Nine Killer picked at the blood that had clotted around his fingernails. “I think that is good riddance.”
Hunting Hawk snorted displeasure. “He wasn’t that good a hunter anyway.” She bent her flinty gaze on Nine Killer. “He’s not the only one whose loyalty has become suspect.”
Nine Killer felt a chill filter through his bones. He rose to his feet, stepping over to meet her angry stare. “If you are dissatisfied with me, you may dismiss me at any time, Weroansqua.”
Before the old woman could open her mouth, The Panther said, “That’s enough. Strained passions can give voice to bitter words that aren’t meant, but can’t be recalled.” He pulled himself painfully to his feet, wincing at the stiffness in his joints. “Come, I think we should all bring this to a close.” He glanced down at Sun Conch with a wounded expression. “Assuming I can make it to the Great House this time, we’ll have the truth of it.”
Nine Killer looked the Weroansqua in the eyes, and she lowered her gaze, growling to herself as she hobbled for the doorway.
Panther folded his arms across his chest as he seated himself on the bench that lined the Weroansqua’s inner chamber, the heart of Greenstone Clan. The room was packed, hot and stifling despite the misty chill outside. The big fire crackled and popped, sending sparks toward the rafters with their hanging baskets.
“I suppose this is it,” Nine Killer said. He’d been closemouthed since his hot words with Hunting Hawk.
“Indeed, War Chief.” Panther steepled his old fingers, aware that he hadn’t been able to scrub Sun Conch’s blood away. Half of his soul lingered with her.
All this blood, and every drop of it spilled by youngsters.
Next to Nine Killer sat Green Serpent, and then Lightning Cat with his basket. Streaked Bear stood beside the matting at the far end of the room. Flying Weir hovered nervously by the door, his war club in hand.
On the opposite bench, Black Spike sat, head bowed. High Fox was at his side, his eyes half-wild with anxiety. And well they should be. His life might still be forfeit.
Copper Thunder was next, searching each face like a wolf on a blood trail.
Hunting Hawk glared angrily at everyone from her hide-draped stump at the back. To her right, Shell Comb’s place remained conspicuously empty, awaiting her return from the Women’s House. To her right sat an expressionless Yellow Net. Next to her, Quick Fawn, clearly uneasy, tried to find something to do with her anxious hands, but ended up just twisting the hem of her deer hide mantle.
Beyond the divider, in the main room, people crowded to hear. No wonder an assailant could steal Flat Willow’s arrow. Everyone in the village was packed into the Great House, waiting to hear about Red Knot’s killing. The building almost shook from the babble of voices. In fact, Panther could feel the walls trembling as bodies brushed against them.
Hunting Hawk glanced this way and that, then raised her sassafras stick, jabbing at the air. “Silence!” she called. “I want silence!”
Nine Killer stood and bellowed, “The Weroansqua calls for silence!”
The din faded into a sudden stillness. Nine Killer glanced around, satisfied that order had been restored, and seated himself.
“All right,” Hunting Hawk said, tapping the matting at her feet with the sassafras stick. “As you all know, my granddaughter Red Knot was murdered less than ten days ago. At the time, we thought it was High Fox who did it.”
She glared at the young warrior, and he swallowed hard, trying to sink back against the wall.
“It may have been ill advised, but we sent our warriors to bring him back.” She turned her attention to Black Spike. “If that was a mistake, I apologize to the Weroance, and to Three Myrtle Village. But we had been told that High Fox might have been the killer. Sometimes people lose sense when a relative is senselessly murdered.”
“.I understand,” Black Spike said graciously. And he flashed Hunting Hawk a warm and forgiving smile.
Panther craned his head, staring at Black Spike with unabashed interest. Black Spike noticed, and his smile faded.
Hunting Hawk continued, “It so happened that the man known as The Panther arrived and stopped the fighting, offering instead to determine exactly who killed my granddaughter. Wishing to avoid hostilities with our good friends—and especially with kin—the Weroance and I agreed to let The Panther try. Now we are in this place to hear what he has learned.”
She gave Panther a narrow-eyed look, as if daring him to disappoint her.
Panther rose to his feet and stepped before the fire. The flames threw his shadow on the back wall like a leaping monster. “Weroansqua, I think that everything will come clear tonight. But first, you must humor me to recite the facts as I know them.”