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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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Smoke Shield ground his teeth as Vinegarroon took his seat, and Flying Hawk recognized Black Tail. The Hawk Clan chief attended the rituals and offered his prayers. Then he stood and looked around the Council. “The killing of the captives cannot go unpunished. On that I think we all agree. To allow this to pass without response would be an affront not only to our people, but to the brave warriors who ransacked White Arrow Town. But we must act with prudence and foresight.”
Black Tail inclined his head when he met Night Star’s gaze. “I personally think the Panther Clan chief is correct when she says that this was done by a Chahta. I would urge the Council to wait, to listen, and to learn. Then, when we discover who really murdered our captives, we must act swiftly, surely, and ruthlessly to punish the offender.”
He turned to Vinegarroon. “However, I do not discount the possibility of Albaamaha perfidy. If, in the end, it turns out that the Albaamaha were responsible, we must take the appropriate measures.” He lifted a hand. “However, we must also remember how we came to be here. When our Ancestors came to this land, we did it with Albaamaha support. Some welcomed us with open arms; others resisted. For generations we have ruled here, but we have done so through wisdom, strength of arms, and justice. The Skunk Clan chief speaks with wisdom.”
Smoke Shield made no attempt to hide his irritation. Flying Hawk shot him a look of warning.
Black Tail added, “Let us say that it finally turns out that an Albaamo really did kill the captives. I doubt this, but let us assume it so for the moment. The Albaamaha expect us to act with wisdom, restraint, and justice. I said justice, my chiefs. If we are to avoid a calamity, we must punish only the culprit. Should we punish all the Albaamaha, or the wrong ones, Vinegarroon is right: We will incite a revolt.”
Flying Hawk took a deep breath when Black Tail resumed his seat. “Is it my understanding that the consensus of the Council is to wait and learn what we can before making any decision?”
One by one, the chiefs nodded.
Smoke Shield’s eyes narrowed.
Fools, by the time they come to a consensus, the Albaamaha will think themselves invincible.
“Then we will wait, listen, and learn.” He glanced around the room, finally ending with Smoke Shield. “Any final action will be taken with the approval of this Council. Is that understood by all?”
“It is,” came a chorus of replies.
“Then, in the name of the gods, so be it,” Flying Hawk concluded, his hard gaze fixed on Smoke Shield.
I
n Trader’s Dream Two Petals was Dancing, her naked body weaving in time to the lilting Song of the medicine box. As the melody rose and fell, she swayed and stepped to the music. Her smooth arms flowed with graceful movement, and her long black hair swirled and gleamed in the light. When she cast a glance over her bare shoulder, her eyes were sparkling. She whirled then, her gaze locked with his. Despite that, his attention was drawn to her breasts. Next he fixed on the dark dot of her navel. Her belly was flat, and each movement she made emphasized the thick tuft of her pubic hair. He let his eyes trail down her shapely legs. She Danced closer to him now, a knowing smile on her lips. As she circled him, hair swinging, hips gyrating, her fingertips traced the air around his body.
Trader’s heart began to pound, blood racing in his veins. She flipped around in front of him, fully aware of his erect penis. Her agile hands began caressing the air around his hard shaft.
He gasped, raising his eyes to hers and finding them full of promise. The tingle began deep in his pelvis, anticipating the explosion of his loins.
It was at that moment that Swimmer barked, bringing him back from the brink to groggy wakefulness. The Dream shattered and fell away.
Trader opened his eyes and stared around. They were in camp, on a low tree-covered knoll. Blue hazy smoke rose from white ash in the fire pit. Swimmer was barking,
growling, his back hair standing on end, tail like a lance as he fixed on something out in the forest.
Trader sat up, reaching for his weapons, and froze. Two Petals sat across from him on a log, her wide dark eyes fixed on his. He gulped, flushed with embarrassment. “Gods, did you do that to me?”
Her lips parted as if in anticipation. Then she said, “The blind man is embracing us.”
He shook himself, breaking the gaze and turning his attention to Swimmer. “What’s wrong, boy?”
Swimmer growled, barked, and retreated to Trader’s side to stare out at the forest.
Old White muttered as he sat up, asking, “What’s all the racket?”
“I think someone is out there,” Trader told him, trying to shed the last fragments of the Dream.
“None of them are real,” Two Petals said, her eyes now unfocused. “We can ignore them all. They’re of no consequence.”
“Who?” Trader asked, whipping his blanket off and standing. The morning sun was no more than finger high over the southeastern treeline. He searched the shadows, letting Swimmer bark to his content. Then he saw movement, the briefest glimpse of a man’s head as he peered from behind a tree.
“At least one man,” Trader noted as Old White stood, shivering in the cold air. The Seeker grabbed up a buffalo cape and hung it over his shoulders, then lifted his Trader’s staff, with its long white feathers.
Walking to the edge of the camp, Old White held up his staff, shouting, “We travel in peace under the Power of Trade. Come, warm yourselves at our fire and share our hospitality.”
For a long moment, the forest was silent. Then an order was barked. Trader had no idea what language it was. To his dismay, figures appeared—a lot of them. He glanced around, seeing movement in every direction.
“Hope they’re friendly,” Old White noted as warriors magically stepped out from every tree and bush.
“Who are you?” a voice called in Trade Tongue.
“I am Old White, often called the Seeker. With me is Two Petals, a Contrary, and the man is called Trader. We travel from the north with Trade.”
A broad-shouldered warrior, short, with the body of a bear, stepped to the forefront, an arrow nocked in his bow. He wore a red war shirt, his face painted in red and black stripes. Oversize copper ear spools filled the lobes of his ears. A large bun—the hair wrapped over a bundle of cloth—stuck out from the back of his head. The cross-shaped sun symbol that decorated the chest of his war shirt was painted in bright red.
“Yuchi,” Trader noted dryly. Just at first glance, he figured they were surrounded by no less than thirty warriors.
“Yuchi,” Old White agreed.
The burly warrior was approaching slowly, his suspicious eyes darting this way and that, as if in anticipation of an ambush.
“There are only the three of us,” Old White said reasonably over Swimmer’s frantic barking. “By the Power of Trade, I swear that we are no threat.”
“That remains to be seen,” the man said warily. “I have been sent to find a Powerful witch that is coming to our country.”
“You will find no witches here.” Old White kept a smile on his face.
It was then that Two Petals stood, walking straight toward the warrior, saying, “He is calling for me.”
The warrior pulled his arrow back, expression sharpening. “Come no closer!”
“Two Petals!” Old White cried in horror. “No! I mean yes! Um, go, run. Gods, do something!”
She stopped short, head tilted as she studied the wide-eyed warrior. “When your arrow pierces my chest,
the blind man will be so pleased with the answers to his questions. He hasn’t seen me yet.”
“What blind man?” Trader asked, his hands held wide so that no warriors would get the wrong idea.
The burly man swallowed hard, barking another command. His warriors stood like statues, eyes flint-like, arrows drawn.
Old White growled under his breath, stepping out to place himself between Two Petals and the thick warrior. “She is a
Contrary
! What she says is backward. It’s the Power that fills her. You do understand a Contrary, don’t you?”
The burly warrior nodded, swallowed hard, and released the tension on his arrow. “What is your purpose in our lands?”
“We come bearing Trade. Nothing more. We wish only to pass through the lands of the Children of the Sun, and we will be gone to the south. To do so, we offer Trade, and would hire some of your young men to pull us upstream, and perhaps pay for portage into the head of the Horned Serpent River. That is all.”
The man hesitated before asking, “How do I know that you will not witch us?”
“We are
not
witches,” Trader cried. “By the gods, see the staff that Old White holds? Why would you think we are witches?”
“Because we have been sent to find a witch,” the warrior replied. He glanced past Old White at Two Petals. “And we seem to have found the woman that our Kala Hi’ki described.”
Old White turned, looking at Two Petals. “Is this right?”
“Their blind man saw me.” Her eyes had lost focus. “I saw him when he disappeared.” She reached out, fingers caressing the air in a way that made Trader flinch—it was hauntingly similar to what she’d done in his Dream.
“There,” she said. “You can touch him.”
Old White glanced at the warrior. “This Priest of yours, he is blind?”
The warrior nodded. “He sees the Spirit World. He has seen this woman coming.”
“We wish the Children of the Sun no harm,” Old White insisted.
The warrior ground his teeth, muscles in his jaw flaring. Then he came to a decision. “I think it would be best if we kill you here. That way there is no chance that you can work evil on us.”
Old White drew himself to his fullest and tapped his Trader’s staff on the ground. “If you do that, you will break the Power of the Trade.” He lifted a finger, pointing. “If this Prophet of yours is so Powerful, take us to him! If he is truly a man of Power, he will know who and what we are.”
Gods, the old man has lost his souls to madness! Don’t anger them more!
The warrior continued to hesitate. Trader’s heart skipped as he glanced sidelong at the ring of warriors. What couldn’t have been more than a couple of breaths’ duration seemed like half of his life.
The warrior turned, barked an order, and a young man spun on his heel, leaving at a high run. “Very well, you will get your wish. The Kala Hi’ki will decide what to do with you.” A hard smile curled the man’s lips. “But if you are wrong about this, you might end up longing for a quick death here in the forest, rather than what awaits foreign witches in our captivity.”
“You are a wise man,” Old White said with relief.
One of the warriors off to Trader’s left gasped, pointing at the medicine box. The war leader glanced, squinted, and paled. He spoke in Yuchi, and the rest of the warriors replied in awe.
“Where did you get that?” he asked.
“In Trade from the Kaskinampo.”
The war leader’s eyes narrowed. “We know that medicine. Once it was ours, and then stolen. Now it seems to have come back to us.”
Trader felt his gut sink. The copper, the box—all of it was gone. He considered his bow where it lay just out of reach. “The box is mine,” he said through gritted teeth.
“All in time, Trader,” Old White remarked sternly. “Let this wise war leader take us to his Prophet. If the man is as Powerful as they believe, he will understand the reason why we have to take it south.”
“Oh, I am a very wise war chief,” the burly warrior assured him. “We will watch as you load your possessions into your canoes. You will wear only your clothing, with no pouches, bundles, or fetishes with which to curse us. At the first sign of witchcraft, we will kill you and throw your bodies into the river. There, your pollution will wash down to bedevil the Kaskinampo.”
Old White turned to Two Petals. “Do you understand what he is saying? You must be very careful. Your life, and ours, will depend upon it.”
Two Petals’ voice carried a deadly calm. “Power Dances—but ever so carefully—to see what will happen.”
“Move,” the war chief ordered. “And please, make a mistake. I am already regretting this decision to carry you and your pollution any farther into our lands.”
 
 
“W
ell,” Old White mused, “that wasn’t so bad.”
He watched the Yuchi archers watching him. He could have given a halfhearted toss of a pebble and landed it in their canoe. The war chief had taken no chances, having them load their packs into the rear of the canoe, leaving only enough room for Trader, Two Petals, and himself in the front of Trader’s birch-bark vessel. Ahead of them, at the end of a rope, the Yuchi warriors
bent their backs to the paddles, heading south along the backwaters.
“My copper,” Trader sighed as he stared listlessly at the gray forest passing slowly past. “I have searched all my life for a piece like that. Then I find the medicine box, and lose them both.” He paused. “I didn’t even put up a fight.”
“Breathing has something to be said for it.” Old White glanced at the canoe full of warriors paralleling them. “Like the joy of being able to continue doing it.”
“We’re moving so slowly,” Two Petals added where she perched on a pack.
“They don’t even trust Swimmer,” Trader noted, reaching back to scratch his dog’s ears.
“I wouldn’t refer to him as Demon Dog,” Old White said dryly.
“There’s a reason I called him Swimmer.”
“And to think I considered you slow-witted.”
“Well, if it were up to my wits, we wouldn’t be in this situation.”
“I didn’t notice you coming up with anything back there.”
Trader gave him a scowl.
Old White turned to Two Petals. “I would know about this blind man.”
“He appeared in the Dream,” she said absently. “He only wore Power. Shimmering and shining. He looked up through his blindness and saw me. He watched me all the way upriver.”
“A blind man watched you?” Trader mused. “Let’s see, in Contrary talk, that means a man with sight didn’t see you, correct?”
Two Petals glanced at him. “You know everything.”
Trader sighed, his gaze fastening on his canoe where his precious copper rode.
Old White allowed his own attention to focus there. What was Power’s purpose to give them the medicine box, only to take it away again? None of it made sense.
“Two Petals, describe this blind man.”
She looked down at her hands. “He lives in the light; it shines in his eyes. He has come through fire and water, his flesh alive. I could feel his gaze from a great distance.”
BOOK: People of the Weeping Eye (North America's Forgotten Past)
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