“Trying to protect Three Myrtle?” Hunting Hawk asked. “Is that it? You lived there for a long time.”
Shell Comb stared down at her hands. Nine Killer bit his lip, touched by her sudden vulnerability.
“I saw her ghost,” Green Serpent said, a faraway look in his eyes.
“What ghost, Kwiokos?” Hunting Hawk asked sourly. “What are you talking about, old man?”
Green Serpent’s mouth opened, his tongue pink in the walnut brown of his withered face. “The morning she was killed. Her ghost was in the House of the Dead.
Looking at the bodies of the ancestors. She came back to join them.”
“Her ghost?” Copper Thunder asked, a light tone in his voice. “Are you sure it was hers?”
Green Serpent frowned, drawing the wrinkles in his forehead together. “I think. Well, you know, there are so many. Sometimes it’s hard to tell them apart. I didn’t pay much attention. They walk around all night, you know. She seemed to be in such a hurry. That’s what brought her to my attention.”
“You were asleep when I was there just after dawn!” Hunting Hawk snapped. “What’s the matter with you?”
Lightning Cat winced, and glanced at Streaked Bear. A knowing glance passed between them.
Deadpan, Copper Thunder suggested, “Perhaps we should ask her ghost who the killer is?”
“Yes,” Green Serpent agreed. “I shall. Next time I see her. I keep looking for the killer, but the vision wavers, and the Spirits aren’t speaking clearly.”
Don’t bait the old man! Nine Killer shifted, his dislike of Copper Thunder deepening. The dung-eater is mocking us. He is like a weasel, and we are the mice. Why doesn’t Hunting Hawk throw him out? Is she that afraid of him? Or doesn’t she see it?
Hunting Hawk seemed totally oblivious, staring at the fire. “The ancestors talked to me that morning. But I couldn’t hear them.”
“Mostly, they shout.” Green Serpent nodded his head. “You’re lucky you couldn’t hear them.”
“And did you hear them when my mother was there, noble Green Serpent?” Shell Comb watched him with a hawkish intensity. When the priest gave her an empty look, she spread her hands wide and stated, “No. As my mother said. You were asleep.”
“Leave him be,” Hunting Hawk ordered. “Clawing at ourselves isn’t going to solve this thing.” She met Nine Killer’s eyes. “What would it take to lay hands on High Fox?”
“That depends on Black Spike, Weroansqua. You know the mettle of the Three Myrtle warriors. We’ve fought side by side often enough. But, before you decide on this course, I would caution my Weroansqua to consider it very carefully.”
“Oh, I will indeed, War Chief.” She tilted her head as she studied him. “You don’t want to do it, do you?”
Copper Thunder’s lips quirked in amusement. Did anyone but Nine Killer see it? “No, Weroansqua. In the first place, it will be a difficult raid. Black Spike will have his scouts out. He’s prepared for us. Second, assuming we penetrate his defense, we’ll pay dearly for it. And, if we do break through, there is no telling where the youth will be. He may not even be in the village. And, finally, my warriors have friends and family among the Three Myrtle warriors.
Some are blood kin, others are of the same clan. If you order this, your warriors will comply, but their hearts will not be in it.”
“And you, War Chief?”
“I will do as you order.” He dared not look at Copper Thunder for fear that he might lose his control at whatever expression the Great Tayac might betray. “We don’t know for sure that the boy did it,” Yellow Net observed in a calming voice. “He most likely did, but Shell Comb is correct, it could be someone else.” Her gaze flicked toward Copper Thunder; then she said, “The stakes are particularly high here. A miscalculation could doom us all.”
Nine Killer chanced a look at Copper Thunder, and found he’d fixed his gaze on Yellow Net. That amused conceit had vanished and now a flat intensity filled his lidded gaze.
No good will come of this, Nine Killer assured himself.
Eight
The slim canoe rose and fell with the swells, reminding Panther just how vulnerable these small dugouts were. Crossing the Salt Water Bay always carried (he chance of disaster, even on a calm day like this. While the canoes were safe enough in the narrow inlets, and along the rivers, a sudden wind, or even a relatively modest shower, could swamp a dugout in the open water.
Hands braced on the gunwales, Panther looked over his shoulder at Sun Conch, who paddled rhythmically, resignation in the set of her young face. Well, bat dung! The girl figures she’s mine now and already dead, so why should she fear drowning? After the scare I put into her, she might even be looking forward to it.