People of the Mist(178)

Duty and clan honor demanded no less from him. If not for justice, he’d do it for Red Knot, for a murdered clanswoman.

“War Chief, wait!” Panther called from behind him. “A word please. This isn’t—”

“Not now, Elder! Please!” Didn’t the old man know that it was hard enough to do this without other distractions? Nine Killer rudely shoved his memories aside: images of him and Black Spike on the war trail; feasting side by side, joking; the shared hunts; and nights on the bay, a fire in the center of the canoe, and their spears in hand as they gigged fish rising to the firelight.

“How did it go so wrong, Black Spike?” Nine Killer muttered under his breath. His stomach knotted and cramped at the thought. Incest! Loathed by the gods, it had almost stained Greenstone Clan, its corruption leaching into his own family. But to kill? He couldn’t make himself believe that Black Spike had murdered the girl. Couldn’t he have found another way?

But then, as The Panther has been trying to tell you, people will always surprise you with their darker sides. Black Spike was practically bragging that he’d done the foul deed. How did a man argue with that? And, as the Creation stories told them, people were descended from Okeus. The sickening settled in his soul.

Panther was pulling at his arm from behind. “War Chief, I must tell you—”

“Elder, leave me alone! We’ll talk later!” He shook off the old man’s hand, and then lost him in the jostling crowd of elbows and shoving bodies as they ducked out into the darkness. Copper Thunder and Flying Weir dragged the struggling Black Spike across the plaza. Arouhd them, the mist swirled as if alive, churning with the very breath of the dark god. The shadowed Guardians watched ominously, their face’s obscured by night and fog. How quickly it happened. People materialized out of the mist, casting logs, branches, and kindling into the blackened ceremonial fire pit.

Nine Killer stood anxiously beside Flying Weir as he and Copper Thunder restrained Black Spike. The Wero ance had begun to sag. Someone appeared with a ceramic pot full of glowing coals and cast them upon the heap of wood. More people followed, throwing coals from their fires onto the growing pyramid of wood.

“Okeus, help me,” Black Spike whispered as the flames turned the mist into a blazing halo of yellow light.

Flying Weir, too, looked sick, his eyes glassy with distaste at holding such a vile being as Black Spike. His jaw was clamped, as if he was determined to do his duty.

Nine Killer could see Copper Thunder’s tattooed face. He was grinning, evil gleaming in his hungry eyes.

Stone Cob stepped up to Nine Killer, handing him his old battered war club. The familiar handle felt wrong for this night’s terrible work.

Nine Killer lifted the sturdy weapon with both hands as his grip tightened on the leather-wrapped handle. I don’t want to do this! But he would have to, as he’d had to in the past. Copper Thunder and Flying Weir would hold Black Spike, or throw him down. Nine Killer would strike, swinging his war club around in an arc. At the impact, he’d feel as well as hear the snap. His own bones would cringe.

Black Spike was my friend… my friend… Even after the Weroance’s confession, some stubborn part of him refused to believe. It vied with the rising horror that curdled his blood. Incest! High Fox had lain with Red Knot! Better to pitch the youth onto the fire himself, cleanse the entire ugly thing, here and now. He nerved himself, aware that the fire had caught, a rush of sparks whirling into the murky air. “War Chief?” Panther called anxiously as he stalked across the plaza. “You must hear me!”

Nine Killer took a deep breath, turning to face the old man. “Make it quick, I’ve enough …”

Shell Comb rushed up, hair tangled, eyes frantic, like those of a trapped animal. She knocked people aside, and threw herself at Flying Weir, screaming, “No! Don’t do this thing! It wasn’t him! Black Spike didn’t do it!”

As she clawed at Flying Weir, Black Spike twisted his arm loose, balled a fist, and struck Copper Thunder full in the face. The Great Tayac jerked away, and Black Spike pulled free.

Before Nine Killer could react, Black Spike shouted, “I killed her! I’ll pay!” He took one last look at Shell Comb, and leapt into the center of the roaring fire.

Nine Killer started forward in a involuntary effort to pull the man back. Heat seared his raised arm.

Black Spike shrieked hideously, all that his lungs could manage before he sucked fire into them. He kicked, and then writhed as his hair burst into a brilliant flare. His skin charred, bubbled, and steamed, while greasy black smoke billowed from the flames.