People of the Weeping Eye (North America's Forgotten Past) (37 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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“It will be terrible,” she said of the swelling panic within. “No laughter. None at all.”
“We were thinking about hiring a couple of canoes. Remember how the Inoca towed us upstream?”
“Yes, slow us down immeasurably,” she replied, dreading the idea of the world moving even faster around her.
She sighed, bending over to trace her fingertips through the water. The feel of it passing added to her sense of unease. “I still don’t know how it does that.”
“Because it is running away from you. Trying to get as far away as possible before you reach Split Sky City.”
She closed her eyes, seeking the Spirit of the river, only to feel it shift ever so slightly, just beyond her ability to touch it. Why did it elude her so? What did the river have to fear from her? She wouldn’t even be near its waters when they reached Split Sky City.
“Can you hear me?” she called into the depths. “Why won’t you talk to me?”
“Maybe you’re not asking the right question,” Old White said from his seat in the rear. “Myself, I’ve never talked to rivers. But then, perhaps I wasn’t smart enough to know that I should.”
“It has such a short Spirit,” Two Petals told him. “All compressed, bursting to be longer.” In the end, her time with this river would be so brief. Shorter now that Yuchi paddlers would speed up the entire world. Did they know that by dint of their muscles, they were moving the entire earth? If she told them, would the knowledge sap their energy?
She said, “The only time a man can move the entire world is when he isn’t aware that he is doing so.”
Old White nodded, his expression turning pensive.
She glanced past him, seeing Trader in his birch-bark canoe following in their wake. The rising and falling of his paddle was regular as a heartbeat. With each stroke,
it captured a bit of sunlight on the blade, and sank it into the river. She could see sunlight sparkling on the water, and wondered if that, too, was reflected from beneath the surface, from the thousands of paddles over the years that had stirred captured bits of light into the water.
it captured a bit of sunlight on the blade, and sank it into the river. She could see sunlight sparkling on the water, and wondered if that, too, was reflected from beneath the surface, from the thousands of paddles over the years that had stirred captured bits of light into the water.
She studied Trader over the distance and remembered the image of their naked bodies locked together.
Not yet. But the time will come. He has much to teach me.
Trader was still far back in time, consumed by his worries and guilt. She had seen his interest in her. He was a man, after all. But the wariness behind his eyes had built a wall between them. She knew how it would slowly come unraveled, to fall with one last surprise.
Oh, I know you well, Trader.
She both anticipated and dreaded the moment their paths would finally intersect. In her souls’ eye she saw two rocks, flying through the air, clacking loudly, and then glancing off in different directions to land in the hands of their throwers.
She both anticipated and dreaded the moment their paths would finally intersect. In her souls’ eye she saw two rocks, flying through the air, clacking loudly, and then glancing off in different directions to land in the hands of their throwers.
From his perspective, however, he was but moments from the initial throw, just beginning his whistling path through the air. Like a stone, he had no idea what he would hit, or where he would finally fall to earth, or the shape he would be in when he landed. Seeing from the last to the first, Two Petals could pity him.
“Yes, we’ll see terrible times,” she said.
“Good,” Old White answered, thinking she was still speaking of the Kaskinampo.
O
ld White glanced back at Trader as they nosed into the canoe landing below the rapids. A child had already spotted them, and ran toward the nestled houses calling a warning. The settlement had been built on a low terrace just above flood stage. People emerged from dwellings, or looked up from the cook fires, mortars, and other tasks they were occupied with. Others stepped out of a fortification behind the village.
ld White glanced back at Trader as they nosed into the canoe landing below the rapids. A child had already spotted them, and ran toward the nestled houses calling a warning. The settlement had been built on a low terrace just above flood stage. People emerged from dwellings, or looked up from the cook fires, mortars, and other tasks they were occupied with. Others stepped out of a fortification behind the village.
Trader seemed only slightly nervous, obviously having at least a little faith in Old White’s sleight to protect his copper. During the days when Two Petals had passed her moon, they had laboriously chipped away most of the stone, hammered nodules flat, and beaten the metal into a thick square sheet. For the time being it was wrapped in a durable cloth bag with heavily stitched shoulder straps.
Well, now we see if the story we concocted works.
The Kaskinampo were a Mos’kogean people. Like the Sky Hand, they had invaded this country, taking the three falls of the Tenasee River from the original inhabitants. Those unlucky folk had fled farther east, only to be crushed and enslaved by the Yuchi and Charokee. Their name was no longer spoken. As to the Kaskinampo, some still lived in the old towns west of the Father Water. Contact, Trade, and communications continued to be maintained between the groups.
Because of their location on the Tenasee—and the heavily fortified towns they had constructed on the heights—they controlled all Trade up and down the river,
offering their services to portage around the rapids for a reasonable fee. For the most part the ambitious Yuchi, farther upriver, left them alone. It didn’t hurt to have the Kaskinampo to take the brunt of Miami, Illinois, and Shawnee war parties headed upriver; and for their part, the Kaskinampo never got too greedy about the Trade. They took a fair share for their services, and did their best to facilitate the movement of goods up and down the river. They believed that a smaller share of a lot of different goods served them better in the long term than a discouragingly large cut from fewer and fewer canoe loads.
offering their services to portage around the rapids for a reasonable fee. For the most part the ambitious Yuchi, farther upriver, left them alone. It didn’t hurt to have the Kaskinampo to take the brunt of Miami, Illinois, and Shawnee war parties headed upriver; and for their part, the Kaskinampo never got too greedy about the Trade. They took a fair share for their services, and did their best to facilitate the movement of goods up and down the river. They believed that a smaller share of a lot of different goods served them better in the long term than a discouragingly large cut from fewer and fewer canoe loads.
The Michigamea should be so smart.
By the time Old White’s canoe nosed into the beach, a dozen helping hands were waiting to pull the craft up onto shore. Others performed a similar task for Trader, though wary of Swimmer where the dog perched atop the packs.
“Greetings,” Old White called, raising his Trader’s staff. “I am Old White, sometimes called the Seeker. The woman is Two Petals, a Contrary. This other man is Trader. We come in need of portage past the rapids. For this service, we offer Trade.”
One of the older men stepped forward, touching his breast by way of greeting. “I am Buffalo Mankiller, of the White Earth Clan. My lineage has charge of the lower landing. What can the Kaskinampo do to help you?”
Old White grimaced as he stood stiffly. “I’m not as young as I used to be.” He could feel the ache up and down his body. His lower half was cramped from sitting, his upper body pained from paddling.
“None of us are,” Buffalo Mankiller told him with a smile.
Trader stepped out of his canoe, trying as best he could to swing his heavy cloth pack onto his shoulders in a way that made it look light. He added, “We need to Trade for passage up past the third rapids. Is Long Hand still chief here?”
“It is with sorrow that I tell you that he has passed to the Sky World two winters past.” Buffalo turned his appraisal to Trader, and the obviously heavy pack he carried. “You knew him?”
“I used to travel this way often.”
Buffalo Mankiller indicated Trader’s tattoo with a finger. “That looks like a minko’s tattoo, but unfinished.”
Trader smiled humorlessly. “To have finished it, I would have had to have completed my initiation. Some things in life are disrupted by Power, fate, or destiny. In my case, the disruption was from the Hichiti. I was lucky to escape with my life.”
Old White thought it was a smooth lie.
“And your town?” Buffalo Mankiller asked.
“It is gone,” Trader said with great facility. “Most were taken by the Hichiti. Some fled to the Ockmulgee. Me, I turned to the river, and to Trade.” He made a throwing-away gesture. “Living in the Trade is so much better than serving as a slave, don’t you think?”
“It is so.” Buffalo shot an evaluative stare at Two Petals. “You said the woman is a Contrary? This is true?”
Old White nodded. “It is. Two Petals is from the far north. She has no understanding of your culture, and all that she does is backward. Power rides on her shoulders like no woman I have ever known. For that reason I would warn you, and ask you take any precautions necessary around her. We are here in peace, and for the Trade. We wish only to pass through your country as quickly as possible, without incident.”
Buffalo’s scrutiny intensified as he stepped unconsciously back from Two Petals. “If she is so Powerful, how do you travel with her?”
“We carry our medicine to protect us.” Old White indicated the heavy pack on Trader’s back, and his own wooden box. He reached down, lifted it, and swung it onto his shoulder. Then he grabbed up his weighted bag and shouldered the strap. His pouch of herbs he tied to his waist.
“What medicine is that?” Buffalo asked, pointing to Trader’s sagging bag.
“It is a slab of carved stone,” Trader told him straight-faced. “It contains Spirits in each of the carvings on its surface. As long as it is covered, none of those Spirits will wake. This is another reason we wish to pass as quickly as possible through your country.”
Buffalo rubbed his chin, thoughts racing behind his eyes. “Where do you go with this Contrary and this terrible Spirit Power?”
“Split Sky City. Once there, we can divest ourselves of our charge, and return once again to our normal lives,” Old White said honestly. “We were wondering, would a half pack of prime northern beaver hides cover portage past the rapids, and perhaps two canoes filled with young men to pull us upriver?”
Buffalo thought, then shook his head. “No, for that many men, I would need much more than that.” An eyebrow raised. “And being around both a Contrary and such Powerful medicine would mean that they would have to be secluded, purified by our
Hopaye,
our greatest Healer.” A pause. “Then, too, we have plenty of beaver in our own country.”
Hopaye,
our greatest Healer.” A pause. “Then, too, we have plenty of beaver in our own country.”
“I see.” Old White let his gaze run over the packs.
Trader interrupted his thoughts. “I have something that Kaskinampo have not seen often.”
“We have seen many things,” Buffalo Mankiller said, affecting boredom.
“Have you seen a white fox skin?” Trader asked, crossing his arms against the weight of the copper.
“Sometimes—rarely, I’ll grant you—a fox is born white. They don’t live for long.”
Trader bent over, the pack swinging awkwardly on his back and banging his elbow. Old White smiled at that, having been bruised by his own stone-weighted sack over the years. The young man finally managed to find the right bale and untie the straps holding it. From under a press of flattened mink, lynx, and wolverine, he
brought forth a gleaming white fox skin, rubbing the thick long fur to make it stand. He handed it to Buffalo Mankiller, asking, “What do you think of that?”
brought forth a gleaming white fox skin, rubbing the thick long fur to make it stand. He handed it to Buffalo Mankiller, asking, “What do you think of that?”
Old White watched the Kaskinampo’s expression as he inspected the fox skin. Buffalo Mankiller was no novice given the amount and number of goods passing through his hands, but the look of fascination overcame his control. “Where did this come from?”
“The far north,” Old White added, having seen the beasts in his travels in those distant lands. “The white fox doesn’t live below the tundra. You’ll notice its ears are smaller than any fox ears you’ve ever seen before. Being small keeps them from freezing in the miserable cold.”
Swimmer was already out of the canoe, having found children who would pet him and scratch his neck.
“How many of these do you have?” Buffalo Mankiller asked, trying to peer into the partially uncovered pile.
“I would Trade four. One for you, one for the chief here, and one for each of the chiefs who control the rapids upriver.”
“And for the men who paddle us upriver,” Old White added, “I will throw in a shell gorget apiece for their labor and the discomfort of cleansing, as well as a large crystal for the
Hopahe
who must conduct the rituals.”
Hopahe
who must conduct the rituals.”
“I shall see what can be done,” Buffalo Mankiller relented. “In the meantime, we still have daylight left. Do you wish your canoes and packs carried up to the landing above the rapids?”
“That would be fine.” Old White inclined his head. “We would offer a sack of wild rice to the porters. I suspect that you don’t get much of that here.”
“Your gift is most generous.” Buffalo Mankiller gave a signal. His strong young men began unloading packs.
Old White told Two Petals, “If you don’t want to walk, stay in the canoe.”
She immediately climbed out, a frown on her forehead as she watched the porters swing the heavy packs onto their heads and start up the trail. “Just keep me
away from the flies.” She batted at the air around her. “It’s like kicking a carcass. Confusion everywhere.”
away from the flies.” She batted at the air around her. “It’s like kicking a carcass. Confusion everywhere.”
Old White glanced at Trader, who shrugged. The unpacking, shouldering of the packs, and lifting of the canoes onto strong backs was finished before Old White could cinch his packs tighter on his back.
“One thing,” Trader asked of Buffalo Mankiller, “would you have an ornately carved box? The sort of thing war medicine is carried in?”
The Kaskinampo thought for a moment. “I might.” A pause. “Why?”
Trader indicated the fabric on his back. “It was the best I could do at the time, but fabric can rip. To keep Powerful Spirits like these, I would prefer something sturdier.”
Buffalo Mankiller took a quick measure of the size with his eyes. “We have something. A box of great Power. It comes from down south, and those who have owned it have all suffered terrible misfortune. Our Priests have decided that it should be sent from our lands. But it will cost you.”
“Somehow I expected that.”
“Just promise me you won’t let that Power loose in the process of transferring your Spirit Stone.”
“I will be as careful for my sake as for that of your people,” Trader promised. Then he whistled. “Come on, Swimmer. Leave the children alone. Let’s go.”
T
rader hummed a tune to himself as he reclined before the fire. Swimmer curled beside him on his blanket, allowing Trader to stroke his silky hair. Periodically the dog sighed in contentment and shifted himself so as to expose other parts of his body to petting.
rader hummed a tune to himself as he reclined before the fire. Swimmer curled beside him on his blanket, allowing Trader to stroke his silky hair. Periodically the dog sighed in contentment and shifted himself so as to expose other parts of his body to petting.
The night was cold, but one thing Trader wasn’t short on was furs. That the heavens were clear, literally frosted with stars, was a blessing. The alternative would have
been either cold rain or swirling snow. He’d take the stars, and with pleasure, thank you.
been either cold rain or swirling snow. He’d take the stars, and with pleasure, thank you.
Buffalo Mankiller had made the decision that, due to the Power they represented, it would be unwise to lodge them in one of the guest houses before the main town’s palisade. Instead, they had been asked to camp here, on the sandy canoe landing above the rapids.
Just by lifting his head, Trader could see his birch-bark canoe—reloaded to his specifications—ready to be pushed off at a moment’s notice. Old White’s finely made dugout sat beside his, mounds of packs visible. The river ran black, its surface reflecting the faintest sheen of starlight.
“Cheaper than I expected,” Old White said as he used sand to scrap out the cooking bowl. Supper had been a thick fish stew flavored with hickory and beechnuts. Afterward they had nibbled on a local cornbread.
“White fox is a powerful incentive.”
“You must have been in the north a while.”
“Trade was good.” He grinned. “And I wanted to do a little digging of my own.”
“Paid off,” Old White noted, glancing at Two Petals.
Trader turned his attention to her. She’d seemed preoccupied of late, as if a great depressing weight had settled on her since she’d been in the moon lodge. Trader considered her features: definitely comely. She kept cropping into his thoughts. Watching her brought the constant reminder that she was an attractive and single female with a charming body. But just when his thoughts began to dwell on her full breasts, or the way her dress clung to those round hips, she would look at him, and say something spooky enough to snuff any sprouting desires.
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