People of the Mist(37)
And to think, some people thought The Panther to be incredibly clever!
Overhead, billowing clumps of cloud alternated with the pale blue winter sky, but on the water, sunlight sparkled across the rolling surface, belying the murky depths. What possessed the sunlight to dance on the bay? It was as if sun was so completely incompatible with water that the beams bounced off it.
In the distance a flock of terns sailed low over the swells. To Panther it was a temptation of fate that they should dip so fearlessly to skim the crests.
Mysteries. Mysteries everywhere.
Panther took a deep breath, filling his lungs with the cool air. The bay’s damp musk lingered in his nostrils, salty, its special tang familiar to him, if not reassuring today.
He half-turned, careful not to rock the boat. “Just where exactly are we going?”
“Flat Pearl Village,” Sun Conch answered.
“No. We will go to Three Myrtle first.”
“Elder, the people of Three Myrtle don’t wish High Fox dead. The problem is in Flat Pearl. I will take you there.”
Panther gave her a flinty squint. “Girl, we’d better get some things straight. You do not order me …” At that moment, the canoe lurched and bobbed. As water slapped against the hull, cold droplets spattered on Panther’s skin. Despite his death grip on the gunwales, he glared down into the water. “You stop that! I’m putting Sun Conch in her place right now, but I’ll deal with you later!”
Was it imagination, or did the swells lose some of their violence? Panther lifted an eyebrow, satisfied, and turned his attention back to Sun Conch. “You want me to save High Fox, don’t you?” She gave him a puzzled look. “Yes, Elder.”
“Then you will take me to Three Myrtle Village. Before I deal with Hunting Hawk, I must talk to High Fox, hear his side of the—”
“High Fox isn’t at Three Myrtle Village, Elder.”
“Then, where is he? You said he’d fled after he found the girl’s body. He didn’t go home to the protection of his family?”
Sun Conch paddled methodically, each stroke driving the canoe diagonally across the waves. “No, Elder. Well, I mean, he went home, but only long enough to tell me his trouble. Then he was supposed to leave. He knew Hunting Hawk would be hunting him. He didn’t think he’d be safe in Three Myrtle.”
Panther tensed as the canoe bobbed precariously and slid down into the trough of a swell. Water ran over the heat-stained wood in the bottom, coursing around his feet, mocking him with his own mortality. “Think we ought to bail? It’s getting deep.”
Sun Conch asked mildly, “You’re not afraid, are you?”
Panther screwed his face into a mask of resolution and turned to glare. “No! Now, just where is High Fox? I need to speak to him. I can’t do a blood-rotted thing for him until I hear his words about what happened.”
“Very well, Elder. He is hiding on a small island. I will take you to him.”
“Good.” But Panther’s heart quaked as another swell slapped the side of the canoe, spattering him with droplets. When he looked down, the water ran over his toes. Corruption take all canoes. This was no way for a man to travel. He looked around for the bailing cup.
And, if I live long enough to see this High Fox, and if I think the boy is lying to me, by Okeus’ balls, I’ll wring the very soul from his body!
A chill wind blew out of the moonless night, down from the northwest, over the hilly Conoy Peninsula, and across the leaden waters of the Fish River. It moaned through the bare trees, stirred the brown leaves, and whistled around the palisade posts of Flat Pearl Village. As it came swirling across the palisade it shook the houses, and scoured bits of sand, charcoal, and shell, spattering them against Nine Killer’s squinting face as he crossed the plaza to his sister Rosebud’s house.
His nerves were bothering him. To relieve them, he’d been pacing the length and breadth of the village. He’d even gone to the extent of placing Stone Cob and Crab Spine—to their disgust—on guard. Now, as he ducked into the sheltered lee of Rosebud’s long house he drew his feather cloak tightly about his shoulders.
Not even ghosts would be out on a night like this.
He shivered: a mixture of cold and the unknown. Protected from the worst of the gusts, he leaned against Rosebud’s thatched wall and listened to the wind roar through the night.
Unease had been stalking him since the day of Red Knot’s death, staring at him from the wind-whipped darkness with invisible eyes. That morning, his world had started to come apart, and he felt powerless to prevent it. But where did the root of this evil lie?