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People of the Mist(140)

By:W. Michael Gear


“I could not care less.”

“You could not care less? Ah. Of course. Anything that upsets the Independent villages works to your advantage, doesn’t it? Even if the story is that the Weroansqua was at the bottom of her granddaughter’s murder. The problem is, Hunting Hawk knows that the only way out is to learn who murdered her granddaughter. Once the culprit is identified and punished, she can mend strained relations with the other clans and villages. If she doesn’t, the Mamanatowick will be collecting tribute from what’s left of the Independent villages by spring planting. The only difference is that his Weroances will be sitting in the Great Houses directing its collection.”

“You always have the answers, don’t you, old man?”

“Not always. But I tend to find them eventually.”

Copper Thunder tugged angrily at his copper necklace. “I didn’t kill the girl.” He made a fist. “But tomorrow you’ll be leaving. My warriors will take you home.” Panther chuckled. “Yes, I’m sure they will, so long as my ‘home’ is at the bottom of the Salt Water Bay. Once out past shore, they could whack me in the head, weight my body with rocks, and pitch me over the side. When they return a couple of days later, who is to doubt that they delivered me safe and sound to my island?”

Copper Thunder narrowed an eye, making the tattoos look especially fierce. “You’ve pushed me as far as I will be pushed.”

“I doubt it.” Panther cocked his head. “The mere fact that I’m still upright tells me just the opposite. Of all the people alive, you want to kill me the most. You blame me for your father’s death, for your mother’s slavery. That I am still breathing indicates a weakness on your part. No, Grass Mat, I don’t think the Independent villages need you nearly as much as you need them. Otherwise, why would you stay here?”

“I warn you, old man …” Panther stepped over to inspect the baskets hanging from the wall. Some were woven from splits of cedar, some from supple willow, and others from slender sumac branches. Most contained nuts, dried fruits, and other foodstuffs that would mold inside a sealed leather sack. “You know, I could be mistaken.” He turned speculative eyes on Copper Thunder. “You might be smarter than I thought. You have finally come to understand, haven’t you?”

“Understand what?”

“That you can’t build a chieftainship here like the ones you so obviously admired among the Serpent Chiefs. You’ve figured out that you can’t maintain a full time warrior class, that your warriors have to hunt and fish part time. You can’t produce the food surplus to support them. The soil won’t grow enough in this hilly land with its narrow flood plains Like the Independent villages, you need allies. Yes, you’ve whipped the Mamanatowick’s warriors, and Stone Frog’s Conoy, too, but you understand now that in the end they will wear you down. Like sand rubbed on steatite, over time they’ll hollow you out, gut your forces.”

“No one can stand before my warriors!”

“Maybe not, not when they are massed for an attack, but the enemy keep coming back, bleeding you a little nip at a time. It’s like killing mosquitoes with a war club. If you could just connect, you could squash them all. But all you can do is flail the humming cloud while they bleed you bit by bit until you’re sucked dry.”

Panther shook his head. “My poor little Grass Mat, still a puffed-up boy with dreams of greatness, and no way to make them happen.”

The Great Tayac’s throat worked, the veins standing out in his neck. “Get out, Raven!” He seemed to be choked on the words. “Get out of my sight!”

“As you wish, Grass Mat, But I’d—”

“You’ll never call me that name again! You hear me ?”

“Names are transitory things.” Panther shrugged. “One’s as good as another.” He swung his blanket about his shoulders. “But, as I was saying, I’d take a hard look at Flat Willow. I think he’s unreliable. Come, Sun Conch, we should see if that fish is still hot and steaming. Oddly, despite the company here, my appetite seems to have come back.”

When Panther cast a last look over his shoulder, Copper Thunder’s face had turned purple, contorted. And then Panther was outside, walking through the veils of snow.

“Elder,” Sun Conch whispered. “Why do you do these things?” “What things?”

“Enrage him like that. He was ready to kill you!”

“Sun Conch, he was ready to kill me the moment he knew I had entered the village. It is an old thing between us. The issue is not whether he would kill me, but when. And, as for today, I was perfectly safe.”