People of the Mist(136)
Nine Killer shivered again and bent his back to the chore of sending them homeward.
“This Copper Thunder,” Flying Weir noted, shivering himself, “he’s been talking to the younger warriors.”
“Uh-huh, promising them glory and fame on the war trail.”
“What do you make of that? Is there anything to what he’s been saying? Can he really push the Mamanatowick out of his lands and claim them?”
“Not according to The Panther. Did you hear that the elder was a War Chief for the Serpent Chiefs once? He says that Copper Thunder might train his warriors, but he can’t support them.”
“Why is that?”
Nine Killer pointed at the fish sloshing in the bottom of the canoe, then realized Flying Weir couldn’t see the gesture. “Because we have to spend so much time fishing. Like today. Our people can’t be full-time warriors.”
“That makes sense, but who are the young going to listen to? The Panther, or Copper Thunder?”
“Will it matter in the end?”
“I don’t know, War Chief. I just don’t know.”
“Flat Willow was on guard that night?” Nine Killer considered the implications. “White Otter told me there was no one guarding the gate when she went through just after dawn. So, if Flat Willow wasn’t at the gate, where was he?” “He was the one who found Red Knot’s body,” Flying Weir added. “Remember? He said he’d been hunting, seen High Fox, and backtracked him.”
“Yes,” Nine Killer added grimly. “I remember.”
“I think you should add a little more squash,” Panther said. “Maybe one or two at least.”
Rosebud sighed and gave Panther a cross look. “I think the hominy will be fine for tonight. I’ve seasoned it with beechnuts—you like those—and added mint leaves for good measure.”
“What’s boiling in that pot over there?” He peered anxiously down his long nose.
“That is what’s left of two muskrats I was given today. I cut them into pieces to boil with chinquapins. And, lastly, I’ve spent the entire day boiling acorns until they were leached. I spent the last hour pounding them into flour. That’s the bread baking there in the ashes.” She crossed her arms. “And, just for you, I burned some stickweed root. When the acorn bread is ready, I’ll mix the ashes with deer grease so you can slather it all over the acorn bread and eat like a Weroance… . Any complaints?” ‘
Panther sat back and screwed his face into its most pensive expression. “Well, I suppose not. For acorn bread covered with stickweed grease I suppose I could pass up squash for just one night.”
Rosebud smiled and shook her head. “Didn’t anyone ever feed you out on your island?”
“The only person who fed me was me. And, after you’ve eaten oysters and clams, and clams and oysters, and oysters and clams, well, I suppose you can imagine what a wonder it is to come into your house, Rosebud.” He sighed wistfully. “The problem with being a warrior all of your life is that you learn how to boil corn, meat, and fish. Other than that, everything you eat is dried or smoked. Food, especially food like this, is just—well, you can’t imagine the effect it has on me. I can’t tell you how much I appreciate these meals.”
She chuckled then. “I think I see it in your face. It is a pleasure when your smile lights up like that.” She paused. “Didn’t you ever have a wife?” He spread his hands. “Somehow, I never quite got around to it.”
“Surely your clan would have made you marry.”
He hesitated, unsure what to say.
She read his sudden wariness and cocked her head, an arched eyebrow asking the question.
He glanced across to where Sun Conch was meticulously twisting hemp into a cord.
Rosebud lowered her voice. “Panther, you’ve lived here for days, and I’ve never asked. Among our people, the most important question is: Who are you? A human being has a clan, and relatives. Surely you didn’t just appear out of smoke. Who are your people? Rumor has it that they threw you out, that you are a pariah whose relatives won’t even claim you. Is that true?”
He looked into her probing brown eyes, measuring his response. Gull droppings and bat dung, she had a right to know. He’d been living under her roof, and because of her brother’s respect for him, she hadn’t asked the most burning question these people had.
He lowered his voice. “I wasn’t thrown out by my people. I left. It was my decision … my fault. I found myself trapped in a situation I couldn’t stand. I was young, barely more than a boy. One night I packed up and walked away. It was that, or kill myself. I’m sure that they gave me up for dead long ago. I doubt that my people even remember my name.”