People of the Mist(167)

He could feel Okeus’ malicious stare from the shadowed sanctuary. As much as Panther hated to admit it, perhaps the old stories were right, and all people were indeed descended from Okeus’ loins.

Panther sighed, clapped his hands to his sides, and said, “Now, if you will excuse me, I must go talk to the old woman. The final tracks on this long and convoluted trail lie there.”

“Elder,” Nine Killer asked. “Do you need me to go with you?”

“No, War Chief. Stay here with Sun Conch and the priests. You must guard this basket that Green Serpent has put together for us. Let no one look inside it. No one, you hear? Not even the Weroansqua. Without its contents, we are lost.”

Sun Conch chewed on a cold turkey leg. Even with something in her stomach, she felt queasy. The resolution was coming, one way or another. Panther had returned from Stone Cob’s clan long house but half-a-hand past. He had refused to speak, his brow furrowed. Nine Killer kept glancing at him uneasily as he gnawed on a hard piece of tuckahoe bread. This night could end in disaster for all of them.

Green Serpent stepped out through the dividing mat and looked around, his face tense and his white eyebrows arched. “I think all is in readiness, Elder. I have instructed Lightning Cat and Streaked Bear to accompany us.”

“Thank you, Kwiokos.” Panther gave the priest a friendly smile. “Your help through all of this has been invaluable.”

Green Serpent’s eyes softened. “You are a good man, Panther. And, yes, I believe I see the finger of Ohona on you, tracing your body with Power. May he be with you tonight.” He rubbed his fleshy nose. “Now, if you will excuse me, I must attend to offerings for Okeus … that he may allow us to proceed without mishap.”

Green Serpent turned, and disappeared down the narrow passageway, headed for the rear. As he went, he reverently touched each of the Guardians.

“A good man,” Panther noted.

Nine Killer just nodded, jaws working methodically, lost in his own thoughts.

This waiting will drive me insane. Sun Conch tried not to fidget. Panther gave her an understanding smile.

Quick Fawn appeared just at dusk, leaning in the doorway of the House of the Dead to announce, “Elder? The Weroansqua requests your presence in the Great House. She says to tell you that she expects an end to be brought to this business.”

Panther called out, “Kwiokos? It is time.”

Green Serpent emerged from the passageway, his head bowed. As he walked, he shook his large gourd rattle, chanting softly under his breath. Lightning Cat and Streaked Bear followed, looking solemn with their skin freshly greased, and feathers in their hair.

Panther indicated the basket, and Nine Killer picked it up, hefting the light weight. Only a portion of the beaded deer design could be seen.

Sun Conch felt a sense of jubilation and despair as they stepped out from the House of the Dead. The plans had been made, the trap set.

As they walked into the dusk, streamers of mist floated past like wraiths. The wooden Guardian post they passed was damp, flecked with tiny beads of water. In the half light, Sun Conch looked up at the weathered face. She thought it looked menacing, or maybe fearful.

The chill ate through her greased skin and the single deer hide mantle about her shoulders. This was the night when all would come clear. High Fox would be finally and forever freed of suspicion. She had lived for this, dreamed and longed for it. Her joy was almost enough to overcome the deep seated worry about what would happen. No matter the conclusion, important people would be angered and disturbed by the revelations they were about to hear.

She shivered as she followed Panther past the Guardian. The sensation of eyes peering at her from the darkness made the middle of her back itch. Warily she glanced about her, searching the mist. Shapes seemed to move in the darkness. Ghosts, or potential enemies?

Ahead of them, the figures of the priests nearly disappeared in fog. Nine Killer’s soft steps could be heard behind her. Stealing a glance, she could see the War Chief, his attention on the basket that filled his arms.

Sun Conch hurried, closing the distance to Panther’s vulnerable back. Somewhere a child shrieked, and she could hear the steady drip of water from the thatch. Muted voices carried in the thick air, conversations muffled by the Great House walls.

The mist wavered, and in that instant, Sun Conch saw a furtive figure crouched there in the darkness. He was settled on one knee, the left arm extended, the right pulled back to the cheek. The bent curve of the bow might have been an illusion.

Sun Conch cried, “Panther! No!” and leaped for the old man. He cried out when the full force of her body struck him and threw him forward.