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People of the Mist(30)

By:W. Michael Gear


At that moment, the two crows landed in the winter bare black oak above, and stared down at him with inquisitive black eyes.

“What is it?”

One of the crows looked to the west, ruffled its feathers, and cawed.

“You don’t say?”

Curious, the old man rose and followed a beaten trail to the western end of his little island. The waves had cut a beach here, and the bank dropped off steeply. At the edge of the trees, he peered out against the setting sun’s glare.

A young woman was paddling a canoe across the rolling water, each stroke so perfectly timed that she seemed in no hurry.

Panther eased deeper into the late-afternoon shadows and watched the slim vessel approach. The voyager seemed hesitant now. Finally, she laid the paddle across the gunwales and let the canoe drift.

Panther’s old eyes hadn’t dimmed enough that he missed the indecision on that pensive face.

What? Another young fool coming for a love charm? Or does she wish me to bewitch some rival? Youngsters could be such idiots. As he had once been.

A long time ago … Panther waited patiently. The slim woman licked her lips, and mustered courage. She took a deep breath, committed herself, and plunged the paddle into the water to send the canoe toward the landing.





Seven




From his hiding place, Panther took stock. The young woman had long black hair and the moony face of an owl, round, with large dark eyes, and a short beak of a nose. She wore a red and blue feathered cape. One of Water Snake’s, or a woman from the unallied villages?

The canoe grated on the bank, and the young woman stepped into the water and dragged her dugout ashore. As she picked up her bow from the bottom, she strung it, and hung it over her shoulder. Then she slung a quiver over the opposite shoulder, and lifted a war club that looked too big and heavy for her slight frame and thin arms. Clutching it tightly, she started forward.

Well, if she’s come to kill me, best of luck. Others have tried before. And like them, this poor young fool would be cast adrift, her corpse lying in her boat. Panther had heard that some of his victims had been found. The others, he assumed, had been swept out to sea.

Panther hid behind a tree. The young woman squared her shoulders and crept stealthily up the path.

Panther frowned. Where had he left his bow? In the house most likely. Well, no matter, he knew his little island like the back of his hand. Warily, he followed her, using the trees for cover as he paralleled her trail.

Despite the years, not all of Panther’s stealth had deserted him. The nervous young woman hadn’t the slightest notion that the hunter was now the hunted. Glee warmed The Panther’s gut.

As sure as snow in winter, the woman made her way to-the little clearing and stopped to peer at his hut, the steaming pot of stew, and the leather sacks left empty by the fire.

Shivering, she glanced around for any sign of life. The fading daylight made her even more anxious as she searched the shadows. They’re not as brave as they once were. What’s happened to women these days? Panther crouched behind a tangle of huckleberry bushes and watched patiently.

She calmed herself, knotted up her courage, and called, “Elder? Are you here?”

Panther stayed put, taught by the long years of solitude that all things eventually come to their conclusion. Only the young and the foolish hurried things along.

The woman walked stiff-legged now to keep her knees from buckling. She approached the domed house awkwardly, and called out again: “Elder, I am Sun Conch, of the Star Crab Clan! A girl of Three Myrtle Village! I have come to speak to you!”

A girl. Not a woman. Very curious.

One of the crows squawked in the tree, and the girl jumped half out of her skin. She wheeled around, staring at the silent forest. “Please, Elder!”

Panther remained motionless until she started pacing, bending to study the ground for tracks.

Like a ghost, Panther slipped to the back of his house and carefully lifted a section of grass matting away. He ducked inside. At the head of his bed, he found his bow, and groped about for his arrows. To his disgust, they stood canted against the wall. Picking through them, he realized they’d warped. It took a moment to find the straightest, but a mouse had chewed most of the fl etching off the shaft.

His bones cracked as he strung the bow, prayed the gut string wouldn’t snap, and took three tries to draw it.

Muscles straining, he stepped to the doorway and emerged behind the frantic Sun Conch. “

“Drop your war club, girl!”

Sun Conch froze, every muscle knotted. For an instant, she seemed to waver between collapsing and bolting like a terrified fawn.

“I said, drop the club.”

The war club slipped from her nerveless fingers to thump hollowly on the ground.