People of the Weeping Eye (North America's Forgotten Past) (52 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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“If we are destroyed, it will leave a big hole. And who knows who will rush to fill it?” Morning Dew raised her eyes to Heron Wing’s. “That’s what you’re worried about, isn’t it?”
“Peoples rise and fall,” Heron Wing told her. “Our traditions are full of such stories. When a nation slowly fades away, as Cahokia did, everyone has time to adjust. When they collapse overnight, chaos breaks loose. The balance is broken.”
Morning Dew nodded. “The entire region would crack and shatter.”
“Prolonged fighting with the Chahta would weaken us. The Albaamaha would revolt again, and the surrounding nations would come flooding in. We would beat them back, becoming ever weaker in the process. Our towns in the north and south would have to be abandoned. We would probably survive as a people, but why take the risk?”
She stared anxiously at Heron Wing. “My people would suffer in the process.”
Heron Wing cocked an eyebrow. “Correct.”
“I don’t understand. It’s almost as if you want us to survive.”
“Oh, believe me, I do. So does most of the Council. At least for now. Your Chahta have alliances with the Natchez and Pensacola. You pose no real threat to our existence.” She smiled. “We came from the same people, have the same gods, the same language. You are distant relatives. Traditionally we have done more Trading than fighting. Screaming Falcon’s raid on Alligator Town was a poor choice, based on an impossible ambition. Our retaliation was an accidental triumph. But I do not cast blame. People will be people.”
“The problem, you are saying, is that Smoke Shield will make such a mess of things that everyone will lose.”
Heron Wing shrugged. “That is one possible outcome.” She paused, lowering her voice. “Tell me, with the right enticement, could peace be restored with your people?”
Morning Dew glanced uneasily at the door, ensuring that no one was close. “It is possible. But negotiating it wouldn’t be easy. It would take some sort of symbolic gesture first. A lot of people were killed at White Arrow Town. My people will be frightened and enraged. Relatives are grieving. The souls of the dead must be avenged. They have to weigh that against the potential for retaliation. If the Albaamaha revolt, it would make coming to terms very difficult.”
“Too bad we’re not Charokee,” Heron Wing said.
“Charokee? You want to be Charokee?”
“The women have the political authority there. They don’t have to depend on men to make the decisions.” She sighed. “Here, I can only work in the background.”
“Greetings!” a voice called from outside. “It is Cattail! I am coming with Stone. He has finished his practice for the children’s games.”
“We’ll talk later,” Heron Wing said softly. Then as her son charged into the room, muddy, scratched, and beaming with excitement, she cried, “Welcome, my son! Tell me about your practice!”
Morning Dew busied herself with her cooking, but her mind was knotted around Heron Wing’s predictions.
My people could be destroyed!
T
rader strode up the wooden stairs that led to the high chief’s palisade. Swimmer, who charged up beside him, panted happily, tail wagging. Sunlight gleamed on the bright red clay. He could see little rivulets eating away at the clay coating. Looking back, he saw Old White climbing, muscles not as spry. The Seeker was already puffing.
At the gate, Trader turned to admire Rainbow Town from his high vantage point. The plaza extended in a great rectangle, the corner of the mound protruding into the plaza’s northeast corner. The red cedar pole—sacred to the Yuchi—rose straight and tall into the sky. To either side of the pole the chunkey courts had been laid out east to west. The northern one, just south of the High Chief’s Mound, served the Chief Moiety, while the southernmost was for the warriors. The courts consisted of long lanes paved with smoothly compacted clay. Between them, and just south of the Chief’s Mound, the Council House rose atop its square mound, and beyond that the Men’s House dominated a mound at the southeast corner of the plaza.
The eastern half of the plaza, just beyond the moiety houses, had been reserved for the stickball field. There young men darted back and forth, tossing a small hidebound ball to each other in practice. Each of the mounds had been capped and sealed with a different color of clay, each one of the rainbow colors that held so much meaning for the Children of the Sun. The Temple
Mound across from them on the plaza’s northwest corner was a brilliant white.
In the flat to the east, a sea of houses, many on low mounds, extended clear to the distant high walls of the western palisade. He could see ponds created from borrow pits, the water reflecting blue sky. Beyond the city walls, a gray pall of smoke hung above a thousand camps. From every direction along the river, people had flocked to Rainbow City for the solstice celebrations. The city reminded him of a beehive. Individuals could be seen crowding through the gates, inspecting items of Trade that the locals had spread on blankets.
“Should be quite a party,” Old White observed as he panted his way to the top.
“They will be doing the same at home, you know.” How odd that he had started referring to Split Sky City that way. “Everyone will be arriving, canoes laid side by side at the landing until there is hardly room to walk.” He closed his eyes, almost able to smell the wood smoke and cooking food. A sudden pang of homesickness, like he hadn’t felt in years, filled him.
“I will share it with you this summer,” Old White promised. “We will enjoy the Busk together.” He sighed. “But for the moment, let us see what this high chief is like.”
“He’s Yuchi,” Trader muttered. “Probably some overblown, self-important old man with delusions of inflated glory.”
They turned and stepped through the gate to find a packed clay compound with two guardian poles to either side of the walkway to the palace. One was a rendition of Crawfish, the other of Vulture, his long wings carved down the sides of the log. A log pestle and mortar stood to one side, a ramada to the other.
They walked to the plank door, Old White calling out in Trade Tongue, “Greetings, High Chief of the Tsoyaha! Old White, the Seeker, and the man called Trader would speak with you.”
A young woman, her swollen belly marking an advanced pregnancy, swung the door open on its leather hinges and smiled at them. “You are welcome. My husband will see you in a moment. May I get you some tea?”
“That would be appreciated,” Trader said easily. He reached into his belt pouch, producing a large copper-clad wooden bead. “May we offer this token of respect for your kind hospitality? You will honor it with your beauty.”
She took the gleaming bead, gasping with delight as she held it up to the sunlight. “It’s beautiful! Come in! Be seated. I will get you tea.”
Stepping into the great room, Trader glanced around. To his surprise, the structure had two stories, with a ladder leading up in one corner. The room measured perhaps five paces by ten, with a thick pole ceiling. On the wall to the right was a beautifully carved image of a warrior with a long, beaded forelock holding a turkey-tail mace in one hand, a severed head in the other. Finally, the wall to the left sported a flat round plaque consisting of two circling rattlesnakes coiled about each other, the heads facing an open center. Their long tongues protruded, almost touching. A three-legged stool stood behind the large fire pit, a series of raccoon hides sewn together for a covering. Wooden boxes, intricately carved, were tucked neatly under the pole benches built into the walls.
He blinked at the incongruity of toys scattered around the rush matting that covered the floor. Some were corn-shuck dolls; others consisted of deerhide balls, small stickball racquets with net-filled loops for playing the children’s version of the game, and little clay figurines of turkeys, dogs, and what might have been raccoons. Weapons—obviously the high chief’s—rested on a stand near the door. Trader saw a bow and arrows, several war clubs, and a fine shield with the three-legged spiral surrounded by the rings of circles and the scalloped cloud motif.
Doorways led off to either side, the rooms obscured by fabric door hangings decorated with opposing turkeys facing a spiral-striped pole. The bubbly laughter of children could be heard behind the doorway to the right.
Trader walked to one of the benches. There, displayed in a beautiful open box, were four highly polished chunkey stones, the sides convex with dimples in the center, and behind them lay four perfectly straight lances. He considered the pieces, then stared up at the huge carving on the rear wall. Portions of the three-legged spiral were clad in copper. The central disk had been painted in bright yellow.
“You are looking at the sky,” a voice called from behind him.
Trader turned to see a tall athletic man emerge from the right doorway. Several small children peeked around his legs and the door jamb. These, the man shooed back, and then he stepped into the room.
He wore his hair up; a copper headpiece of the familiar lightning design with an arrow splitting a cloud rested atop his head. His face had been tattooed in the forked-eye design with a pattern of lines running down and to the sides from his nose and mouth. Gleaming copper ear spools filled his elongated earlobes. Trader estimated the man’s age at less than thirty winters. The coarsely woven apron he wore was stained with what looked like food.
Following his gaze, the man looked down, smiled self-consciously, and shrugged. “I know. A great chief should greet such exalted visitors in his finest, but I don’t get much time to play with the children. We are preparing for the solstice ceremonies, and I will be called upon to be very formal during the coming days.” Then he saw Swimmer, and a smile beamed as he dropped to his knees. “Hello there! Come here. That’s it. Who are you?”
Trader shot a curious glance at Old White, who just
shrugged, apparently baffled. Was this man really the high chief? His hairpiece would have indicated that, but for the moment, he was fawning over Swimmer, rubbing his ears, making cooing sounds, and acting more like a boy with his first puppy than a chief greeting auspicious visitors.
The high chief was laughing, almost rolling around as Swimmer bounced and licked playfully at his hands. The dog’s tail lashed the air in absolute joy.
“My dog is called Swimmer, Great Chief. I rescued him from a raft of driftwood far up the Father Water.”
“Swimmer!” the chief cried in delight. “Welcome to my palace, Swimmer. New Moon? Bring Swimmer some of that deer meat.”
The pregnant woman did her best to hide an indulgent smile and vanished into the children’s room.
The chief chuckled, gave Swimmer one last pat on the head, and climbed to his feet. “Welcome. I am Born-of-Sun, the
yu bah’le,
high chief of the western Tsoyaha.”
“I am Old White, known as the Seeker.” Old White bowed graciously. “My companion is Trader, of whom you have no doubt heard.”
“Great Chief,” Trader acknowledged, touching his forehead respectfully.
Born-of-Sun walked over, taking each of their hands in turn, meeting their eyes with a thoughtful appraisal. To Trader, he added, “I am glad Kala Hi’ki decided you were a friend. It would have been hard on Swimmer to have endured your suffering on the square.”
He is more worried about the dog than me?
“I’m sure it would have been.”
Old White was grinning, amusement in his expression.
“The carving”—Born-of-Sun returned his attention to the intricate relief hanging above the chunkey stones—“is one of our most important symbols. Do you know the story? What this represents?”
“The sky. The yellow disk in the center is the sun, of
course. I don’t understand the three copper triangles spinning on top of it.”
Born-of-Sun stared happily at the image. “In the beginning, after Sock-chew, Father Crawfish, brought mud up from the waters to create the land, and Yaw-tee, Father Vulture, flattened it with his great wings …” He paused. “You saw the Guardians out front?”
“Crawfish and Vulture,” Old White agreed. “Yes.”
“After the world was formed, the skies were dark. All creatures lived in perpetual night. They all called out, asking for light. Yo’ah, the star, told them, ‘I will make light.’ And he did, but his light was very dim. The next to try was Shar-pah, whom you know as the moon. He, too, rose into the sky and shone as brilliantly as he could, but then he grew dimmer and dimmer. He had to rest. Then Shar-pah put all of his effort into it, and glowed brightly again, only to dim.
“Tso, our Mother Sun, finally said, ‘I made you all. I can do this.’ So she went way off to the east, gathered herself, and rose into the sky. All the earth bathed in her light.” He pointed to the three legs of the spiral. “That is what you see in the center. Tso’s bright light filling the sky. The reason there are three legs to her spiral is to honor the efforts of Tso, Yo’ah, and Shar-pah. The three great lights of the sky. The stars and moon are present in the next ring. You see Shar-pah in his six phases. One for each full moon from solstice to solstice. And around him, the white dots on the black background are all the Yo’ah, the stars.”
“And the clouds?” Trader pointed to the scalloped edge.
“They are the last of the Sky Beings. Clouds are always born at the edge of the sky and move across it. This is the place from which we come. We are Tso’s children, born of a drop of her menstrual blood that fell from on high. We carry part of the sky in our bodies and souls.”
“And you like dogs,” Old White noted.
Born-of-Sun chuckled at that. “I like dogs, Seeker, because they are honest. They will not trick you with cunning speeches, or promise peace one moment, only to attack you the next. If you treat a dog with kindness and respect, he will not murder your people the moment you turn your back.” He paused. “My dog, my companion and best friend for years, has recently sent his souls to the sky. I have a softness and envy for those who still have their faithful friends with them.” He stared longingly at Swimmer.
Trader nodded thoughtfully, remembering when Swimmer had been his only friend.
Born-of-Sun evidently read his expression, for he said, “That you bring him with you tells me more about your character than even Kala Hi’ki’s report.”
New Moon had emerged and placed a wooden platter on the floor. The vessel sported two rattlesnakes carved in relief around the edges. Swimmer attacked the pile of meat, wolfing it down.
“It looks excellent,” Old White murmured. “You think he’d at least stop and taste.”
Born-of-Sun grinned happily. “I know dogs. This one has been very hungry at some point in his life.” Then he looked up, eyes clearing. In that moment, he went from warm host to high chief. “Now, let us be seated. I would hear what has brought you to Rainbow City, and what it means for me and my people.”
Trader took a seat at the fire, Old White lowering himself beside him. Swimmer, having licked the wooden bowl scrupulously clean, came at a gesture and lay happily at Trader’s side.
New Moon provided cups of warm tea as Born-of-Sun took a beautifully carved pipe from one of the boxes, tamped tobacco into it, and lit it from the fire. He puffed, blowing blue smoke into the air, then uttered a short prayer in his own language.
Trader followed suit when the pipe was extended to him. He handed it to Old White, who drew, exhaled, and
chanted a soft prayer in a language Trader had never heard. Then the old man handed the pipe back to Born-of-Sun as the high chief seated himself on the tripod.

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