People of the Mist(92)
Panther cocked his head, frowning. “How do you mean, great Kwiokos? Something worse than murder?”
“Yes.” Green Serpent pursed his lips, his tufted white eyebrows rising. “It’s close, I tell you. When I drift off to sleep, I can almost feel it, malignant, dark, and dangerous. Close … so close that the ghosts are milling and frightened. That’s why I can’t quite see it. Like knowing that people are waving to you from the other side of the room, but the mist is so thick you can’t quite see them, only their shadowy movements. The ghosts are horrified. I think Red Knot is. too. Terribly upset… yes, terribly”
“You’d think that the House of the Dead had been profaned in some way.”
“Yes.” Green Serpent watched him through narrowed eyes. “You know your craft well, sorcerer.”
Seventeen
Panther shook his head and made a dismissive gesture. “I’ll not try and fool you, great Kwiokos. I’m no sorcerer, no witch. I have made a study of the plants and their Powers. I have listened to, and studied under, men and women with great Power. I have practiced magic tricks and sleights, and even played the god on occasion.”
Not everyone was allowed to play the god. In the ceremonials, strings were often tied to Okeus, so that when the hidden operator pulled them, the god would move his arms, turn his head, and stand in his shrine. A Kwiokos kept that knowledge secret unto himself.
“I see.” Green Serpent took a step to the side, shooting a quick glance at Nine Killer and Sun Conch where they stood just inside the doorway. “And what is your purpose here, Panther?”
“I told you, I came to find—”
“No. Your real purpose? What made you come to this place? What will you do here?”
He took a deep breath, considering his words. “I am not sure yet. Hopefully I will come closer to maintaining the balance that has eluded me for years.”
“An act of goodness to counter the bad?”
“Something like that.”
“Tell me, Panther, are acts more important than beliefs?”
“I don’t know, Kwiokos, but acts have a Power all their own. I have seen that a child’s smile is worth a lifetime of worshiping before a shrine. An insult shouted across a river can fire the blood of a thousand warriors in lands you’ve never heard of. That is the Power of actions. Be they for good or evil, they spread like ripples upon a pond.”
“Like the murder of our Red Knot,” Green Serpent mused.
“Exactly.” Panther lifted an eyebrow. “I wonder if the murderer understood just how many ripples would spread from that blow to the girl’s head?”
Green Serpent shook his head. “Oh, that is never understood, Panther. Not until the act is done can the ripples be seen spreading. Only then does the murderer begin to see that his life will never be the same.”
“Then come, let us take a look at the girl.” Panther smiled warmly at the Kwiokos. f’I would like the War Chief to accompany us. Nine Killer was there at the place where the girl was killed, and Sun Conch is bonded to me.”
Green Serpent glanced at them, no doubt seeing the fear on their faces. “It is most irregular, but I will do as you wish.” He glanced at Lightning Cat and Streaked Bear, who had been listening intently. “There will be no trouble over this. Come, all of you. Let us attend to Red Knot.”
Panther followed the Kwiokos back past the mat partition, past the storeroom with its graven guardians. As he passed, Green Serpent raised a finger to touch each one, calling for their blessing. Beyond the final mat wall, they entered the sanctum where Okeus sat on his perch, the painted wooden statue covered with peak shell necklaces, polished copper, and fine dress. The shell eyes seemed to gleam with an inner light, but only reflected the fire. His outstretched arms held a shock of corn in the left, and an ornate war club in the right: the dual nature of the fickle god obvious to all.
Above Okeus, on the platform, lay the bundled corpses of clan leaders. Each corpse had been rolled in its own fabric shroud. They rested in a ranked line. Forever silent to this world, they were the repositories of the honored ghosts of the Greenstone Clan.
On the floor to the right of the fire lay young Red Knot, her body swollen from decomposition. She had been placed on a woven cattail mat.
Nine Killer stopped short as he followed Streaked Bear into the room. The War Chief’s gaze fastened on the god, then took in the platform, and finally stopped on Red Knot. He seemed to be having trouble with his breathing.
Panther made a respectful gesture to the god, then crouched down over the girl, the taint of corruption and smoke filling his nostrils. He had been told that she was a pretty girl, her body just blooming into a full-busted figure. Now her half-open eyes had sunk into her face, the lips drawn back over the teeth.