Water Snake’s mouth dropped open. “You would challenge me?”
“It is my right, under clan law.” Panther took the war club from Nine Killer’s hand. “I could demand a clan meeting to discuss my claim to the mantle of Mamanatowick. I am the firstborn son of White Gull, sired by Stone Sliver.” Panther smiled maliciously. “Or you can call off the attack, and I’ll forget I ever saw you here.”
Water Snake arched an eyebrow. “But what of Copper Thunder? Do you think I should just let this upstart go as well? I’ve been on the trail for six days now. I am missing the solstice ceremonies. I’ll not go home empty handed.”
“No, you’ll take me back and we’ll discuss your right to be Mamanatowick. That, or you can carry my body back and explain why you killed your clan elder. That is all I offer you. Decide, here and now.”
“I am not happy about this.” Water Snake glared back and forth between them, weighing his options, and finding none of them palatable.
“No, I suppose not. But, nephew, I know clan law, and my rights, just as well as you do. You know who I am, don’t you?”
Water Snake swallowed distastefully, torn between the desire to destroy his enemies, and the laws of kinship.
“Perhaps,” Nine Killer offered, “you could go home with full bellies? As a member of Greenstone Clan, I offer you the hospitality of my clan.” He glanced around. “You have a great many warriors with you; the feast might stretch the Weroansqua’s resources, but if there was an understanding, say, that there would be no raiding during the next two Comings of the Leaves, I’d bet that the Independent villages could recover.” “And, I think I can sweeten’ the broth.” Panther handed the war club back to Nine Killer. “I offer you the return of another of your relatives. Today she is called Moth, but you knew her as Sweet Stick.”
“Warm Fall’s sister? She was married to White Fire as a second wife.” Water Snake was turning the implications over in his head. “The Weroansqua would agree to this?”
Panther said evenly, “I think she would be happy to entertain and feed you and your warriors. And Moth is slave to a man who owes me a favor. Um, you haven’t killed anyone yet, have you?”
“Only one scout out in the forest. The other got away and warned everyone else that we were coming.” Water Snake tilted his head. “Perhaps a gift could be given to the dead warrior’s clan?”
“It might be arranged,” Nine Killer agreed.
“But only for two Comings of the Leaves,” Water Snake insisted. “And I will deal with the upstart on my own.”
“That is between you and him,” Panther said amiably. “I think, however, that he, too, might be amenable to some sort of arrangement.”
Water Snake smiled crookedly. “It won’t last, you know. Eventually, I will have these villages.”
“Perhaps,” Panther answered, “but for now they do serve a purpose. What you lose in authority, you gain by their ability to buffer Stone Frog’s Conoy. A wise Ma manatowick would consider these things.”
“You think I’m wise?”
“It’s in the blood, nephew.”
This was the first night of solstice. Sun Conch lay on her back in Rosebud’s long house Pain lanced her body, and fever played with her swimming senses. Her long hair covered her bedding like a shiny black halo, and sweat poured from her skinny body. She had just enough strength to watch the fire lit shadows prancing over the walls. The main fire had burned down to a steady flickering blaze. The house was utterly still, but outside, she could hear the singing, the clapping hands, and the dancers panting with exertion at the plaza.
Sun Conch had listened to the talk about Black Spike’s death. She had lived in the Weroance’s village, and knew him for a good and fair man—despite the way he’d treated her that day in the plaza. What would Three Myrtle Village do without him?
High Fox committed incest with Red Knot!
She closed her eyes at the horror of it, and smoothed her fingers over the soft deer hide that covered her chest.
She had been wanting High Fox for so long, yearning to see him, but she didn’t know how she felt now. If he was wise, his shame had sent him scurrying from Flat Pearl Village before the Weroansqua could convene a council meeting to determine the manner of his death. But she wished he’d come to say goodbye or sent word, some small gesture.
I risked everything for you, High Fox.
She prayed he was on the run. She could imagine him, bravely facing the world, carving out a place for himself in some distant land.