“The old woman,” Panther asked as he put down his trumpet-shaped pipe and dipped pumpkin from the trencher with his fingers. “You’ve always had her?”
“She was my brother’s originally. Monster Bone captured her from the Mamanatowick many Comings of the Leaves ago. She was quite the beauty once. You’d scarcely know it now with her teeth knocked out and that burn scar.”
Panther’s heart skipped, a sudden coldness chilling his -heart. From the Mamanatowick? Blessed Ohona, no, it couldn’t be! “And that burn on her face?”
“Her husband was the Mamanatowick’s brother. Monster Bone captured him at the same time he took her. We used pine slivers to burn him. As the fire consumed him, she broke loose, actually ran into the flames to hug him one last time. Monster Bone was so impressed with her devotion that he kept her alive, but the ordeal broke her soul. She’s been deranged ever since.”
“Poor woman,” Panther whispered, the sound of his voice coming as if from a long distance.
“Some are stronger than others.” Black Spike shrugged. “But beware of what she says. Moth will tell you the most curious stories.”
“Moth?”
“That’s what we call her. For the time she flew into the flames.”.”
Black Spike studied Panther’s ashen face. “Elder, are you ill?”
“No—no, I was just…” He shook himself, forced an easy smile to his lips, and said, “The chill. Foggy days like this always send the cold right through my bones.”
Sun Conch, followed by Nine Killer, ducked under the door flap and crossed the room. Panther took a deep breath and flogged his brooding memories back into the dark corners of his mind where he kept them hidden. He nodded as the War Chief settled cross-legged beside of him.
Sun Conch crossed, and competently rolled their blankets. These she secured with a cord before collecting the rest of their belongings. How Jong had it been since someone had cleaned up after him? Panther drove the thoughts away, knowing they would add to his melancholy.
“Good morning, War Chief,” Black Spike said, “I hope you slept well,.”
Nine Killer gave him a smile. “I’m getting old. When I was young, I could sleep in the snow with only a blanket. Now, in a heavy frost, my teeth chatter.”
“We are all older,” Black Spike agreed. “Please, eat. You, too, Sun Conch. Partake again of my hospitality.”
“The Weroance and I were talking,” Panther began as Nine Killer and Sun Conch began dipping out hominy. “Black Spike gives me his word that High Fox will stay here in Three Myrtle Village under heavy guard. This way he is no more than a half day’s journey from Flat Pearl Village if we need him, but still out of direct danger should others take matters into their own hands.”
Nine Killer’s jaw muscles worked under his smooth skin as he chewed. He didn’t look, pleased. “The Weroansqua ordered me to return him to Flat Pearl.”
“Oh, I doubt the Weroansqua will take you to task for not bringing him back with us.” Panther gave the War Chief a malicious grin. “She can turn her wrath on me, if she dares. You are just cooperating with me. Acceding to my requests.”
Nine Killer continued to eat in silence, frown lines tracing across his forehead. “I want to leave someone of my own to assure this.”
Black Spike stiffened. “Is my word not enough?”
Nine Killer said, “For me it is, Weroance, but I must answer to others who may not share my faith.” And then he smiled, as if pulling the last cord loose from a perplexing knot. “The nice thing about two hands is that you can scratch both itchy palms at once.” He paused. “What if the man I wanted to leave was Stone Cob?”
Black Spike shrugged. “He is on neither side in this matter.”
“My thought exactly.” Nine Killer nodded. “And it will give him a chance to choke on his honor.”
Fourteen
Winged Blackbird stood before the fire, his features bronzed by the leaping light. Behind him stood Two Bones and Makes Water, his lieutenants.
The Great House where they stood was well furnished with deer hides, woven baskets filled with hickory nuts, chinquapins, and hazelnuts. Corn, tobacco, dried fish, and jerked meat hung from the rafters in long ranks. The red cedar burning in the fire gave the air a redolent odor.
The Weroance, Corn Hunter, sat on a golden cougar skin that had been draped over a stump, his raised seat giving him a commanding view of those coming before him. The only time Corn Hunter had his throne removed was when his brother, the Mamanatowick, came to visit.
As Weroance of White Stake Village, and the territory he commanded, he could levy great tribute from the surrounding clans. Most of this he passed on to the Mamanatowick, who lived three days’ journey to the south.