People of the Masks(136)
Cornhusk walked back to Spotted Frog’s side, and sat down on the log. As he leaned forward, his black braid fell over his right shoulder, and the few gray strands shimmered in the firelight.
Warriors had started coming in, some with armloads of wood, which they added to the already substantial woodpile. One man carried seven squirrels on a cord. Another had a string of fish. Cornhusk’s stomach growled.
“The efficiency of your men astounds me, Spotted Frog,” Cornhusk said and sipped the fruity tea.
“You may thank Pup Woman for that. There are no shirkers in Silent Crow Village. Any child caught being lazy has to perform twice his or her normal chores. By the time our children are young men and young women, they know the cost of lethargy and the rewards of hard work.”
“That is obvious.” Cornhusk took another drink of tea. As it filled his belly, warmth spread through him. “Ah, it feels good to sit down.”
Flying Skeleton removed a wooden comb from the pack, tucked it into his belt, and started unbraiding Spotted Frog’s hair. The tall skinny man touched Spotted Frog’s hair as if it might break.
The warrior who’d brought in the fish scooped mud from around the fire pit and applied a thick coating to each trout. Cornhusk loved trout cooked this way, sealed in clayey mud and cooked slowly over the coals. The process kept the juices in, making for a delectable supper. When they were pulled out of the coals, the hardened mud came off in chunks, taking the skin with it, and leaving succulent white meat behind.
Another warrior knelt before the fire with a stick and a pot. He carefully scooped ashes to the side of the fire pit, then dipped spoonfuls of dough from the pot, and dropped them into the ashes. Ash cakes! Cornhusk wondered what kind of dough he’d made, but he’d find out soon enough. Ash cakes cooked quickly. They would be done in half the time of the trout.
“I’m gratified that you decided to come with us, Cornhusk. You know this country so much better than my clanspeople.”
Cornhusk smiled, showing his missing front teeth. “It was the least I could do, Spotted Frog. Your village has been very kind to me.”
And they’d offered him his weight in copper beads and rare marginella shells.
“I just wish we had some way of knowing where the children and Blue Raven might be.”
Cornhusk grasped his teacup in both hands, letting it warm his fingers. As warriors added more wood to the fire, the flames leaped and swayed, and their heat grew. His broken nose tingled. “The last I heard they were headed north, as we are. If we follow the main trail, we will soon arrive at Sleeping Mist Village. They may have heard something. We can ask.”
Spotted Frog’s brow furrowed as Flying Skeleton went on combing the tangles from his shoulder-length hair. “Those poor children. I pray we reach them before the Walksalong war party does. I’m sure that the patron, and elders, at Sleeping Mist will commit warriors to our search, but even if they don’t, we mustn’t stop until we’ve found Blue Raven and the children. They have been so brave. They deserve our help.”
Cornhusk nodded gravely. His talent for storytelling often brought rewards, but he couldn’t figure out how he could have misjudged Silent Crow Clan’s response this badly. He’d expected people in the Turtle Nation to moan and groan, but he’d have never imagined such an outpouring of sentiment, particularly one backed by warriors.
Flying Skeleton finished combing Spotted Frog’s hair and said, “Would you like your cape now, Patron?”
Spotted Frog considered a moment. “Yes, I think I’ve cooled off enough.”
Flying Skeleton untied the rolled cape from the pack, shook it out, and draped it around Spotted Frog’s shoulders. “Will there be anything else?”
“No,” Spotted Frog said. “You may go about your personal needs. Thank you, Flying Skeleton.”
The tall skinny man bowed, and headed for the trees.
It fascinated Cornhusk. Apparently, Flying Skeleton could not even empty his bladder until he’d taken care of Spotted Frog. A curious arrangement, to say the least.
The camp bustled with warriors now. Cornhusk counted eighteen. Everyone had returned except Flying Skeleton, and Cornhusk could see him in the trees just beyond the firelight. Soft conversations filled the air.
Spotted Frog gazed down into his tea. “Confidentially,” he murmured, “I’m worried.”
“I’d be worried, too. Forgive me, but your meager war party is no match for Jumping Badger.”
“I know. But we must try.”
Cornhusk slid back on the log and braced his elbows on his knees, watching the fire. Despite the fact he’d told Spotted Frog that Jumping Badger’s warriors numbered at least two hundred, he’d been there when Starflower ordered Jumping Badger to take no more than twenty. Spotted Frog’s war party already equaled Jumping Badger’s. If he succeeded in gleaning more warriors from Sleeping Mist Village, the truth was that Jumping Badger might not be able to stand against Spotted Frog.