People of the Mist(164)
“Generally, yes. A Weroansqua can’t afford to feel,
Yellow Net. Kill that part of yourself first, and the rest will come easily.”
The morning of the third day, the fog broke, stringers of mist rising through the trees and tracing patterns around the long houses The entire village was blanketed in the aroma of food cooking in preparation for the solstice ceremonies.
Black Spike, High Fox, Sun Conch, and two canoes of warriors arrived as the sun crested in the sky. Nine Killer had heard the calls of the lookouts, and hurriedly grabbed up his bow, war club, and quiver before sprinting for the palisade gate.
The long black canoes slipped across the water like a chevron as they angled in for the landing. The Weroance had made excellent time. When he reached the landing, Nine Killer lowered the head of his war club to the sand and braced himself on the handle. Flying Weir appeared beside him and said, “War Chief? The Weroansqua wishes you to conduct the Weroance to her Great House. There, she will feed him and entertain him as is his due before you and The Panther talk to him.” “Very well. In the meantime, send out two scouts to keep an eye on the approaches to the village. If this turns bad, we don’t want Black Spike’s people to ambush us from the rear.”
“Yes, War Chief.” Flying Weir fled to find his scouts.
As the heavy canoes were dragged onto the beach, people gathered around the palisade gate to watch. They stood silently, faces expressionless, as they watched the Weroance walk forward. He was dressed in a fine cloak of painted bunting feathers that shimmered in the weak sunlight. He carried his war club in his right hand, his wounded left arm still treated tenderly.
Behind him High Fox followed with quick nervous steps. Sun Conch walked to one side, her round face like a mask. Black Spike’s warriors walked in ranked files, uneasy gazes measuring their reception.
Nine Killer took a deep breath, a queasy feeling in his gut. He stepped forward, raising one hand in the timeless gesture of friendship. “Greetings, great Weroance. Welcome to Flat Pearl Village. The Weroansqua, Hunting Hawk, matron of the Greenstone Clan, asks you to join her for a feast and to share Flat Pearl Village’s hospitality and friendship.”
Black Spike walked up to Nine Killer and looked down into his face. A thousand questions seemed to float behind those black eyes.
Nine Killer willed himself to meet them with neutrality. Indeed, The Panther’s trap had yet to be sprung, and there was no telling who they would finally catch in it.
“Lead the way, War Chief.” Black Spike inclined his head. “The Weroance of Three Myrtle Village and his son and warriors accept the Weroansqua’s offer of friendship.” He glanced at the waiting people, gave them an icy smile, and allowed Nine Killer to lead him past the posts of the gateway. Behind him, his warriors walked in close rank, unsure eyes on the Flat Pearl warriors.
Sun Conch caught Nine Killer’s eye, an eyebrow lifted inquiringly. He mouthed the words “House of the Dead,” and Sun Conch nodded, breaking off for the tall building.
Nine Killer walked casually across the plaza, a fluttering like hummingbirds in his belly. He could sense the tension, stretching like a length of damp cord until water beaded along its taut threads. How much more stress would it take before the fibers were inexorably pulled apart?
Beside the Weroansqua’s Great House stood Copper Thunder, his thick arms crossed on his chest, his ten warriors lined up on each side with their shaved heads and high scalp locks As their eyes met across the distance, Copper Thunder communicated the insolence of victory. But why? What had he won?
“When will this final truth be made known?” Black Spike asked quietly from his place a step to the rear.
“Tonight. After you have been fed and welcomed. We will present the things we have found, and what they mean. You should have time to return home by solstice.”
“My son is innocent?”
“Of that, I can’t say,” Nine Killer replied. “But our discoveries indicate that he didn’t kill the girl.”
Black Spike exhaled wearily. “Then my relief is complete. Thank you, War Chief.”
Do not thank me yet, Weroance. Nine Killer bit his tongue, maintaining his composure. As a good War Chief should, he ducked through the doorway of the Weroansqua’s Great House and shouted, “In the presence of Okeus and the Spirits, the Greenstone Clan bids welcome to the Weroance of Three Myrtle Village. The great Weroansqua, Hunting Hawk, asks Black Spike, of the Bloodroot Clan, to enter and share the hospitality of Flat Pearl Village!”
Black Spike ducked through the doorway and strode across the mat floor toward the main fire. On his heels came High Fox and the warriors. At the fire, Yellow Net waited. She wore a finely tanned deerskin mantle draped about her left shoulder, her right breast bare. Firelight shone on her skin, thickly greased and dyed red with puccoon root. Head held high, she ushered the Weroance back through the mat dividers into the rear of the house, where important guests were received.