People of the Mist(162)
“You came to keep a youngster from making a mistake? I’m supposed to believe that’s the truth?”
Panther watched her through half-lidded eyes. “I’ve generally found that once you give people the truth, they’d have been happier with a stupendous lie. But, yes, that’s the truth. Weroansqua, life usually comes full circle. For days before Sun Conch’s arrival, my crows had been telling me that something important was going to happen. To this day, I wonder what would have happened if long ago, in my past, I’d had wise counsel whispered into my youthful ear. How different would my life have been?”
“And instead?”
“I was young, passionate, and unjustly thwarted by my clan. I thought I would show them all, pay them back for the wrongs committed against me. Powered by the arrogance of youth, I ran away, searching for a place where my worth would be recognized.” He smiled wistfully, voice dropping. “Fool that I was, I swore that one day I would return at the head of a great band of warriors, and then … Oh, yes, things would be different.” He shook his head at the folly of it. “In the name of Ohona, what fools we are.”
“Who are you?” Her leathery hands tightened on the stick. “What is your clan? Which village did you come from?”
He sighed and shook his head. “That, I will keep to myself until death, Weroansqua. That youth died a long time ago. I will not bring him back. If it is so important to you, have Nine Killer crack my skull and see if you can pick it out of my bloody brain with your fingernails, but I suspect that even then, I shall retain my secret.”
She watched him with narrowed eyes. “And Red Knot’s murder?”
He smiled wistfully. “You shall have the truth of it before the solstice. The answer is coming in Sun Conch’s canoe, Weroansqua. The last bit of the puzzle is there.”
She closed her eyes then, energy gone. Looking at her, Panther could see the hardship of old age, normally kept at bay by her insatiable will. Now she looked withered and sucked dry by the vicissitudes of life.
In a rasping voice, she said, “And, I suppose I’m not going to like the truth then, either, am I?”
“No,” he answered gently. “I suppose not.”
Twenty-eight
For two days Panther and Nine Killer waited. True to Hunting Hawk’s prediction, the fog rolled in from the bay, obscuring the world. Most of the time, Panther lounged by the fire in Rosebud’s house. White Otter fed him, and he warmed his old bones in the heat. Her cooking was surprisingly good.
“What is the Weroansqua going to do to Quick Fawn and me?” White Otter asked nervously.
“Not a thing, child,” Panther soothed. “She and I worked it out. She understands now that we took the Great Tayac’s club for a reason.”
“You were very brave, niece,” Nine Killer assured her. “I’m not sure I could have mustered that much courage at your age.”
She blushed, smiling.
Nine Killer nodded, then cast a worried glance at the Panther. When the fog lifted, and the weather cleared either Black Spike and High Fox would arrive, or their plans would lie in ruins.
That same night, as Panther and Nine Killer sat at their fire, Hunting Hawk sent one of her servants out into the night on a most important errand.
Hunting Hawk watched her fire snap and pop, the flickers sending yellow light dancing about the room. The cattail and cord grass matting had a golden glow. Overhead, and on the storage shelves, the shadows darted about, as if the dark spirits wove and dodged in mock battle.
She shifted to ease her old aching hips. The pain was always worse during the spells of damp cold. This winter it would have been unbearable but for The Panther’s willow bark remedy. She had people scouring the countryside for every willow they could find.
She rubbed her face, brooding black thoughts within. From the moment Red Knot had set out on her mad scheme to run off with High Fox, Greenstone Clan had been spiraling out of control like a pelican with a broken wing. Now she could sense the dark waves of disaster in restless motion below her.
How do you save it? The thought rolled over and over, blistering her soul with uncertainty.
In her lifetime, she had seen Greenstone Clan rise to ascendancy among the Independent villages. Now, in the last days before her death, would she see the whole of it come undone like an unfired clay pot in the surf?
She looked up when Copper Thunder appeared in the opening of the room divider. “You sent that girl for me, Weroansqua?”
“I did, Great Tayac. Thank you for coming at such short notice, and so late at night.” She indicated the mat across the fire. “Sit.” He did, settling with the lithe strength of a puma, his arms draped around his knees. He studied her with curious black eyes, the firelight playing on his tattoos. He might have been wearing a mask, the way the forked eyes and black stripe hid his expression.