Amid great ceremony, she would be laid up with the rest of her ancestors, venerated and worshiped, her spirit providing leadership and protection for the village, guidance and inspiration for Shell Comb and other successors.
And when my ghost meets the others, what will they say? How will they deal with me? Her lips twitched uncomfortably. What could a pack of ghosts do to hurt another of their kind? If they decided to punish her, what remedy could they inflict?
You ‘re a silly old woman. The things you ‘we done had to be done. Flat Pearl remained independent, a leader among the Fish River villages. Greenstone Clan was respected the length and breadth of Salt Water Bay. No matter what crimes she’d committed, those results spoke for themselves.
She glanced at Shell Comb, noting the woman’s steely determination: she stood by force of will, her face like a mask, as her daughter’s body was borne toward her.
Perhaps Shell Comb had finally come to understand the responsibility of becoming Weroansqua. For once, she acted like a leader, stoic, a model for her people. Only by knowing Shell Comb as she did did Hunting Hawk sense the underlying brittleness. But then, that which was brittle didn’t mar or dent. It snapped. With time, however, provided it didn’t break catastrophically, it might temper into a tough resilience.
There is hope, after all. Hunting Hawk almost sighed with relief—would have, but for the solemnity of the occasion.
Nine Killer crossed the beaten dirt to stand before her, face expressionless, as if carved from wood. “What happened out there?”
Nine Killer drew a deep breath, filling his broad chest. He held it for a moment to still his inner turmoil. “A busy morning, Weroansqua. We began our search for Red Knot. As we worked up the neck, young Quick Fawn came running to tell us that enemy warriors were approaching. I quietly recalled my men, and laid a trap-into which Winged Blackbird obligingly walked. Finding himself somewhat at a disadvantage, he told me he was on a peaceful mission, bearing a message to you from his Weroance.”
“And that was?” “The Weroance of White Stake Village wished to delicately express his displeasure at the idea of our marrying
Red Knot to the Great Tayac. In short, Weroansqua, Corn Hunter must have heard that Red Knot had become a woman. He panicked, and sent Winged Blackbird to try and talk you out of it.”
Hunting Hawk glanced sidelong at Shell Comb to gauge her reaction. Her daughter’s eyes glinted. Good-she was thinking, using her head for something besides grief.
“I see.” She gestured to where two warriors still supported the pole with Red Knot’s body. “And this?”
“The White Stake killed her, didn’t they?” Shell Comb called out stridently. “They murdered my daughter to keep her from marrying the Great Tayac!” She stepped forward, a fist raised. “For this, they shall pay dearly!”
Hunting Hawk bit off a growl. Well, it was too much to expect her impetuous daughter to change completely. She asked, “Before we get too carried away, and charge off to war, would you finish your report, War Chief?”
Nine Killer glanced uneasily at Shell Comb, and said, “After turning Winged Blackbird away, I sent several scouts to follow him, insuring he didn’t double back. After that, I resumed my search for Red Knot. It was then that young Flat Willow called out. It was he who found the body.” “Flat Willow?” Hunting Hawk searched out the youth hanging back among the others.
Flat Willow hesitantly stepped forward, and glanced around uncomfortably. He shifted from foot to foot, then bowed his head, looking cowed.
“You found her, Flat Willow?”
“Yes, Weroansqua. I was hunting. I’d have never gone up on the ridgetop, but for High Fox. He made me miss my shot… lost my arrow … and the deer ran … and …”
“High Fox!” Black Spike cried, stepping out from the crowd. “Are you talking about my son!”
Flat Willow flashed the Three Myrtle Weroance a sidelong look. “As you say … your son.”
Black Spike started forward, and was barely restrained by a kinsman’s hand.
“Easy, Black Spike,” Hunting Hawk said. “We’ll get” to the bottom of this. No accusations have been made.” She stepped forward, placing a hand on Flat Willow’s shoulder. “Slow down, boy. Take your time. Relax now, and tell it slowly.”
Hunting Hawk watched the young man lick his lips and lock his legs; worried eyes met her stare. With deliberate concentration, he told of his morning hunt, of the spooked deer, and High Fox charging down the trail. He related High Fox’s odd words. Then he told how he had finally given up finding his lost arrow, and backtracked High Fox to the ridgetop.