People of the Thunder(111)

“Enough!” Amber Bead barked. “I know Paunch. He serves our people just as much as you do, Lotus Root.”

“But he hasn’t paid as much for the privilege as I have,” she added fiercely.





Twenty-two


Late-afternoon sun cast long shadows across Split Sky City. Golden light bathed the peaked thatch roofs, gleamed from the plastered walls, and gave the smoke-laden air an orange glow. Trader had pursued a roundabout path in his search for Two Petals. He had started at the south gate, winding around the Crawfish Clan grounds, awed at how the city had grown. For the most part the local dogs had allowed Swimmer to pass without too much growling and sniffing.

Trader stopped short as he walked out to the plaza. He had just finished searching the Panther Clan grounds. He took a moment, seeing his city again, as with new eyes. Every muscle in his body was charged, his souls practically flying inside him. Over and over, he replayed each moment of his meeting with Heron Wing, savoring each word they had spoken, hearing her voice as she said she had never stopped loving him.

The sunlight seemed brighter, the air—laden with the odors of the city as it was—smelled fresher in his nose. He marveled at the open plaza, seeing children running, playing at stickball. Two young men practiced chunkey on the nearest court. In the north, the great mound thrust up, the roof of the palace designed to add to the illusion of a wedge splitting the sky.

“Quite a place, isn’t it?” he asked Swimmer. The dog was sniffing at something on the ground, his tail wagging.

Until now, Trader had avoided entering the Hickory Moiety’s half of the city. The notion of coming here had been similar to the anticipation of peeling a scab from a wound. Heron Wing had changed that. Somehow she had healed something that had bled inside him for winters.

Now he took his bearings, turning, walking north along the rows of dwellings, workshops, and society houses that lined the eastern half of the plaza. He glanced this way and that, searching. Swimmer searched, too. But Trader wasn’t sure it was for Two Petals.

He saw none of the signs that a lost Contrary was anywhere about. No crowds of curious people hovered at the house doors; none of the passersby chattered on about the odd woman who said things backward.

I should be worried sick! But, oddly, he wasn’t. And that bothered him even more than the Contrary’s sudden and complete absence.

It’s not as if she’s helpless. But the lingering memory of carrying her into Rainbow City remained. He could still feel how rigid her body had been. Like a piece of wood. The memory of it amazed him. Had he tried to hold himself stiff like that, the muscles would have trembled, lost their energy. But she’d been locked up tight the whole way. Frozen, but warm. By Breath Giver, the ways of Power were surprising.

Swimmer, it appeared, had found what he was looking for. He grabbed up a stick and dropped it at Trader’s feet. They continued, Trader tossing the stick, and Swimmer charging after it with a happy yip.

A woman stepped out in front of him. He caught the barest glimpse of her face: young, attractive, with a frown marring her brow. She had her long hair pulled back in a bun held in place with a bone pin. The rest of her was obscured by an ungainly load of firewood. That she could carry such, and move as easily as she did, left him with no doubt of her strength. He could see smooth muscles working in her calves as she plodded forward.

Nice, he thought. He’d never minded looking at beautiful women. Which led him to think about Two Petals, which in turn led him to think about Heron Wing.

The clatter startled him, almost made him jump. Swimmer dropped his stick, darting away.

Before him, the entire load of wood had crashed to the ground, the woman staggering to recover her balance.

“Blood and dung!” she hissed, holding up the carry strap. It had broken neatly in two. She glared down at the pile and then angrily kicked one of the pieces of wood.

“That’s the wrong way,” Trader told her. “You’re headed north. Kick it that way.”

She looked up with fiery eyes. “Easy for you to say. That’s three trips without the thong.”

“One trip,” he insisted. “Provided I help you. I know a trick. Something I learned among the Cree.”

“Who?”

“A people way up north of the Freshwater Seas.” He bent down, pulling out the longest pieces of wood. “We’ll build a litter. Make a square, if you will. Hand me what’s left of the strap.”

She did, her eyes narrowing as she studied his face. “It’s almost like I know you. It seems like it was something unpleasant.”

“Like losing a load of firewood?” He fished a sharp chert flake from his pouch, cutting the remaining pieces of strap into equal lengths. Swimmer looked raptly at the pile of wood. It contained enough sticks to keep him happy for a moon.