People of the Weeping Eye (North America's Forgotten Past) (49 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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“What is the news?” Heron Wing asked.
“People are preparing for the solstice, cooking, planning, getting ready. A few relatives from the outlying towns have already arrived. If the cold doesn’t break, we may not have as many people as originally anticipated, but these snows don’t last long. Cousin White Fish is bringing his entire family. I don’t know where we’ll put them all, but it’s the first time in four years they’ve come down from Bowl Town.”
“I heard you went to look at old man Bittern,” Heron Wing said, a careful eye on Stone, who concentrated on ladling out buffalo tongue stew with a wooden spoon.
“There is nothing to be done. Some malignant Spirit has fastened itself in the bowels. He’s burning up with fever, passing blood and pus. I’ve seen this before. I think his souls will leave within the next couple of days.” Pale Cat took the bowl, thanking Stone, then cast some into the fire, asking the buffalo Spirits for forgiveness.
“I’ll send Wide Leaf over with a bowl of something for the family.”
Pale Cat glanced around. “Where’s Wide Leaf?”
“She has a new man. Builder, they call him. An Albaamo. He has a farmstead just beyond the palisade.”
Pale Cat grinned. “At her age? You know, some say you allow her too much latitude.”
Heron Wing arched an eyebrow. “A woman in my position doesn’t begrudge another a little companionship.
Besides, it’s early yet, but they both seem most taken with each other.” A pause. “And she still serves me.”
“And what if he wants her for good?” Pale Cat tasted the stew. “This is excellent!”
“Thank Morning Dew. She made it.” Heron Wing flipped her hand absently. “Gods, Brother, if Wide Leaf wants to go, I won’t keep her. I’ll find some sort of Trade, maybe a new room on the back? Whatever we work out, Builder and I can come to an arrangement so that it all looks proper.” Heron Wing laughed. “Assuming he wants to keep her after he gets to know her.”
Pale Cat had cast an evaluative glance at Morning Dew. He didn’t bother to say, “That’s all right; you have another, younger slave. One who also makes excellent stew.” Morning Dew tried to keep her face blank, but couldn’t help grinding her teeth.
“Any other gossip?” Heron Wing asked.
“Your husband is still missing. Thin Branch claims he’s hunting.” Pale Cat glanced at the door, where jets of cold air crept in. “In weather like this?” He shook his head. “Whatever he’s hunting, it’s going to end up as trouble.”
Heron Wing grunted. “Maybe this time her husband will come home unannounced from a hunting trip with all of his brothers in tow. Armed and angry.”
“Do you think we could get that lucky?”
“Haven’t yet,” Heron Wing replied lightly. “But I still have faith in Power. It can’t always be looking the wrong direction.”
“Sister,” Pale Cat warned, admonishing with his spoon.
Heron Wing chuckled. “We’ve had this discussion before.”
“Power will have its due,” Pale Cat replied kindly.
“And the Albaamaha situation?”
At that Pale Cat frowned. “A lot of people are concerned. And not just among the Sky Hand. I have had Albaamaha coming to see me when no one is looking. They’re worried. Word got out—as it always does—about
the last Council. I’ve had private assurances that no Albaamo killed the captives.”
Morning Dew closed her eyes, heart sinking. Her people … The hurt tried to seep out from her souls.
“But there’s been a new complication,” Pale Cat continued. “Red Awl and his wife have vanished. The story is that someone sent word that they were needed upriver at Bowl Town. The next morning, White Fish’s messenger arrived with news that he’d be at the solstice ceremonies. When I asked him about Red Awl’s sick mother, he replied that she’s fine. No sooner did that get out than tongues started wagging. People are wondering just why Red Awl vanished when he did.”
“Think he’s involved?” Heron Wing asked.
Pale Cat finished the last of the stew, saving one piece as an offering to the fire, and laid the bowl aside. “Red Awl? No. I can’t see it. He’s always been the voice of reason. I’ve talked to him several times about our relations with the Albaamaha. My impression is that yes, he wants the best possible for his people, but he’s a realist. He doesn’t like the idea of trouble between the Sky Hand and the Albaamaha. He knows it would go nowhere but wrong for everyone. What do you think?”
“I agree.” She considered for a moment. “He has always impressed me with his reasoning and tact. I like him. Respect him.” She lifted an eyebrow. “Amber Bead, however, is a different story. He comes across as a fool.” She waved off his look. “Oh, I know. Everyone thinks he’s harmless. But there’s something about his eyes, as if he thinks one thing, and says another.”
“Amber Bead? A plotter?”
Heron Wing studied her hands for a moment. “Only until the situation begins to get serious. He doesn’t have the stomach for the consequences if things go wrong.”
“The Albaamaha are nervous.” Pale Cat agreed. “Few think anything will come of Smoke Shield’s accusations, but they see this as a sign of things to come. There
is already talk in the villages that when Smoke Shield becomes high minko, the Albaamaha will suffer for it.”
“He is not fit to be high minko.” Heron Wing tried to shrug it off. “But then, for years people said the same thing about Flying Hawk. Maybe Smoke Shield will show some sense when the responsibility falls on his shoulders.”
Pale Cat reached out to ruffle Stone’s hair as he watched the fire. “Flying Hawk spent years recovering from his brother’s murder. How many times has he said that if there was one thing he could take back, it would be that?” He paused. “Have you ever heard Smoke Shield regret anything he’s done?”
“No.”
“Maybe it’s just bad blood in the Chief Clan.”
“They weren’t all bad,” Heron Wing said softly. “Just the ones who are left.”
“Well, if something doesn’t bring Smoke Shield to his senses, his leadership could be a disaster. If the Albaamaha revolt, this entire land will go up in flames and smoke.” Pale Cat sighed. “If we turn on each other, the rest of the world will turn on us. No one will be safe. And you can bet the Yuchi will be out to make the most of it.”
Morning Dew listened, wondering,
How can the Chahta turn this to their advantage?
H
ow will I die?
The question continued to run through Trader’s head as he stared out the temple door to the snowy compound enclosed by the mound-top palisade. The cold ate into his skin, a sharp reminder of what was to come. Cold, and pain, and unbearable heat. If the gods were merciful, he would freeze to death the first day.
From the time Trader was a little boy, Uncle had trained, coached, and tested him. From the first dunking in icy waters, to holding his hands out to flames, the goal had always been to harden his body.
“You must learn to ignore pain. It is only a discomfort, not the end of the world. Like casting a lance, the body can learn to bear pain. Unpleasant, but necessary.”
Uncle’s words carried across time and distance.
“You, Nephew, represent our people. Should you ever be captured, you will become the heart and Spirit of our people. Some lowly farmer, or potter, or stone carver, can weep, plead, and wail on the square. People will just laugh and spit on him. But you are Chief Clan. Should you ever face the square you will become us.”
Trader took a deep breath, his blood charged with worry. He had spoken brave words to the Kala Hi’ki. Now creeping doubts began to fester.
What if it is too much?
It was one thing to just be dragged out, not to have time to think about the coming agony, but this way he had plenty of time to anticipate it. The worst would be
the burning. Fire seared the flesh, cooked it onto living bone. They would take his eyes among the first things, because that had been done to the Kala Hi’ki. The old Priest would be sure of that.
Trader shook his head. It seemed like no more than a short breath past that his greatest concern had been how to protect his marvelous wealth in copper. Now, just the knowledge that he’d still be breathing come the next moon overcame all other preoccupations.
“You look cheery,” Old White said as he came to stand beside him. “Could I get you a coat? This is freezing here.”
“No. I had better get used to it.”
Old White lowered his voice. “You could run. And, as to me, don’t think twice. I’m an old man with a considerable reputation. I’ll take my chances. As far as Two Petals is concerned, I think it’s an empty threat on the Kala Hi’ki’s part. She’s too Powerful.”
“Thank you, Seeker. But it is out of the question.” He gestured to the snow. “They couldn’t ask for better tracking weather—assuming I could even get out of the city. No, I am bound. I am a Trader, and born of the Chief Clan. This is now a matter of my honor, and the honor of the Tsoyaha. I will not break the Power of Trade, or my promise to the Tsoyaha. If this is the price of being who I am, I will pay it to the best of my ability.”
“All is not lost,” Old White said. “When the Kala Hi’ki’s anger ebbs, I will make the offer to buy our freedom. It will leave us with nothing … but they are only goods.” He shrugged. “It won’t be the first time I have started with nothing.”
“If we can do that with honor, I agree.” He frowned. “I have recently been forced to reevaluate my priorities. A wealth in Trade is no longer as important as it once was.”
“I repeat, you do not have to do this thing because of me and Two Petals.”
“The stakes have gone beyond that.” He smiled sadly.
“No, if this is what Power has planned for me, I will endure to the best of my ability. My decision is bigger than just us. We serve Power on this journey, Seeker. Not ourselves or the interests of our people.”
“Then perhaps you are worthy,” a guttural voice said from behind.
They both turned to see Kala Hi’ki standing no more than a pace behind them. How did an old blind man move so quietly?
“I will be worthy,” Trader said with a confidence he did not feel. “Even if it had not snowed, even if you had no hopes of capturing me, I have come in peace, asking only to purchase labor to cross your lands. I serve the Power of Trade. No matter what was done to you, it wasn’t anything you have not done to my people in turn. That is the way we have been given, so I do not seek any explanations. But when you finally cut my corpse from the square and give pieces of my body away, you will live with the knowledge that you, not I, have broken the Power. From that moment on, you will know that if there was treachery, it was at your hand, and not mine. Word will travel. Traders will know. A witch—if that’s what you decide to portray me as—would not willingly walk to the square and die with the dignity and courage that I will.”
Kala Hi’ki listened intently, saying nothing. For a long time, he stood as if carved from wood. Finally he said, “You are no witch.” He sighed. “You are free to go. Along with all of your Trade.” He paused. “Including the wealth of copper you carry in the Chikosi war medicine.”
Trader stiffened.
“You didn’t think we would look?” He shook his head. “I’ve had quite a time silencing my Priests, but they have a great deal of respect for me. I have told them that despite the wealth it represents, keeping it would bring us ill fortune. So far, they are heeding my words. However, I must know something. Tell me, man of honor, why should I allow you to take the war medicine
back to your people, where it will eventually be used against us?”
Trader nodded. A fair question. “Power sent the war medicine box to us, entrusted it to our care. I know my people have a new war medicine. This one was lost long ago. Perhaps it is time that it is used for something besides war. Perhaps, like the Seeker, it only wishes to go home to die. It shall be my request that when I am buried, the box will be buried with me. I cannot promise you things beyond my ability, but I shall do whatever it takes to keep that war medicine from ever being used against the Tsoyaha.”
“I take your oath, man of honor.” The Kala Hi’ki paused. “As to the Contrary …”
“Yes?” Old White asked, curiosity growing.
“She responds to certain herbs. I think over the coming days I can help her to deal with her Power. If you can wait for a time, she may find a way to focus, to control her fear, and handle the Power that now consumes her.”
“We would be honored, Kala Hi’ki.” Old White glanced at Trader. “Power brought us here for a reason.” He smiled cunningly. “And we do serve the Power of Trade. We have things from the north. Perhaps the Tsoyaha would be interested in some of them?”
“Perhaps they would.” He raised his ruined hand. “We are preparing for the solstice ceremonies—one of our most important observances. This is the time that we call Mother Sun to begin her journey northward. You will be welcomed among our people, though I suppose our high chief will wish to see you and hear your story. He is most interested in you. I have had to fend off runner after runner seeking information.”
“We thank you, Kala Hi’ki.” Old White bowed to the blind man.
“I ask only that you heed our ways, and respect our customs.”
“It is done,” Trader agreed. “As I recall, you make offerings to Mother Sun at this time. We are Traders, of an
enemy people, but might we make a gift and offering in the name of the Tsoyaha at the solstice?”
“Why would a Chikosi do this thing when it benefits the Tsoyaha?”
“Because all Power is shared,” Trader said, images of a Yuchi square filling his head.
Was he really spared?
“I may not have seen as many peoples as the Seeker, but we all share a respect and reverence for Power. Perhaps this is a lesson that has faded along with Cahokia. My people may believe they were made of clay from the sacred mountains of the west, but we, too, honor the sun. We are taught that Mother Spider brought sacred fire to earth for all peoples. And perhaps, Kala Hi’ki, just perhaps, seeing a Chikosi offering prayers for her well-being, while in the midst of her children’s most sacred ceremony, might bring a smile to her. Perhaps she will think kindly of all of us.”
The Kala Hi’ki vented a weary sigh. “I think it is good that you are unique among your people, Trader. I would fear for our continued prosperity if all Chikosi had your sense and courage.”
As the blind man turned to go, Old White asked, “Kala Hi’ki, I would know why you have changed your mind about us.”
He hesitated, not turning back. “Because I am like you in the end. No matter what the cravings of my heart, and my thirst to repay the Chikosi for what they did to me, I, too, serve Power.” He laughed ironically. “I now wonder if that is not why you were sent here. To remind me of that fact.” Then he walked steadfastly to the rear and vanished into the hallway.
“A gift, you say?” Old White asked.
Trader shrugged. “I was thinking of that big bag of Illinois bowls you carry. Can you think of a better use for them?”
 
 
E
verything had worked out the way Smoke Shield had hoped it would. Red Awl and his wife had easily acquiesced to accompanying them upriver. The first frigid drops of rain had started to fall just as they reached Clay Bank Crossing. When they were faced with pelting cold rain, persuading Red Awl to make for shore hadn’t been too difficult.
“It will give us a chance to talk,” Smoke Shield had said reasonably enough. “I would hear your thoughts concerning the Albaamaha.”
They had landed, pulled the canoes up, and climbed the slope to a small shelter built under the trees. It was there that he and Fast Legs had lifted their weapons. Red Awl had gaped in disbelief; then his expression had hardened. His wife, however, had stared in wide-eyed dismay.
“What are you doing?” she had demanded. “Don’t you know who this is? He is Mikko Red Awl, representative to the Council for the northern Albaamaha!”
“And I am war chief of the Sky Hand,” Smoke Shield had barked back. “You will shoulder our packs and take the trail up the hill.”
“Just do it,” Red Awl had said. “Mother will be all right.”
“Your mother is fine,” Fast Legs had snarled. “We had to tell you something to get you out of the city.”
Red Awl’s expression had fallen. As he had picked up the pack, he asked, “Why are you doing this?”
Smoke Shield had fingered the stone-tipped arrow in his bow. “Because I want to know the truth about Albaamaha treachery. You can avoid a long unpleasant session at Sandstone Camp if you will tell me who is behind the Albaamaha conspiracy against the Sky Hand. Give me the names, the clans, and you can go about your business.”
“I know of
no
conspiracy against the Sky Hand.”
“Who sent the hunter to warn the White Arrow about my attack?”
“I am told it was Paunch. You know as much as I do!”
“Walk. We’ll do this the difficult way.”
“Husband?” Lotus Root had asked.
“It will be all right. As soon as we convince them we are telling the truth, they will let us go.” But he didn’t sound like he believed it himself.
Fine, let him buy time.
The march up into the hills had gone smoothly. Even the weather helped, the cold soggy conditions ensuring that no unwelcome travelers would be lurking along the trail. As Smoke Shield had expected, Sandstone Camp was empty, the quarries there abandoned.
They took shelter in a small hut used by the stone cutters, and Smoke Shield ordered the woman to make a fire while Fast Legs gathered damp wood from the forest. Snowflakes were falling by the time all was in order.
“Tie them up,” Smoke Shield ordered, his arrow nocked.
“This will be a terrible mistake,” Red Awl predicted. “I have done nothing but try and smooth relations between our peoples. When word of this gets out, you will have done more to turn the Albaamaha against you than any other man. That eye in the middle of the hand you are so proud of shall weep.”
“You are assuming word will get out,” Smoke Shield had said as Fast Legs pulled the last of the knots tight on the woman’s arms. She was trembling with fear, her wet clothing clinging to her body. Yes, a nice body, with shapely breasts and the kind of hips that promised delight.
“Is the fire hot?” Smoke Shield asked.
“Hot enough,” Fast Legs agreed.
“Good. Cut the shirt off the man. Let’s hear what he has to say when only the truth will save his flesh from the fire and knife.”

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