People of the Mist(18)

Odd, he couldn’t remember the necklace. Where did it come from? Did Red Knot ever wear a necklace like this one? Did anyone in the Flat Pearl Village?

High Fox! Flat Willow smiled in satisfaction.

With care, he replaced the necklace, then collected leaves and spread them over the bloody girl’s corpse, letting them sift down naturally. Then he did the same where Red Knot had been dragged, leaving just enough sign that an experienced tracker could work out the trail.

He glanced down the slope at the tracks the girl had made climbing. From the depth and the imprint even the blind could see that she’d come up this way from the inlet below, skirted the giant beech, and started across the ridge.

Walking to one side, he followed her probable path across the flat ridgetop. Here and there, the leaves were depressed, as they would have been by moccasined feet.

There, midway across the ridge, the leaves were disturbed. He studied the bloody leaves thoughtfully, and walked to one side to collect more leaves. These he carefully strewed over the coagulated blood, hiding it from view.

Circling again, he considered the mashed leaves at the base of the walnut just off the trail. Carefully plucking them aside, he found the faint smudge in the leaf mat that might have been a moccasin print. This, he left uncovered for easy discovery. The bark had several small scars on it where it had been picked at with a thumbnail. Flat Willow picked at it some more.

A pace from the tree he found a chewed twig of sassafras branch. He lifted it to his nostrils, sniffing the faint tang. Search as he might, he could see nothing else out of place. The walnut, witness to it all, could offer no more clues.

Flat Willow crossed the ridgetop, and stared down the trail that led to Oyster Shell Landing. High Fox’s toe prints marked the earth. He’d climbed up the trail, and made wilder scrapes as he’d charged back down in headlong flight.

Flat Willow chuckled to himself, grinning, and shook his head. By Okeus, High Fox, you haven’t the sense of a rock.

Fingering his bow, he turned again, staring at the blanket of leaves that covered the ridge. No one had a keener eye than he. The story read plainly enough. Red Knot had come climbing up from the west, and High Fox from the east. They had met—and he’d killed her before turning to flee.

“See anything?” a voice called from down the ridge.

“No,” came a more distant cry. Then, “Red Knot!”

Do I want to be the one to find her body? Or should I just walk away? Where is my best interest?

Flat Willow smiled grimly and cupped his hands around his mouth. “Up here! Come quickly! I’ve found Red Knot—and she’s been murderedl”

Hunting Hawk waited at the opening of the palisade, watching the warriors bring Red Knot down the forested trail. Her arms and legs had been lashed unceremoniously to a meat pole. Her head was hanging, her hair dragging the ground, the long black locks matted with blood and dust. Her mouth slack, eyes half-open, she stared dryly at the empty sky. Whispering people clustered in a knot behind Hunting Hawk, unwilling to press too close.

Only Shell Comb stood beside her, a gray pallor in her attractive face. She had gone rigid, as if a snake had coiled its smooth length around her flesh. Her hands were clenched into tight fists, the muscles of her jaw bunched. Something indescribable burned behind her eyes: a desperate shining that radiated pain and horror outward from the soul. She teetered” every muscle rigid, as if her balance was suspect, and she hovered on the verge of collapse. Well, at least Shell Comb looked as a Weroansqua should during such a time of trial. Hunting Hawk lifted her chin,” forcing her gaze to the procession winding through the stubble and stumps of the fields. The grisly burden swung with each step.

Nine Killer led the way, a thunderous darkness in his expression. Oh yes, Hunting Hawk knew that look well and it boded no good for Flat Pearl Village.

What does he know? What does he suspect?

Behind Nine Killer, the warriors marched, fingering strung bows. To a man they glanced uneasily back at the forest. In the rear walked Copper Thunder, with his warriors in a tight cluster. They spoke in low tones. Nothing in their manners reassured her.

This is going to be complicated, like an onion, layers upon layers. She pondered Quick Fawn’s frightened report of White Stake warriors skulking in th woods. Who knew what mischief they might have committed had the warriors not been out beating the bush? Each new element uncovered on this grim morning flared like a spark near thatch.

She shifted, refusing to wince at the pain in her hips and lower back. Standing always hurt these days.

It wouldn’t be long now before she was laid up in the House of the Dead. They’d slice her withered belly open, extract her intestines and organs. With great care Green Serpent would skin her carcass and tan her wrinkled skin. Her bare corpse would lie there, drying and decomposing, until Green Serpent directed Lightning Cat and Streaked Bear to pluck the last of the slack brown meat from her bones. After that, they would stretch her tanned skin over her dried skeleton, stuff her with grass, and sew the hide together.