People of the Mist(4)
She shivered at the thought, aware of that same desire stirring as she studied Copper Thunder.
The Great Tayac crouched across the fire from her, arms clasped around his drawn-up knees. No one would call him a handsome man. His nose was too large for his face; the jaw made a person think of a snapping turtle’s. Forked eye tattoos surrounded his eyes, and a black band followed his jawline across his mouth. Older tattoos had faded and blended with his dye-stained skin. He wore his hair in a roach, both sides of his scalp shaved. But when he looked at Shell Comb, that penetrating stare sent a shiver through her. Secrets hid behind those stygian eyes, along with fleeting glimpses of his quick intelligence. He’d kill at the slightest pretext, and when he struck, it would be like a timber rattler: lightning fast, ruthless, and equally cold-blooded.
We promised Red Knot to this serpent? What have we gotten ourselves into? Her harried soul frayed further.
Copper Thunder wore a brown bearskin over his left shoulder, leaving his right breast bare. A large conch gorget, suspended from a choker, hung at the hollow of his throat. The polished white shell was etched with the effigy of a great spider. Below it hung a necklace of copper-tube beads, a wealth of them. They gleamed in the firelight. The colorful flaps of his breech clout hung down front and back. A decorated deer hide sash crisscrossed his belly; the shells sewn to it sparkled in the firelight. He’d laid a folded blanket beside him. From the dampness on his leggings and moccasins, he’d been far out beyond the palisade.
He turned his gaze to the flames that leapt around the burning wood. Behind him, ten warriors sat cross-legged on mats. They’d already rolled their sleeping robes and stored them near the long house door in preparation for leaving. They talked in low tones, and laughed as they discussed yesterday’s feast and last night’s Newly Made Woman Dance.
Copper Thunder pointed to the stew. “Is it ready?” he asked in his heavy accent.
She struggled to sound calm. “A while yet, Great Tayac. We added a jar of smoke-dried fish. Allow it to soften. I wouldn’t have you carrying tales of poor food away from here.”
His smile didn’t reach his hard eyes. “You may rest assured, Shell Comb, I will leave here completely satisfied.”
It had been a mistake to promise Red Knot to this spider. Unlike the other great chiefs, Copper Thunder had built his own chieftainship, carved it out of Water Snake’s to the south, and Stone Frog’s Conoy Confederacy to the north. Both Water Snake and Stone Frog hated and feared Copper Thunder, but as much as they feared him, their generations-old enmity kept them from allying and crushing the upstart between them.
As Shell Comb considered him, their eyes locked across the fire, measuring, probing. Those dark orbs seemed to ask, Are you worthy?
She ground her teeth. She had endured the worst, and seen it through. If she could do that, she could do anything. Her heart seemed to swell, becoming as stone-cold and calculating as his. If his soul heard, he gave no sign.
After a moment, he asked, “Are you sorry to lose your daughter?”
She molded her face into an emotionless mask, betraying nothing. “We all have responsibilities, Great Tayac. To our families, to our line, and clan. I have done mine. Red Knot… well, she has her responsibility to become your wife.”
“I didn’t ask if your daughter would do her duty. I asked if you were sad to lose her.”
“Yes,” Shell Comb croaked, throat tight. She took a breath, and forced herself to say, “When a daughter is born, every mother knows that their time together is limited. Just as a father’s time is with his son.”
“Last night. Who was that young man?”
She struggled to maintain her composure. “Who? I don’t understand.”
“That young man, the one you showed such distaste for. High Fox. Yes, that was his name.”
Shell Comb busied herself with the stewpot. “Red Knot is leaving with you today, Great Tayac … a woman on the way to becoming your wife. She … she didn’t just pop out of the earth as a grown woman. Until eight days ago, she was a girl. You were a boy once. Didn’t you look at many girls that you knew you’d never marry?”
He nodded, watching the smoke rise toward the soot stained bark roof. It hung in a thick haze before drifting out the rectangular smoke hole. “You didn’t approve of High Fox.”
“I didn’t? What would make you think so?”
“Your face. The fear that I saw there. Whenever you looked at him, you appeared desperate.”
“Perhaps you read me wrong. The boy was her childhood friend, nothing more.” With feigned indifference, she grasped the stack of wooden plates that lay under the sleeping bench. They clattered as she pulled them toward her. As she’d hoped, his gaze had lingered on the sleek curve of her waist, and the way her full breasts hung under the fabric of her dress. Perhaps a man was just a man—even if he was a Great Tayac. The serpent stirred within her.