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

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“Wah! Wah!”
Yes, he had them. “I told as much to our warriors.” He indicated the seated circle. “These are not some
brave
Chahta … like the ones we passed hanging from the squares.” Laughter erupted. “No, these are Sky Hand warriors! They mustered their courage, believing in the Power of our
Hopaye
. In the darkness, after making all ready, we waded into the river, pushing our bundles before us. We floated down to the high bank beneath White Arrow Town.” He chuckled, asking the warriors, “Do any of us wish to be that cold again?”
“No!” they shouted in unison, laughing all the while.
“We huddled there in the darkness and made our plans. Blood Skull—in honor of his bravery—I sent to capture that foul Screaming Falcon. I took three other warriors to capture their high minko in his palace. Black Hand went with Bobcat to capture Tishu Minko Bow Mankiller, and Panther Hide sought the matron, Sweet Smoke. The other warriors fanned out; their duty was to instill panic when we were discovered. Those warriors were to set fire to every house, and like a deer drive, herd the foolish Chahta toward the palisade gate.”
He enjoyed the wide-eyed stares of the clan chiefs. They hung on every word.
“The White Arrow had been feasting, Dancing, and entertaining. They were weary, exhausted, thinking themselves safe. The camp dogs, after days of guests walking among them, had no reason to bark at strangers. Our surprise was complete. No one guarded the palace. My warriors and I crept into the great hall, then passed into the rear. There we found Biloxi sleeping with one of his wives. He had no idea anything was wrong until I pressed a gag into his mouth. He was tied up before he could even blink. Only one of the wives fought. After a
war club broke her arm, she, too, was subdued. Then, as we left, we found torches conveniently stacked by the wall.” He grinned. “We lit them from their sacred fire, splashed oil on anything that would burn, and set the place on fire.”
Wild applause broke out.
“When I am finished, the others can tell you of their actions that morning, but I stayed atop the mound. My duty was to use the conch-shell horn from Biloxi’s palace to call my warriors back when the time came. True to their war chief, my men came when I blew the horn. Together we retreated to the canoe landing and loaded our prisoners. Any boat we didn’t need was set adrift so that pursuit could not be easily launched. Then we floated downriver, out of sight, and landed on the east bank. From there, we made our way home.”
He seated himself amidst a clapping of hands and gleeful shouts. He looked around the room.
You poor fools. Do you really think I’d risk my neck that way just to avenge our honor? I went for Morning Dew. And now I shall have her.
Blood Skull then took the floor. As he talked, Smoke Shield turned to his food. For propriety’s sake, he tossed yet another scrap of the roast venison into the fire before sinking his teeth into the succulent meat.
One by one his warriors told their tales, each approved by calls of “Wah! Wah!” Smoke Shield fidgeted. Would they never get to the end? He tried not to squirm as he waited for the exchange of gifts. Curse it all, since the moment he’d seen Morning Dew, he’d waited for this day.
Belly full, after days of travel and purification, he should have been lethargic by the time the last warrior finished. Instead, he was quivering with anticipation. He’d felt like this as a boy: giddy with excitement to receive a new gift.
Flying Hawk asked, “Does anyone have anything to say?”
Smoke Shield felt ready to burst as he leaped to his feet. “I have told of taking the high minko of the White Arrow People. At the same time, I took his three wives.”
Calls of assent arose.
Smoke Shield fought to keep his rising excitement at bay. “Some have said this is the greatest victory our people have had since settling in this valley. I do not know that to be the case, but I do know that I could not have done this thing without the unwavering support of Blood Skull. Acting as my second, he could have refused to attempt any plan as ridiculous as floating down a dark river. But he didn’t. Acting with bravery worthy of Eagle Man, he followed without complaint. In reward for such service to me, and to my people, I wish to give the high minko, Biloxi Mankiller, and all of his wives to Blood Skull as a representative of the Raccoon Clan.”
For a moment the room was silent, then burst into cheers.
Blood Skull stood, nodding respectfully to Flying Hawk, the
Hopaye,
and Tishu Minko Seven Dead. “Raccoon Clan and I are most honored by the war chief’s gift. We humbly accept, and find ourselves speechless at his generosity.”
Come on.
Smoke Shield struggled to keep his expression blank. The man would do it, wouldn’t he? Fear, like a dousing of cold water, ran down his spine. He remembered Blood Skull’s reluctance that night under the lean-to. His heart began to pound.
No, it would be impossible!
Blood Skull turned to Flying Hawk. “When the White Arrow attacked Alligator Town, it was the work of one man: the war chief, Screaming Falcon Mankiller. I was the warrior who captured him.” He hesitated. “Speaking for my clan, I would humbly offer him to High Minko Flying Hawk and the Chief Clan. Would you do us the honor of accepting this gift, High Minko?”
Flying Hawk nodded gracefully. “The Chief Clan is honored by your gift, Blood Skull. We are under obligation
to you and your clan for bestowing such an honor upon us.”
Smoke Shield shifted uncomfortably.
What about Morning Dew? Come on! Or are you just playing with me?
Blood Skull shot him an evaluative stare. Smoke Shield couldn’t seem to breathe. Blood Skull turned to the door, raising a hand. At his gesture, all eyes turned.
What is this? If I am double-crossed, so help me …
Two young men entered the room. Between them, a disheveled Morning Dew stared frantically at the faces surrounding her. She still wore her fine dress, though it was smeared with mud and had lost some of the gleaming pearls.
Smoke Shield started to rise, but caught himself. Every fiber of will was necessary to seat himself again. Fortunately—with all eyes on Morning Dew—no one had seen his lapse of control.
“Then there is the matter of this woman,” Blood Skull said. “She was once the new wife of Screaming Falcon Mankiller. She is the daughter of Sweet Smoke, and Old Woman Fox before her. With Sweet Smoke’s death, she is now the White Arrow matron. As representative of the Raccoon Clan, I have given long and careful thought to the matter of giving her away.” He frowned pensively. “So many are worthy. To make such a gift, however, is a special honor to bestow. For that reason, I have had the woman brought here. That you all might see.”
Smoke Shield’s blood was pounding. He’d knotted his fists, a rage beginning to burn between his souls.
If you do not give her to me, Blood Skull, I swear, if it takes me forever, I will see you bleed.
“War Chief,” Blood Skull said, “you have led our people to the greatest victory in memory. In return for your leadership and courage, we offer this woman, Morning Dew, matron of the Chahta Chief Clan of the White Arrow Moiety of the Chahta people. Will you do us the honor of accepting?”
At the pronouncement, Smoke Shield saw Morning Dew’s legs buckle under her, almost toppling the two men who held her.
“I will,” Smoke Shield said hoarsely, and struggled to maintain his composure. Could they see how close he was to screaming his victory? When he looked down, his arms were shaking. The young men dragged her through the press, dropping her among the empty dishes in front of Smoke Shield. She lay like a dead fish.
He realized he was panting from relief; it blew through him like a cool wind. Licking his lips, he managed to say, “From this moment forward, I am in your debt, Blood Skull.” He looked back, seeing Thin Branch by the door. “Thin Branch, take this woman to my wives. Have them wash and feed her. I want her dress repaired and cleaned. Her hair should gleam in the light.”
Morning Dew raised her head, staring at him through glazed and disbelieving eyes.
To keep from betraying his frayed control, Smoke Shield bowed his head, shoulders slumping. The room burst with cheers. Then it came to him: The fools misread his distress. They thought he was overwhelmed with the incredible honor just bestowed upon him.
S
moke Shield! I am to belong to Smoke Shield!
Morning Dew’s world had stopped, the sounds of the tchkofa grown distant. The universe shrank to the thunderous beating of her heart. A numbness, like a smothering blanket, settled on her souls. Her body had ceased to exist. She heard nothing, felt nothing, souls floating, disjointed and loose.
Morning Dew was barely aware that two young men grasped her ams to carry her from the smoky tchkofa’s interior. The laughter and jeers at her expense had no meaning. As if through another’s ears she heard the slave Thin Branch say something to two women who waited just beyond the tchkofa gate. The sight of them hurrying off through the crowd might have been through a stranger’s eyes. The crowd parted as the men dragged her after them, her senseless feet scuffing the grass.
For three long days she had longed for death, her situation little better than an animal’s. From where she’d been tied to the post, she had watched Screaming Falcon as the Sky Hand abused his body. Some had brought sharpened sticks to pierce his flesh; others jabbed at his belly and chest. People had delighted in slapping Screaming Falcon’s broken jaw. That afternoon Morning Dew had watched in horror as a young woman used a burning branch to singe the hair from his groin. Afterward his genitals had turned red, blistered, and swollen.
Somehow, she had forced herself to watch, her anguish a mirror of his own. When he had blinked back
tears and called, “Be strong!” a guard had smacked his swollen and bruised jaw with a war club.
If only they would kill me!
The pain would be merciful in its swiftness. She prayed that they might do it before they tortured Screaming Falcon to death. More than anything, she hadn’t wanted to watch that. His continued screams would have been like burning thorns in her souls. The sight of his wounded body, bleeding, blistered, and slowly cut apart, would have broken her.
But nothing had prepared her for the tchkofa. When two men had appeared in the darkness, whispered to the guards, and untied her, she had stumbled along. A desperate hope that ransom had been received from her people imparted a frantic belief that within a hand’s time she would be in a canoe, heading swiftly downriver toward freedom.
Only when she had heard Blood Skull’s words did she begin to fear. But even then, as he talked about carefully selecting whom he would give her to, hope had flickered like a tiny flame. With all the multitudes of Sky Hand to choose from, surely she would go to some influential clan, to some family of special merit.
And then the very sky had come crashing down on top of her. She remembered her legs giving out and the derisive hoots of the Sky Hand. There, among the plates, she had lost all of her wits, the words,
No, not him!
echoing in the hollow between her souls.
As the men pulled her limp body across the beaten grass of the plaza, she remembered Screaming Falcon’s slurred voice as they took her from the stake:
“Be brave! You are Morning Dew! Matron of the White Arrow!”
His cry still rung in her ears.
No, my husband. I am not brave. I have nothing left.
Even the wells of her tears were empty.
 
 
H
eron Wing hurried through the crowd, Violet Bead behind her. The news had come before Thin Branch appeared at the tchkofa gate. Blood Skull had given the White Arrow matron to Smoke Shield. The news was whispered from lip to lip, so she was prepared for some instruction; nor had Thin Branch’s tersely worded orders taken her by surprise. She quickly asked her cousin to care for Stone, then caught Violet Bead’s eye.
Oh, I know you well enough, Husband.
From the time he’d returned from White Arrow Town the summer before, she’d seen the obsession in his eyes. She’d heard rumors of how he asked any traveler from the Chahta lands about young Morning Dew. The miracle was that he had actually managed to obtain her.
“Do you think he planned this entire raid just to take that woman?” Violet Bead asked when they had progressed beyond earshot of the crowd.
“In all the world,” Heron Wing said, “only you and I know the lengths he would go to in order to warm his rod.” She laughed heartlessly. “This wasn’t about revenge. It was about her.”
“And now, he’ll make the most of it,” Violet Bead mused. “Nothing will stop him from being named high minko after Flying Hawk’s death.”
Heron Wing shot a sidelong glance at her co-wife. “The only thing different now is that it will be that much harder for him to ruin that chance.”
“You underestimate our husband’s ability to destroy himself.”
“Underestimate Smoke Shield? Not for a heartbeat.” She remembered how he’d managed to marry her. He might have taken a scar for it, but over the years she had wondered if he hadn’t planned it from the beginning. What Smoke Shield envied—no matter what hurdles stood in his path—he always found a way to obtain. “For the time being, he will be occupied with his new bed toy. His women are like copper. After a while he will grow
tired of shining it. This one, too, will eventually corrode. Morning Dew doesn’t know it yet, but all she needs to do is endure for a couple of moons. After another woman catches his eye, he will no longer call her to his bed.”
She glanced over her shoulder. In the half-moon’s light, she could see Thin Branch a stone’s throw behind them. The men dragging the slave were making hard work of it. “From the looks of her, she’s half-dead, or her souls have fled. We both know he doesn’t like a limp woman under him.”
“That’s his problem. Ours is to make her presentable. And fix her dress? Did you see what she’s wearing?”
“I looked at her when she was tied to the pole. She must have been a vain one, to wear a dress like that just to be captured in.”
“We’ll need drilled pearls.”
Heron Wing considered the problem. “Singing Moon has some. She’s admired my quill cape often enough that I think she’ll trade.”
“That’s a beautiful cape.”
“What do I care? It was a gift from Smoke Shield.”
They walked in silence for a while. Then Violet Bead asked, “You still think of him, don’t you?”
“Who? Smoke Shield? He’s hard to forget.”
“I mean his brother.”
Heron Wing shot a glance at Violet Bead. “What on earth could have made you bring that up?”
“I suppose it’s this new woman. Just another in a long line. Don’t you wonder what would have happened if Smoke Shield hadn’t told that lie? Or if Green Snake’s hand had been a little steadier that day?”
Of course she did. For years she’d brooded over it. “It’s all gone, Sister. Long gone. But if Smoke Shield hadn’t lied, he wouldn’t be the scheming Smoke Shield we both know.” She shook her head. “Sometimes the world turns on a decision. Just a word, or a gesture, and from then on, everything is different. Perhaps only a single person’s life changes; or it can lead to the rise and fall
of nations. That is the realm of Power, of the balance of harmony.”
“So, after all that, just why did you marry Smoke Shield?”
“Because I didn’t know what happened that day. It was only later that he told me. He was in one of his rages.” The words came back to haunt her.
“You know why he did this to me?”
Smoke Shield had pointed to the ugly scar on the side of his face.
“It was because I told him I’d lain with you. I taunted him
—
my precious, perfect brother. And he did this!”
To Violet Bead she said, “He lied. And after Green Snake left, no one would speak the reason of it. By then it was too late to matter anyway.” She shook her head, clearing her thoughts. “I don’t want to talk about it anymore. What is past cannot be changed.”
They walked along in silence again. Violet Bead, however, wouldn’t let it drop. “But he could still be alive.” She gestured to the darkness. “Out there, somewhere. Perhaps still thinking of you.”
“I said let it go. We are done speaking of this.”
“Forgive me.”
Heron Wing relented at the tone in Violet Bead’s voice. “No, it’s all right. And yes, I do wonder sometimes. Mostly when I’m alone. But wherever he went, he has never sent word. If he still lives, I hope he’s happy. And now, that is the last word I’ll speak.”
She wondered why she’d even let her guard down that much. Curiosity overcame her. “Why did you even ask?”
“Because, Sister”—Violet Bead used the honorific between wives—“I know that you still love him.”
“And what does that matter to you?”
She laughed humorlessly. “Because at least you can still love.”
They had reached her house. Inside, a low fire was burning, the scent of wood smoke on the air. Wide Leaf, her Koasati slave, hunched over the fire. She had propped
the food-encrusted ceramic pots from the feast so the flames would burn the contents out of the vessels. The old woman had worked most of the day, cooking for the victory feast.
“Wide Leaf,” Heron Wing called as the older woman looked up. “We have orders from our husband. We need warm water, soap, and a comb.”
“Of course.” Her expression narrowed as she used wooden tongs to remove the pots, reached for a water jug, and poured it into a bowl. “He’s coming here for a bath, is he?” She eyed Violet Bead suspiciously.
“No, it would seem he has been given a new slave. We are to clean her up and make her presentable for his bed.”
“Huh,” she grunted. Then she squinted. “Don’t expect him too soon.”
“Ah, what have you heard?”
“Loose talk.”
“About what?”
Wide Leaf shot another glance at Violet Bead, then added, “Trouble with the Albaamaha. They found a runner on the trail. Someone sent to warn the White Arrow that they were about to be attacked.”
Heron Wing shot a look at Violet Bead, who shook her head, indicating she’d heard nothing of it. That slaves often knew more than she did was no surprise. Wide Leaf was her greatest source of information on whom Smoke Shield was bedding, and when.
“Do they know who sent the runner?” Violet Bead asked.
Wide Leaf shrugged, but from long association, Heron Wing could tell she’d heard something. “It’s all right. Tell us what you know.”
Wide Leaf hesitated for a moment. “Some man named Paunch.”
“I’ve never heard of him.”
With the arrival of Thin Branch further talk was impossible. The man would tell Smoke Shield anything he
overheard. He held the door hanging aside while the burly young men muscled the limp Morning Dew through the doorway.
“Place her there.” Heron Wing pointed to the cattail matting near the fire. They watched as the men lowered the woman’s limp body to the floor. She might have been dead for all the life she exhibited. Through matted hair, Heron Wing could see the young woman’s eyes staring fixedly at nothing. Gods, had her souls fled?
“We are to stay close,” one of the young men said. “In case she runs, we are to chase her down and bring her back.”
“Thank you.” Heron Wing reached for one of the jars, lifting two acorn cakes from it. “Here, this is for your time. I imagine you haven’t eaten.”
“No,” one replied. “We thank you for this. If she makes a break, we won’t be more than a stone’s throw away.” Both nodded politely and stepped out.
“Do you need anything?” Thin Branch asked, looking from one to the other.
“Nothing we can’t find on our own.” Heron Wing cocked her head. “And you, Thin Branch, have you eaten?”
“No, mistress.” He glanced back toward the tchkofa. “But I’d best be getting back. He might need me.”
She removed another cake from the jar. “You can wolf it down on the way.”
“My thanks.” Then he turned, ducking out into the night.
The three women stared down at the captive for a moment, contemplating the listless Morning Dew.
Wide Leaf, as usual, was the first to break the silence. “She sure doesn’t look like much. The story is that she’s the White Arrow matron. If that’s a matron, I’m a chief.”
BOOK: People of the Weeping Eye (North America's Forgotten Past)
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