People of the Mist(69)

Big Noise looked at High Fox, and when the young man nodded, the War Chief returned to his place by the wall, but he kept his club up and ready in the silvered light, Panther’s gray hair resembled matted spiderwebs. He lowered his voice, and pointed at High Fox. “I own Sun Conch. I told you this, and she told you this. The next time you wish to speak with her, you will explain your reasons to me first.” The words bit. “Do you understand?”

“Forgive me, Elder.” High Fox glanced around. “I meant no offense. I just… 1—I will leave and let you return to your rest.” He swiftly turned and slipped away, head down, his movements reminding her of a whipped camp dog.

Sun Conch felt as if someone had struck her in the stomach with a blunt beam. She couldn’t seem to catch her breath. She watched High Fox until he ducked beneath the door hanging at the opposite end of the house, and vanished into the darkness beyond.

She turned her wounded gaze at Panther. “Why did you do that?”

“He seems to think you are his slave, rather than mine,” Panther said mildly. “I had to correct that misunderstanding. ” Sun Conch lay back down and gruffly pulled her hides up. “You were too harsh, Elder. He’s afraid. That’s all.”

“He’s a coward, girl. He’s been protected his whole life. First, by his father, and now by you. He doesn’t know how to stand on his own two feet. Or won’t. I don’t know which, and it doesn’t matter. A coward is a coward.”

Panther rolled up in his blanket again and turned his back to her.

Sun Conch lay awake long into the night, staring at the smoke that crept along the ceiling for the smoke holes. She alternately considered Panther’s words and wondered what High Fox had lost at Flat Pearl Village that so terrified him.

Nine Killer woke to a dreary gray morning, the air almost solid with fog and his blanket hoary with frost. He sat up and puffed out a white breath that immediately merged with the surrounding mist.

Friendship might have been rekindled, but he’d nevertheless ordered his warriors back to their camp in the trees for the night. Better that than allow some hothead to undo all that had been accomplished. He shivered and reached over to stir his fire for embers, but the damp charcoal was cold to the touch. Muttering to himself, he stood and peered around in the gray haze. His warriors lay in their blankets like logs.

Nine Killer rubbed his cold arms and bent down for his pack. From it he took a small bark container and used his fingers to dip out what was left of the contents. The concoction was made from rendered bear fat, ground puccoon root, and mint leaves for scent, the latter being his own addition. He smeared it thickly over his exposed flesh.

In the winter, the grease helped retain body warmth. In the summer it protected the flesh from the ravenous hordes of mosquitoes that rose in humming columns from the marshes. The little bloodsuckers could drive a man insane at best, and kill him at worst. In late spring and early summer they swarmed off the brackish water, the air screaming from their passage.

He was about to kick Flying Weir awake when he caught movement from the corner of his eye—a lone man picking his way through the wraiths of fog, staring down intently at each sleeper as he passed.

Nine Killer recognized the intruder. “Are you looking for someone, Stone Cob?” The warrior started, glanced around, and located Nine Killer. “I was. It looks like I found you, War Chief.”

“I thought you were out ‘hunting’ like so many of my other warriors.”

Stone Cob walked reluctantly forward, his hands out, empty, in a gesture of trust. “Could we talk?”

“Say what is on your mind. But, in the process, you might tell me just what you are doing here. I thought you were sulking in the forest somewhere.”

Stone Cob hung his head. “I did no sulking. I came here, to Three Myrtle Village. I couldn’t let you kill them, War Chief. I have family here. They had to be warned.”

Nine Killer tilted his head back and looked up at the gray heavens. Overhead, the bare branches of trees seemed to vanish in fainter’ and fainter patterns the higher one looked. “I understand. That’s how they knew we were coming, when we would arrive, and where. That’s how they trapped us here.”

“Yes.”

Nine Killer gave him a narrow-eyed inspection. “But I didn’t see you out there yesterday.” “I couldn’t bear arms against you. No more than I could have against my relatives and friends. When The Panther stopped the fighting, I ran, hid in the trees beyond the fields. I was out there all last night, trying to decide what to do.”

“And what did you decide?”