She forced herself to climb to her unsteady feet. Pressing fingers to the stinging side of her face, she stepped to the doorway.
Smoke Shield had made a mess. But despite the wreckage, she could see where Green Snake had placed the box the night before. He’d moved her baskets to clear a space that now lay vacant along the back wall.
Gone! The box is gone!
Who . . . ? Then it hit her with the force of Smoke Shield’s fist.
“Gods,” she whispered. “Morning Dew . . .”
A terrible scream rent the quiet air.
Heron Wing hurried to her door, leaning out to stare toward Violet Bead’s, where a naked young man came crashing out into the dawn. Behind him, Smoke Shield leapt like a panther.
The naked man squealed in terror, struggled to rise, and then Smoke Shield was on him, howling and screaming like some enraged cat. She saw Smoke Shield’s arm rise, could make out something in his hand. The meaty impact of breaking flesh and bone sent a tremor through her. Again and again, Smoke Shield hammered the man’s head.
A naked Violet Bead appeared at her doorway, desperately trying to pull Smoke Shield back. He rose, turning, clamping a hand to her throat. Violet Bead was pushed back into the house, and moments later the shrieks began.
Each was like a needle in Heron Wing’s souls.
Twenty-eight
Old White enjoyed the midmorning sun. He sat on the log before their house with his head tilted back to the warm rays. Beside him, Trader’s wet piece of hide made a soft rasping as he sanded his chunkey lance. People were busy picking up trash. Anything burnable went straight to the fire pits. Others walked past with baskets, seeking the owners. It wasn’t anything like the bedlam down by the collapsed palisade.
Old White had walked down just at dawn, surprised at how much of the tall wall had blown over. The downed portion was half the length of the plaza. Not only that, but the southern end of the city had collected most of the detritus: pieces of roof and loose belongings.
“How could Flying Hawk have let the palisade get that far out of repair?” he asked. “I tell you, fully half the logs were rotted off.”
Trader continued his sanding. “Maybe the time for palisades is over.”
“Indeed?”
“How often do large armies march grand distances cross-country? It made more sense when Cahokia could put a thousand warriors on the river. Marching that many down here—where the travel is overland—an army has to carry its provisions.”
“Would you mind trotting out and telling Great Cougar that he doesn’t know what he’s doing?”
“He’s motivated.”
“Someone will always be motivated, Trader.”
The sanding continued.
Old White watched a warrior appear from between the close-packed houses. He stopped, talking to Squash Blossom where she carefully burned a torn section of someone’s latrine matting that had ended up wrapped around her ramada pole. The woman smiled, gesturing toward her house. The warrior nodded and stepped inside, followed closely by Squash Blossom.
“Warrior just went into Squash Blossom’s.”
“Hmm. What do you think that means?” Trader continued his sanding.
“That someone has discovered the White Arrow war medicine is missing.”
“Stolen? The audacity of some people!” Trader ran the wet sand down the white wood shaft again. “This thing with Heron Wing and me . . . Tell me, do you think it’s an abuse of Power?”
“No.”
“Why not? She’s a married woman.”
“She was supposed to be married to you. The two of you love each other. What was the story you told? That Smoke Shield lied to get her? Said he’d coupled with her? That she thought it was you?”
“That’s right.”
“He used despicable means to obtain his ends. Which might be all right, but he has abused her the same way he has Power. You and I both know she would have kicked his sorry moccasins right out the door but for this silly divorce code the Chikosi have.”
“There’s that word again.”
“Something tells me they’re going to have to get used to it.” Old White reached down, picked up a pebble, and tossed it. Swimmer, who was supposed to have been asleep, immediately launched himself after the stone, unsure of which way it had gone. He bounced to a stop, ears pricked, looking this way and that.
“Here we go.” Old White watched the warrior emerge. Squash Blossom was still talking. She listened to something the warrior said; then she pointed right at their house. “I do believe the kind Squash Blossom just pointed that warrior in our direction.”
“You didn’t say anything bad about her cooking, did you?”