People of the Thunder(127)

Earlier that day, he had also watched the shocked and chastened Chikosi scouts, their arms and legs bound, be ferried the other way. Under guard, they would be marched to Feathered Serpent Town and held until he and his warriors returned. Then, along with any additional captives that had been taken, they could spend their time in the squares.

Five! We only captured five along this entire stretch of river! So where had the others gone? His few scouts, the ones he had slipped back, deeper into the forest, had reported seeing Chikosi trotting happily back toward the Black Warrior Valley. They had looked carefree, relieved. Why would Smoke Shield pull off his scouts? It didn’t make sense.

The five they had captured—the friendly ones who had taken to talking with his scouts—had seemed shocked, almost stunned. They had looked at their sheepish Chahta counterparts as if they’d been rudely betrayed.

“We know nothing!” they had cried. “The rest were told to return home! To prepare to head north to fight the Yuchi!”

The Yuchi? Great Cougar watched the mud slowly drifting along the bank, headed off toward the gulf.

Could the Chikosi really have been called away?

He glanced up at the sun. All of his warriors had made the crossing by midday. Now, even if they were spotted, it would be a race. Any Chikosi scout he might have missed could travel no faster than his fleetest of runners, and they were already on the trails.

Tomorrow was equinox. All he had to do was push his fast-moving force to Split Sky City. And who knew? Perhaps the rumors of war with the Yuchi were true?

“By Breath Giver’s grace, let it be.”

Split Sky City would be in flames before the Chikosi could even think of turning back from the north. He turned, heading into the trees at a dogtrot.



Flying Hawk panted as he reached the top of the Sun Stairs and braced one hand on the gate to look back at Split Sky City where it spread below him. The city was packed. Two towns played a game of stickball in the southern plaza beyond the tchkofa. From here, he could see the Men’s House, where even now, Smoke Shield was enjoying the company of his picked band of warriors.

He shook his head, reaching down to massage his nagging knee. The long climb was becoming ever more difficult. But the pain in his knee was nothing compared to the worry chewing away at his souls.

Turning, Flying Hawk entered the palace grounds and touched the guardian posts reverently as he passed. He nodded to the guards, entered the great room, and walked to the hallway. There, he stopped in the dim light and called, “Prophet? Are you there?”

“Come, Great Chief,” the woman said in Trade Tongue.

Flying Hawk pulled the hanging to the side and stepped into Smoke Shield’s room. The woman wore a beautiful white dress decorated with chevron quill work. She sat on one of the benches, knees pulled up to the side. Her long black hair hung loosely about her shoulders, freshly washed and combed so that it caught glints in the firelight.

When her large dark eyes met his, his souls swam, as through drawn inexorably into the timeless depths. He swallowed, struggling to get a grip on himself.

“My nephew tells me—”

“I do not speak your language, Great Chief. You must talk in the Trade Tongue.”

He frowned, trying to place her accent, but couldn’t. In Trade Tongue, he said, “My nephew tells me that you predict the future.”

“I predict nothing. I am the rock, letting time flow past, watching it part and head backward. It won’t be long now. At the head of the stream I can look down the river . . . see the swirls and eddies I have traveled.” She smiled. “My husband will encircle me. I can count the courses of the sun until that moment. Together, we will Dance as we exchange worlds.”

Flying Hawk cocked his head, trying to make sense of it. Time? Her husband? Exchanging worlds? Gods, she was spouting nonsense!

He demanded, “Why are you here?”

“To live the Dream.” She stared off to the side, saying, “He doesn’t understand. Odd, isn’t it, that the simplest things elude people?” She turned her eyes back to Flying Hawk. “You are a butterfly, fluttering about in the sunlight, but winter comes. Where will your colors be then? Your wings are already faded, Great Chief.”

“Your souls are unhinged!”

“Oh, no. They are right here.” She tapped her chest. “They Dance within me, circling around and around, awaiting the caress of my husband.”

“Smoke Shield? Is that what you seek here? To marry him?” He chuckled. “You poor deluded fool. I don’t know what stories they tell in your foreign land, but here, among the Sky Hand, you will only be a third wife. More like a paid woman, actually, since you have no clan or family.” He shook his head. “You have tricked yourself, as well as Smoke Shield.” He made a casual gesture. “Not that I mind so much. It’s something of a delight to see him fall for your deceit after all the others he has misled.”