People of the Mist(73)
Once Corn Hunter had been a warrior, younger brother to the Mamanatowick. Known for his prowess in war, he had been given White Stake Village, and responsibility for the northern frontier. For the most part, Corn Hunter’s days were pleasant. The war with the
Independent villages had ground into an endless stalemate that gave him’ enough stability to enjoy his position, but also sufficient danger to justify his larger than normal cut out of the tribute sent south.
The years had broadened his once muscular body, and the wealth of his position had covered him with a thick layer of fat. His tattoos had spread with his girth and faded. What had been sunbursts, bird’s heads, and lines of dots now were nothing more than shadows under years of red puccoon root dye.
His heavy cheeks gave his face a thick, sagging look. Small brown eyes, mindful of a badger’s,stared out from either side of a flattened nose. The storyfwas that it had been mashed by a raider’s war club when Corn Hunter had been a young man. He liked to wear finely woven and brightly dyed textiles rather than tanned hides, claiming that the cloth was warmer, lighter, and easier on his skin. Like so many in authority, he reveled in copper and tin jewelry. He sprinkled glittering antimony on his skin, and liked to weave colored feathers from painted buntings, kestrels, and blue jays into his hair. His seven wives kept the right side of his skull shaved, and spent hours creating his famous coiffure.
Winged Blackbird had always been leery of Corn Hunter, and since his elevation to War Chief his caution had increased. Something about those flat black eyes left an uneasy tickle at the base of his spine. No matter how Corn Hunter might smile, and praise his work, Winged Blackbird didn’t trust the man.
The Weroance watched him with an inscrutable stare. He rested his chubby right hand on one oversized knee, his left holding Red Magpie’s hand as she stood beside him, her attention also fixed on Winged Blackbird. Corn Hunter’s first wife, she was ten years his elder, gray haired, slim, and narrow of face. Behind them, Corn Hunter’s six other wives waited, as did his older children.
“We could do nothing,” Winged Blackbird said, hating the flush of embarrassment that crept into his cheeks. “Nine Killer had us surrounded before we could so much as raise a weapon. It was as if he knew we were coming.”
“Indeed?” Corn Hunter said.
Winged Blackbird glanced around the packed long house. “I don’t suppose that Barnacle is still among us?”
“No.” Corn Hunter’s only movement was to rub his thumb on the back of Red Magpie’s hand. “He left the day after you did. Headed south, I believe. No doubt to fill the Mamanatowick’s ears with stories about Hunting Hawk and Copper Thunder, and this coming marriage.”
“You’re sure he went south?” Corn Hunter blinked slowly, the way a turtle did on a cold morning. He made no answer. He didn’t need to.
“Well,” Winged Blackbird sighed, “it would be nice to blame it on him.”
“So, you were surrounded?”
“Yes, Weroance. I had no choice but to deliver your message to War Chief Nine Killer, since to press farther into their territory would have meant a hard fight, many deaths, and no guarantees that your message would have been delivered.” Winged Blackbird smiled grimly. “The dead are not known for their elocution.”
Corn Hunter’s fixed stare ate into Winged Blackbird’s very soul. Those eyes might have been made of polished rock for all the emotion they betrayed. Winged Blackbird . locked his knees, refusing to show his unease.
After what seemed an eternity, Red Magpie leaned over and whispered into Corn Hunter’s ear. The Weroance nodded ever so briefly, and a humorless smile appeared. “No, the dead are not known for their elocution. But then, neither, it seems, is my War Chief.”
Winged Blackbird clamped his teeth and rocked back and forth on his heels.
Corn Hunter’s smile widened. “Well, so be it. You were not appointed War Chief to tell stories, eh? You are
War Chief to win battles, and if you blurt your failures straight out, at least I don’t need to worry about you plotting behind my back. Because of that, War Chief, I can trust you.”
“Yes, Weroance.”
“Very well, so you gave Nine Killer my message. What did he say?”
“He said that he would tell Hunting Hawk word for word. This, I know he did.”
“I see, and how is it that you know without hearing with your own ears?”
“Because he is Nine Killer. Like your War Chief, he, too, blurts out the truth for his Weroansqua.”
The smile had frozen on Corn Hunter’s face. “You take chances, Winged Blackbird. Especially for a man who failed in his mission. I would expect a War Chief to use a certain amount of initiative in fulfilling his duties.” “Then, perhaps if the Weroance will allow me to finish my report, he will discover that initiative is not so foreign to his War Chief’s ability.” Rot it all, everything was going wrong! The tone was getting ever more formal and strained.