People of the Lakes(300)

Woodpecker’s form molded into the brush, and Robin raised his hand in signal. Every man instantly froze. The taint of wood smoke carried down from the clan grounds, along with the green smell of vegetation and the pleasant musk of damp ground.

Crickets trilled in the night, and water lapped along the banks of the Spirit Frog River.

Woodpecker eased forward, slipping through the brush like a shadow. Robin followed. He could see the canoe landing now, and tightened his grip on the war club in his hand.

Woodpecker glanced at the first of the canoes drawn up on the beach, then went on to the next. There he made a slashing gesture, and Robin stepped out, motioning to his men. In a line, they rushed forward, counted off the number the boat would carry, and without a word, lifted the canoe and bore it to the water.

Meanwhile, Woodpecker had proceeded to the next canoe, rejected jf, and moved onto the next. Here again he made the slashing gesture; the next batch of warriors carried the second

craft to the water, slipping it into the current before climbing in, finding paddles, and sending the boat downstream.

“What’s going on here?” a voice asked in Trade pidgin.

Robin’s heart leaped, but he smiled quickly and stepped forward.

“Greetings! Who’s there?”

“I am called Copper Tooth, a Trader of the Gray Owl Clan of the Ilini People.”

Robin could see the Trader now. He was sitting in the largest of the canoes lining the bank. Evidently, like most good Traders, he slept with his packs. Robin walked forward, his club balanced on his shoulder.

“Copper Tooth, we’re off to check our fish and crawdad traps. We want to be on our sets by morning.”

The Trader’s head, little more than a black ball in the night, turned, staring out at the water. He glanced back just in time to cry: “Wait! Don’t—”

Copper Tooth’s skull cracked loudly under the impact of Robin’s whistling war club. The sound seemed to sunder the night— at least to Robin’s sensitive ears. A nervous fluttering of arms and legs sounded as the corpse spasmed. Then silence filled the night again.

Robin spun on his feet, head cocked for any sound: the cry of alarm, the running patter of feet, a barking dog alerted by the sodden splitting of the skull.

Only the faint rustling of a vole in the grass gave his heart the slightest tremor, and that passed as the rodent skittered down its runway.

None of Robin’s warriors had moved. Now Woodpecker stirred to gather paddles, handing them one by one to the men.

Robin inspected the Trader’s canoe, a well-made craft filled with packs. He smiled, and gave the slashing gesture. Immediately, the rest of his warriors descended, grunting and struggling as they slid the heavy Trade canoe down to the water.

“What about the Trader’s body?” a warrior whispered.

“When we’re down river, we’ll get rid of it,” Robin hissed.

“Now, let’s go!” He clambered into the big Trade canoe, heedless of the warm corpse he squatted on. Backing water, they moved out into the current, heading the canoe into the narrow channel.

Woodpecker glanced back when they’d passed out of hearing of the Wind clan grounds. “Why did you take the Trader’s boat?”

“I wanted these packs we’re sitting on.” Robin used the paddle to adjust their course away from a shadowy bank. “Who knows where this chase will take us? I’m sure we’ll need the supplies or goods to Trade for information, food, or maybe even for canoes, eh?”

Woodpecker chuckled. “You’re a crafty one. Indeed, I can believe that you will be the greatest leader of all. In ages yet unborn, they shall sing your praises.” Robin smiled. That would indeed be the case. As soon as he controlled the Mask, the entire world would know it.

When morning broke, they had traveled a considerable distance from the Wind clan grounds. The corpse Robin sat on had grown cold, and he could smell the blood, urine, and feces that had leaked from the body.

Copper Tooth’s body slid into the water with barely a splash.

When Robin looked back, it floated facedown, the broken fragments of skull already washed clean around the crimson-clotted gore of the wound.

He would have liked to have kept the head for his wall, but it would have been burdensome, and besides, he had gained no honor in the taking. Star Shell’s skull, and the little girl’s, however, would rest beside the Magician’s, no matter what manner of death Robin dealt them.

As they paddled past the last silhouetted spit of land and into Upper Lake, Star Shell marveled at the immensity of the water.

There, to the north, shining in the sun, stretched a burnished eternity of wave and motion that faded into a still horizon.