“Morning Dew?” She stared, confusion rising.
He reached into his pouch, producing a long white pointed thing. “This is something called a walrus tusk. Probably the only one in the south. It comes from a creature that lives in the ice-bound wastes of the far north. Well, in the ocean up there, actually.”
She took it, feeling the weight, staring into the stark white color that seemed almost translucent. “You would offer this for Morning Dew? In whose name?”
“In the name of her grandmother, Old Woman Fox. She would like to have her granddaughter back. Is that sufficient in Trade?”
She hefted the heavy tooth, wondering if it was really as valuable as the old man said. She considered Green Snake’s bowl. No, this was a first offering. Played correctly, she could drive the price up. If this was an opening to communications with the Chahta, it would have to be handled delicately.
“I don’t know if this is enough, or not. I have my own plans for Morning Dew.”
“And those are?”
“Is there a reason I should share them with a stranger?”
“Since I am here as an agent of the current matron of the White Arrow, it might be prudent. If your plans for Morning Dew coincide with mine, it might have a serious effect on the value of our Trade.”
Heron Wing narrowed her eyes, studying the man. He seemed completely at ease, as if negotiating the fates of peoples was as ordinary as bartering for a used blanket. “Morning Dew is the matron of the White Arrow Moiety. Her son, if she ever has one, will become high minko. Eventually this madness with the Chahta must end. I think she will be an excellent and talented leader among her people. In the future I would rather see us dealing with her than any other.”
He nodded slightly, considering the sincerity of her words.
She seated herself, handing the tusk back. “All right, you have offered Trade for Morning Dew. It’s not enough when compared with the future of my people. Do you wish to offer anything in addition to some tooth I cannot judge the value of?”
“I’ll think it over.”
“Good. Now, where did you know Green Snake? A lot of men could be named that.”
“And many are.” He smiled. “Believe me, it’s a common name all across the land. This one, however, lived here, once. Hickory Moiety, born of the Chief Clan. Then, oh, perhaps ten winters ago, he had an altercation with his brother. Fled into the night, horrified at what he’d done.”
She realized she’d stopped breathing, that he was watching her, studying her reaction. “What do you want from me?” She tried to keep her voice normal, and failed.
“Nothing. At least not the way you think,” he whispered softly. “I am called Old White, but to most I am known as the Seeker. Perhaps you have heard of me?”
She frowned. “Legends . . . stories . . . tales of a man who traveled to far-off lands. The Seeker was supposed to find the ends of the earth, or so the story goes. I know the Natchez and Pensacola believe the legend.”
“Always a legend.” His lips bent in a wistful smile. “But then, there are worse things: like traveling around thinking you’d killed your brother, only to find out ten winters later that you’d just knocked him half-silly.” He paused. “Or half-insane.”
She shook her head in slow disbelief. “You really know Green Snake? How is he?” She hesitated. “I have hoped that he married . . . that he’s happy. I’d always thought that, well, maybe he settled among the Caddo, or perhaps the Natchez.”
“Sometimes, yes, for a season or two. He took the name of Trader. Nothing else. People on the rivers know him only as that.”
“But is he happy?”
Old White’s bushy eyebrows arched. “Happiness can be a relative term. Are you happy, Heron Wing? Wait! Now, before you pry away at me for an answer, ask yourself that same question. But ask it deep down between your souls, where the life you’re living rubs against the Dreams you once had for yourself.”
She sat stunned. “Who are you?”
“It appears that I am a legend.” He clapped his hands to his thighs.
“You speak our language as if born to it.”
“A man has to come from somewhere. I’ve yet to meet one that hasn’t—though some scoundrels would claim it so.”
She watched him, mind racing. “Why hasn’t Green Snake sent word that he was alive?”
“He did,” Old White snapped angrily. “The Yuchi who carried the message was murdered. Now people are preparing to go to war over it.”
She glanced down at the bowl. “Traded from the Yuchi.” She felt her souls slip sideways, staggering. “That’s why they killed him.” She stood, pacing, mind racing. “Smoke Shield must be half-frantic!” She turned. “You wouldn’t know this mysterious message the Yuchi was carrying, would you?”