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

People of the Weeping Eye (North America's Forgotten Past) (46 page)

BOOK: People of the Weeping Eye (North America's Forgotten Past)
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“Oh, so he brought his wife,” Smoke Shield said mockingly. “Too bad.” Then he smiled. “Well, if it gets as cold as you think it might, we’ll have someone to warm our blankets up in that cold camp.”
“Two of them?” Fast Legs asked dubiously. “That’s twice the risk.”
“I think we can handle an Albaamo woman. And what if she does get away? What’s her word against ours?” But Smoke Shield didn’t think she was going to get away to anywhere. “Come, let’s go and see if they’ll travel upriver with us.”
He lowered his paddle, pushing out into the sluggish winter current. Overhead, the sky continued to darken. A lighthearted joy filled Smoke Shield’s breast. How fitting—a storm really was coming.
O
ld White chewed thoughtfully; then he spooned up another mouthful of beans. He glanced across at the pole bench where Two Petals lay sleeping, her Dreams disturbed. She whimpered on occasion, and tossed under the deerhide blanket that one of the Priests had spread over her. Trader sat to his right, picking meat off a turkey carcass, tossing occasional scraps to Swimmer.
The dog watched them with that rapt attention that could consume the canine soul. His ears were pricked, the brown eyes pleading. Swimmer’s tail betrayed the barest twitch of anticipation. The faintest sliver of drool escaped the corner of his mouth.
The Kala Hi’ki was seated opposite them, his ruined body composed, the binding over his eyes pure and white against the corruption of his face.
Old White could see the question in Trader’s eyes, but the answer was self-evident. Only one circumstance could leave a man looking that way. He’d been hung upon a square once upon a time. For whatever reason, he had either been cut loose, rescued, or somehow managed to impress his captors with such resourcefulness and bravery that they had let him live. Those events were as rare as turkey teeth.
“Has the Contrary been in such a large city before?” the Kala Hi’ki asked.
“Cahokia,” Old White said after swallowing.
“Cahokia is abandoned,” the Yuchi said. “It lies in
ruins with only small villages clustered around it. Has she ever been close to so many people?”
“We have stopped to Trade only in small villages. The Kaskinampo labored like slaves to get us through their territory.”
“Wise of them.” The Kala Hi’ki nodded. “She has lost her souls for the moment. They fled in panic to find shelter from the people. I had cast a Spirit wall around you, a way of containing any witchery that you might consider. It shielded her for most of your walk up from the landing. I didn’t understand what she was, or how Powerful she could be. She broke the barrier down. Can you imagine suddenly touching all those souls? Hearing their thoughts, longings, and passions? It was too much.”
“Too much. That’s what she cried out before she fell,” Trader added.
“She must learn to focus.” The Kala Hi’ki fingered his ruined right hand with his left, touching the pad of his fingers on each stump. “I cannot understand why the Cahokia witch would just set her free like that.” He turned his head in Old White’s direction. “This complication with Black Tooth … it turned out badly, didn’t it?”
“She killed him,” Old White said softly. “She blew the souls out of his body. Just a puff of her breath and he fell from his tripod like a stone. I’ve seen the like before. Sometimes people survive with parts of their body paralyzed, or their speech slurred. Some can live for years afterward. He just hit the floor with a thump … dead.”
The blind Prophet nodded. “Black Tooth mocked the lords of Cahokia. He abused what Power was left to that place. Cahokia may be an empty husk, but one should not enrage the souls of the dead who walk there.” He paused. “Sometimes I think we are all losing our Power. Perhaps it has been drained away. Or, like good farmland, it loses its fertility over time, only growing stunted crops.”
Old White chewed his beans and said, “The center that was Cahokia has spread out; people of different nations and languages have taken its beliefs in all directions. Perhaps what was once concentrated is diffused.”
The blind man smiled. “We are the Children of the Sun, the Tsoyaha. This has always been our land. Our home is here on the Tenasee River and in the hills to the east. Our stories tell of the coming of the Cahokian Traders. Some of our chiefs went there and we learned their Power. Many of their teachings were incorporated into our own. We took their Power, and mixed it with our own, growing stronger. That is the strength of the Tsoyaha.” He paused. “But perhaps as different people took the Power, Cahokia faded. It is a lesson for all of us.”
“If you believe that there is only so much Power in the world.” Old White added, “That it is like water in a jar. You can only pour so much out before it is all gone.”
“Do you believe this?” the Kala Hi’ki asked.
Old White shrugged, setting his plate aside. He fished for his pipe, happy that at least it had been returned to him. “I’m not sure. But I have come to believe that those who hoard Power are finally destroyed by it. You have heard the legends of Tharon?”
“The great lord of Cahokia who sent warriors out around the world to obtain Power objects. He became a witch, and in the end his own people burned him to rid the world of his evil.”
“Power must always be treated with the greatest respect,” Old White agreed. “It is to be used with the utmost care, allowed to flow through us.”
“Perhaps that is why the Tsoyaha are still strong,” the Kala Hi’ki said thoughtfully. “Our people must ever be obedient to our promises to Our Mother Sun and the forces that have made us.” He fingered the shell gorget on his chest, another of the three-winged spirals surrounded by a circle containing what looked like moons and stars. The edge looked like round flower petals.
“The Tsoyaha manage,” Old White granted.
“But it is difficult,” the Kala Hi’ki continued. “Our stories tell us about the coming of the Mos’kogee. We watched them flood eastward, and they washed around us, conquering, settling, and moving on again. To the north are the Kaskinampo, to the south the Chaktaw, and Chikosi. East of them are the Talapoosie, the Ockmulgee, and others. While others have been swept away, we remain.”
Then he glanced at Two Petals. “For the moment, I worry about her Power. She is dangerous, unfocused. If she lashes out instead of fainting, the consequences could be severe.”
“Split Sky City, I’m afraid, is even larger than your city is. She will be overwhelmed.”
“You have never seen a Contrary trained?”
“No, I haven’t. Most of the Contraries I have known are older, and often just people who affect the ways and manners to touch the Power. I’ve never known one as young as she.”
“That is the problem.” The Kala Hi’ki turned his blind face to Old White. “I could help her.”
“Why would you offer to do that, great Kala Hi’ki? Even I, who am in the middle of this, have no real idea of Power’s purpose with her.”
“She appeared to me,” he said. “From far-off Cahokia. Perhaps she came here for a reason. Came to me. Perhaps I am part of Power’s purpose.” He paused. “You have claimed, under the Power of Trade, that you wish us no harm. Do you still bind yourself to that?”
“I do,” Old White answered.
“Trader?” the Kala Hi’ki asked. “You, who are an enemy of my people, do you so swear?”
Trader nodded. “I do. I have no reason to wish the Tsoyaha ill.”
“Why would that be? Our warriors have killed your people, and you mine. We have been enemies from the time your people conquered the Albaamaha.”
“We have also made peace between us at different
times in the past,” Trader responded. “I’m a Trader first, and I’ve seen many peoples. The ones at war do the least Trade.”
“But warriors often capture good farmlands after they have weakened their enemies or destroyed them,” the Kala Hi’ki countered. “War strengthens the young men. Makes them fast, quick of thought and action. It hones them to aspire to their best.”
“And it often leaves them dead,” Trader responded woodenly. “There are better ways to make young men quick of wit and skilled. Personally, I would see them play stickball, or learn the ways of the hunt.”
“Some would say you were a coward, Chikosi
.”
“What do you think, Kala Hi’ki? Do you think I am a coward?”
“I think you are often afraid.”
“Being afraid and being a coward are two different things.”
“What is the secret that you hide, murderer? Are you afraid to tell me?”
Old White watched Trader lower his eyes. The man glanced at Swimmer, then at his hands. “I have found no reason to tell you.”
The Kala Hi’ki nodded slowly. “I see. Well then, let us try this: Your life rests in my hands. My chief would like to burn you alive in the square at the height of winter solstice. He thinks you would make a good sacrifice to Tso, our Mother Sun. He sees no reason to let an enemy of his people return to home with such a wealth of Trade. In principle, I agree with him; however, I am curious about why Power is calling you to Split Sky City. If there is advantage in this, I would know it. Unlike so many, I have a healthy respect for Power. But I do not want to see my enemy strengthened. Especially when he grows stronger by the season.”
The Kala Hi’ki rubbed his maimed hand. “So my proposal is that we all be honest with each other. Power is at work here, and while I do value the Power of Trade—and
its guarantee of safe conduct—no Trader would blame me if I accused a self-confessed murderer of witchcraft and let the
yu bah’le,
my high chief, burn you alive at the solstice.”
The grin he gave Trader was a gruesome thing. “The Kaskinampo could easily be persuaded to support such a claim, given their haste to see you out of their territory. So, Trader, knowing that your lives are in the balance, will you be totally honest with me, assuming I am totally honest with you?”
Trader looked doomed. “My uncle is called high minko among the Sky Hand. The man I killed was my brother.”
Old White chuckled, aware that attention switched to him.
“That is funny?” the Kaka Hi’ki asked, a terrible passion in his voice. “Are you so blind you do not see these scars? I received them at the hands of the Chikosi high minko! Flying Hawk did this to me while I hung in the square. Now, his nephew sits before me? Do you know how desperately I have wanted to repay them in kind?”
“Power plays us for fools,” Old White said, still chuckling. “This grows ever more intricate in its weave. Just when I begin to perceive the pattern, I encounter yet another thread. Very well, Kala Hi’ki, if we pledge ourselves to honesty, what will you do now that you have such a prestigious person in your hands? We are being tested. Each of us is being granted their heart’s desire. Mine—and Trader’s, I suppose—is to return to our land. I wish to correct an old wrong before I die. Trader wishes to regain his name and honor. You wish to repay pain with pain. Power has sent us down this trail, and now we all face choices. What will yours be?”
The Kala Hi’ki sat silent as a stone, head back. The muscles in his face quivered with the passions that burned inside him. “Flying Hawk laughed as I screamed.”
“I am not that man,” Trader insisted doggedly.
“You are Chief Clan. Of his lineage. Give me one
good reason why I should not have you dragged out of here this moment and tied into the square.”
“Because Power has brought us all together here,” Old White replied as if they were discussing the strength of a mint tea. “You are meant to be tempted with the revenge you thirst for. Power gives, and it takes.”
“I feel like taking,” the Kala Hi’ki said through gritted teeth.
Trader had turned sickly pale, wide eyes on the Yuchi priest. “But you did not die on the square. Somehow you got loose.”
“A boy untied me in the middle of the night. In that disgusting tongue of yours, he told me to run. My legs failed me, and I lay writhing and bleeding on the ground. He laughed as he ground my right hand under his foot. When I could finally hobble, he told me to never come back. That his name was Green Snake.”
Trader sucked his breath in. “I
never
cut you loose!”
The Kala Hi’ki jabbed out with a pointing finger. “You are
Green Snake
? The man who freed me, stamped on my hand, and
urinated
into my wounds?”
“No.” Trader dropped his head into his hands. “I never did these things you speak of. Not me. But, my brother … Gods, the things my brother did.”
Old White puffed his pipe and nodded. “There it is. You see, it all fits the pattern. You have been tormenting yourself for years, punishing yourself for the murder of your brother. This is just another proof that killing him was not without justification.”
Trader hung his head. “There is a terrible ugliness that runs in my family. Flying Hawk killed his twin brother in a blind rage.” He drew a deep breath. “And I had sworn all of my life that I would never be the same kind of man Flying Hawk was. His souls were out of balance, stained with red, possessed of chaos, anger, and rage. My brother was the same sort of man. But it was I—also in blind rage—who struck him down with a club.
BOOK: People of the Weeping Eye (North America's Forgotten Past)
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