People of the Thunder(26)

“No.” He sighed, rubbing his smudged face with callused hands. “It seemed like such a good idea at the time. If the White Arrow were warned, they would be ready for Smoke Shield and his warriors. They could have crushed him, taken the Chikosi war medicine, and dealt the Sky Hand a blow from which they would never recover. Weakened, we could have won our freedom.”

The faintest of smiles bent her full lips. “You knew nothing of freedom. But I think you have found the faintest hint of understanding.” She spread her arms in a movement so delicate it reminded him of swans’ necks. “Here it is, Grandfather. Freedom. No man stands over you with a war club telling you what to do. I see no Chikosi here to bully you or seize your food.”

“There’s no food to seize.”

“Ah, freedom has already lost its luster. And you are but so recently free.”

He rubbed his face harder. She’d always been such an odd child. “Why aren’t you home, married, with a child on your hip?”

“I am betrothed.”

He stared at her through slits in his fingers. “Curious. I don’t remember that. Every time we’ve approached a solid young man’s family, either he, or you, has said no. Usually, he says it so quickly you don’t have a chance.” She was such an attractive young woman, tall, with long black hair that fell to her waist. When she passed, young men cast envious glances at her full bust, long legs, and round hips. Her face was nicely formed, with high cheeks and a tall forehead. She had a perfectly lush mouth and delicate nose. But all it took was a single glance into her large dark eyes and any man worth spit would turn around and run. Whippoorwill’s eyes always reflected midnight, as from seeing into worlds that no human wished to view.

“My husband will come.”

“Along with this mysterious sister you talk about?” He shook his head and dropped his hands in defeat. “You have no sister. Your mother died just after you were born. The way you talk, it sends shivers down my spine.” A large cold drop of water spattered on his back as it fell from the melting ice in the trees. He flinched at the impact. “As if I didn’t have enough to shiver from. I just want to go home.”

“The Chikosi will not have forgotten you.”

“I know.” He stared glumly at the forest giants around them. “Thank the Ancestors for Amber Bead’s warning. But for him, I’d be dead now. They’d have hung me in a square.” He winced at the very thought. “And I’d have told them everything. Amber Bead would be dead, as would you and the rest of my line. Our people would have been made to suffer. All for me.”

“Power isn’t finished with you, Grandfather.”

“Saw that in your Vision, did you?” He recalled the day he’d made her Dance with Sister Datura and scry the future in a well pot. Looking into the depths of the bowl, she’d seen something that she refused to relate to him. Odd as she was, she’d been even odder after that day.

“Then tell me, how much longer do we have to scurry around out here? Will I ever see home again?”

“Oh, yes, Grandfather. You shall even be there before I am.” She smiled, the effect eerie in her young face. “All we have to do is survive the Chahta. Then, after we meet my sister, you shall be headed home.”

“What about you?”

“I’ll come. But only after I swim down to find the dead.”

“Dead? What dead?” By the Ancestors, he dreaded it when she said things like this.

But she didn’t answer. Instead her eyes were fixed on an opening between the gigantic trees.

“What do you see?”

“The black wolf,” she whispered softly. “He has just dropped by to assure me that all is well.”

But try as he might, Paunch could see no wolf on the empty leaf mat.





Six


Growing old came at a price. High Minko Flying Hawk considered that as he dressed in his room. His bones and joints ached, and over the last couple of years, old injuries—like the one in his left knee—had grown progressively worse. Now, on cold mornings, he could hear bone grating in his knee when he stood.

His fingers had lost their dexterity, and the mere act of tying his apron around his waist was clumsy. Nevertheless, he straightened it and cinched it snugly to his thickening hips. Next he wound his hair behind his head, fixing the thunder-arrow copper headpiece with its pin. That came from long practice. His thick gray hair had to be wound tightly, just so, to support the weight.

Finally he draped a cougar hide over his shoulders and picked up his turkey-tail mace. Made of chipped stone, then polished to a gleam, the thing was heavy. So many of the trappings of authority grew burdensome with time. Just like the weight of responsibility that caused a droop in his shoulders. His confirmation as high minko, or supreme chief of the Sky Hand, had been ten winters past. In that time he had fought both to control his notorious rages and to manage his people. Through it all, he’d struggled to shape Smoke Shield to follow him.