People of the River(93)

"Yes," Wanderer said sadly. "Bat spends a great deal of time chasing sparkflies so he won't die. And if he would just let himself die, why, he'd find out that he didn't need those glittering flies at all."

"Of course not!" Lichen blurted in irritation. "He wouldn't need sparkflies, because he'd be dead."

Wanderer grinned. "You don't follow this at all, do you, Lichen? Oh, well ..."

He hopped to his feet and began scrambling back up over the edge of the bluff. His moccasins sent a shower of sand over Lichen's head. "And you did so well in the Underworld! But never mind, you'll understand the One eventually. That is, either you will or you won't. And if I'm any good at all to you, you'll ..."

His voice faded as he strode across the bluff in that ungainly, long-limbed walk, his tattered sleeves swirling about him.

The flock of ravens flapped to glide around his head, cawing as though giving advice. Wanderer yelled back at them, waving his arms for emphasis while he strode headlong back toward his house.

"Wait! Wanderer?"

Lichen tied the blanket around her waist and warily eased up from the limestone lip, sliding her back against reliable

rock until she could dig her fingers into a crevice and brace her feet. By the time she managed to clamber up onto the crest, Wanderer was no longer in sight.



Green Ash ducked and waddled through her doorway before she inhaled a breath of the heavy night air. The pain in her womb throbbed with each step she took, leaving her weak and trembling. The odor of smudge pots wafted on the breeze coming up from the river. Dogs barked and yipped somewhere. A baby crying, voices of a man and woman having a loud argument, and frogs croaking could be heard. Other than that, the houses of the Commonbom had gone ominously quiet. She let her eyes adjust to the night. Fires gleamed like strewn drops of honey, reflecting from the thatched houses and somber faces of people cooking dinner. But no laughter carried on the cool evening wind. This night, no one dared breathe. Today Badgertail had left with over eight hundred warriors, and then the traders had rushed in, brimming with terrible news of Petaga.

More war. How can we bear it?

Green Ash carried her plate of com cakes across the hard-packed ground toward the elders sitting outside of Checkerberry's house. A pile of corncobs lay stacked near the central fire. The cobs burned hot and fast, but wood was too precious to use for a simple warming. The people in the outlying villages could still scavenge oak, hickory, and dogwood, but it was a full day's walk for people here.

Green Ash eyed the powerful women around the fire warily. They'd come to talk of the future, to decide what the clans should do. Tharon might be the Sun Chief, but these women held the ultimate fate of Cahokia in their hands. The decisions they made on this night would determine the course of the future.

The four clans controlled all of the fields within walking distance of Cahokia. They farmed them, gave half of their crops to the Sun Chief to keep the chiefdom going, and stockpiled the rest to feed their lineage, or to trade for needed goods. In the past five cycles, the stockpiles had been pathetically small. By the Deep-Snow-Moon, no one had been above begging the Sun Chief for a bowl of com. Discontent had been growing.

Sandbar, from the Squash Blossom Clan, sat next to Redhaw, from the Deer Bone Rattle Clan; and Tickseed, leader of the Horn Spoon Clan, hunched beside Checker-berry, maternal elder of the Blue Blanket Clan. Each had a prunish face and almost no teeth left in her head. Old, so old. Their heads glimmered with a frosty sheen in the firelight. Behind them, a ring of men and women sat quietly, waiting in the hope of being able to express their views.

Green Ash stepped over a dog sprawled at the outer edge of the circle and hurried to set the plate of com cakes in front of Checkerberry. Then she backed away to sit down between Nettle and Primrose, each of whom wore a dark expression. Nettle opened the tan-and-red blanket over his shoulders to enfold Green Ash in the warmth. Snuggling against him, she whispered, "Have they started yet?"

"No. They're just vying for position—^boasting of how many children have been bom to their clans this cycle, of how many marriages are in the offing."

"What has Checkerberry said?"

He glanced at her. "Nothing. **

"What? Doesn't she realize that if we don't present a strong face, we'll be dragged into this like a rabbit to slaughter? I can't understand—"

Primrose bent sideways. Softly, he said, "Checkerberry has been staring at nothing ever since Redhaw arrived."

"But I—"

Green Ash hushed when Redhaw pulled herself up straight. Redhaw wore a beautiful deerhide dress covered with shiny beads of galena— a sign of wealth and status. Green Ash thought of how much food Redhaw could have purchased for her clan last year if she had sold that dress. She could have fed fifty for another moon. Only one tooth remained in Redhaw's mouth, hanging in the front like a rotting fang. She waved an arm authoritatively. "Deer Bone Rattle Clan has six new husbands coming from Yellow Star Mounds. They're bringing lace and thousands of seashells with them as dowry. We'll be able to trade far to the south and east next cycle."