, they harvested the ears of corn, picked the beans, and snapped squash from the prickly stems. But for a couple of baskets—and what they harvested from their own gardens, cared for between working the fields—it was packed on their backs to Split Sky
City. Pack after pack, on aching legs, with pains shooting up their spines, they hobbled into the city. There, they climbed ladders to the high granaries, and dumped their packs. Only to go back for more until the entire yield of the land was locked away, property of one of the Chikosi clans.
Down between his souls, the resentment festered.
This was their land, the one they inherited after emerging from the World Tree’s roots. Here, the Ancestors of their Ancestors had walked. Then had come the Chikosi, and they’d taken it all.
Now, for the first time, Amber Bead had a glimmer of hope. If the Chikosi were shocked, shaken down to their souls, their grip would begin to slip. If they could be lured away, into wars with the Chahta, and perhaps weakened, the Yuchi in the north, the Ockmulgee to the east, and the Pensacola down south would be tempted to strike.
The secret is to keep the enemies of the Chikosi informed of their weakness. Bleed away enough of their strength, and we can either drive them out, or crush them ourselves.
The coming months would tell. Not since Makes War had lost both his life and the war medicine to the Yuchi had the Chikosi suffered such a stunning blow as that inflicted by the Chahta on Alligator Town. It had shaken the Council to rashness. Only the desperate would have dispatched a party of thirty warriors to attack a congregation of Chahta at White Arrow Town. He could only pray that the defeat of Smoke Shield’s party, and the loss of the war medicine, would rattle the Chikosi down to their bones.
Amber Bead had no love for Smoke Shield. The man couldn’t keep his hands off women. How many Albaamaha daughters, sisters, and wives had fallen prey to the man’s rutting lust? While the rumors said he occasionally dallied with a Chikosi man’s wife, he was free to do as he pleased with an Albaamaha woman. Of
course there would be nasty consequences if he was caught with a married Sky Hand woman, but no Albaamaha female could deny him. And if she did, Smoke Shield would take what he wanted anyway. If the family protested, they would be given a trinket, a string of beads, or a bit of pottery in compensation.
How happy I would be to hear that he is hanging in a square in front of the White Arrow palace! If only the other mikkos didn’t object!
He crossed the last of the fields and entered the trees. Here the bank above the Black Warrior wasn’t as high as at Split Sky City. He followed the trail down where it cut through the brush and into the forest. Through the trees, vines, and deadfall, he could see glimpses of the river.
The smell of smoke led him the rest of the way down the gentle slope. On a flat just above the shore, a crackling fire had been built. There, Whippoorwill used a stick to prop burning wood over the bowls she was firing.
Paunch sat on a fallen log to one side. He wore a fabric cape, worn and frayed about the edges. His coarsely woven shirt hung from his bony frame. The man turned a fish trap in his hands. The thing looked like a long, pointed basket. He turned it slowly as he wove a pliant willow stem through the lattice.
“Greetings!” Amber Bead called. “I heard that you would be here.”
“Hello, Mikko,” Paunch greeted, but without the enthusiasm Amber Bead had expected.
Whippoorwill looked up from her fire. Two stacks of wood lay to one side. The first—mostly oak and hickory—were used to make a hot fire that burned down to a bed of coals. The second stack, consisting of poplar, burned cooler. A sack of corncobs lay beside Whippoorwill’s feet.
“Your pots are among the finest made by the people,” Amber Bead told the young woman as he stopped and peered at the vessels nestled in the white ash. “Got your corncobs, I see.”
“I’m just ready to drop them in.” She bent, picking one of the cobs from the sack. She pulled her hair back with one hand and deftly reached out with the other, neatly dropping the cob into one of the bowls. Then, using her stick, she teased some of the burning brands up into a tripod over the bowl. The corncob smoldered, blackened, and burst into flame.
“Quite a trick, that,” he murmured.
Whippoorwill stepped back from the heat, letting her long hair fall naturally. “Nothing burns as hot as corncobs,” she told him. “It will seal the interior of the pot, Mikko. I wouldn’t want you grinding grit between your teeth if you should end up with one.”
“I’ve never had grit between my teeth when eating from one of your pots.” Amber Bead had noticed that Paunch seemed unusually interested in his fish trap. “What word from you, old friend?”
“No word,” Paunch said wearily, laying the fish trap to the side and looking up. Something lay behind his eyes, a deep reluctance.
“Did you send the runner to the Chahta?”
Paunch sighed, looked out at the river. “I did.”
“Tell me you really didn’t.” Amber Bead closed his eyes, a hollow feeling growing in his heart. “You were supposed to wait for my word.”
“But Crabapple was ready to go. Time is of the essence.” Paunch cocked his head, seeing the dismay in Amber Bead’s expression. “But … is something wrong?”
“I fear so. Is there any way to recall him?”
“Of course not! He’s in the forest.” Paunch was looking at him as though appraising a lunatic. “Explain this to me.”
Amber Bead raised his hands unhappily. “I sent runners to the other mikkos telling them of our plan. Some sent runners back to me. For the most part I was given emphatic orders not to do this thing.”
“But, surely you explained the opportunities to them!”
“I did.” Amber Bead looked up from under raised brows. “The consensus was not to act at this time.”
“In Abba Mikko’s name, why not?” Paunch stared in disbelief, a hand going to his stomach as though easing a sudden pain.
“They say yes, there’s a chance that Smoke Shield’s raid will weaken the Chikosi. They understand that if we send a messenger, the Chahta will destroy the war party and capture the war medicine. On the other hand, the mikkos believe that will probably happen without intervention. If it does, we have achieved the same result. The Chikosi will be weakened.”
“Then why would they object to making sure?”
“Because the mikkos don’t want to take the chance that somehow, some way, the story will get back to the Council. The thought is that if the Chikosi find out, they will take out their wrath on us.”
“Gods!” Paunch stomped back and forth. “We
outnumber
them!”
“But we are not warriors. The mikkos know this.”
“We can learn! We have weapons. When the time comes—”
“The elders think it will.” Amber Bead tried to assume a reasonable expression. “But they think the time to act is after the Chikosi have been fighting their enemies.” He clasped his hands together. “This has to be done very carefully. Think this through.”
“I
have
.”
“Then you know their other concerns?” Whippoorwill said behind him.
Amber Bead spun on his heel. “Yes, girl, and what other concerns would the mikkos have?”
She didn’t flinch but stared at him with unnerving eyes that seemed to dim his souls. Expressionless, she said, “Who will come after the Chikosi?”
“We will. We will retake what is ours!”
She cocked her head, thin lines forming on her brow.
“Do you believe a strengthened Chahta will leave us be? Or, if the Chahta and Chikosi bleed themselves dry in a war, that the Yuchi or the Pensacolas won’t come in force and take this land for their own?”
“In short,” Paunch asked, “what’s to keep someone else from doing the same thing to us that the Chikosi did?”
“So, you’ve given up?”
“Not at all.” Paunch sighed, reseated himself, and picked up his fish trap. He glanced apologetically at Whippoorwill. “I sent my cousin, Crabapple, to White Arrow Town. I did it in spite of all the arguments to the contrary.”
“And we hope that you haven’t killed us all,” Whippoorwill said, her eyes fixed on some distant place.
“You were supposed to wait for my word,” Amber Bead stated bluntly, aware that Paunch was still avoiding his eyes. “If so many, including Whippoorwill, told you not to, why did you?”
“Because I believe in you, Amber Bead. You are our ears in the Council. The Chikosi trust you. If it goes wrong, if they should find out, you will protect me.” He finally looked up, his eyes swimming with hope.
Amber Bead nodded, lying with as much sincerity as he could. “Of course.” He was aware of Whippoorwill’s eerie stare eating into his back. Crabapple was halfway to the Chahta by now. Gods, this could turn into a disaster. Or a brilliant opportunity.
Paunch fumbled anxiously with his fish trap. “I have to believe in you. After Smoke Shield is destroyed, and the Chikosi have been bled for a while, the mikkos will rethink this. By then they will know the extent of Smoke Shield’s defeat. That is when you must act.”
“Act how?” Amber Bead narrowed a skeptical eye.
“The mikkos have to be convinced. They have to understand that when the Chikosi are weakest, we must strike, and when we do, it must be in a fashion that sends a clear message to the other chieftains. Something so
terrible that no Yuchi, Charokee, or Chahta will ever consider invading our valley.”
“So, we must plan on murdering them all,” Amber Bead said softly.
“You can make them understand, Amber Bead. You’ll have to. I’ve bet my life and my family on it.”
“Yes,” Whippoorwill said absently. “Isn’t it refreshing to Dance so closely to Death?”
Amber Bead watched as another of Whippoorwill’s corncobs burst into flame, searing its pot.
 
 
T
he first birdcalls woke Morning Dew. She lifted her head, seeing the faintest light around the gaps in the doorway. She lay on their pole bed, knees against the house wall, cushioned by a warm buffalo robe. Screaming Falcon’s body pressed against her naked back. His arm lay across the small of her waist, his legs spooned into hers.
Had she ever been so happy? For two days now, when they weren’t Dancing, feasting, or attending to visiting dignitaries, they had escaped here, to this wondrous sanctuary. When they did it was to frantically tear their clothing off before falling onto the bed, locked in each other’s embrace.
Like last night. They had taken their time, and she’d closed her eyes, savoring the sensations of his movements, her legs locked tightly behind his knees. Like a falcon, she had hovered on the edge of that moment of freefall, only to have him tense, drive deep, and then gasp and stiffen. His seed jetting inside caused her loins to burst with a pleasure that rolled up her spine and shot lightning down her legs. The pulsing waves had left her limp, panting.

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