People of the Thunder(31)

“Have you given any thought to what we’re going to do when we reach the Chaktaw?” Old White used the Yuchi pronunciation of the name.

“Depend on the Power of Trade, I guess. Why wouldn’t they honor it?”

Old White pointed at Trader’s face. “You have the markings of a Chief Clan tattoo on your face.”

“It was never finished. I killed my brother before they could complete the job.”

“It still says Chief Clan.”

“I’m just Trader.” He stared at the fire. “If anyone questions it, I’ll talk about my time among the Natchez. About Trade up the Father Water. It’s not like they can trick me by asking questions about local politics. I don’t even know who the clan chiefs are these days.”

Old White arched an eyebrow in acceptance. “What about when we reach home?”

“What were you thinking?”

Old White stared at the fire. “I was thinking we’d just be ordinary Traders. Camp out below the palisade, listen to the gossip. No one will know me.” He glanced at Trader. “They might not even know you. You told me you’re not an identical twin, and ten summers have surely changed you. The sun has left you darker; the weather has aged your face.” He paused. “Thing is, but for the tattoos, we’d pull it off smartly.”

“I’ll give some thought to explaining the tattoos. I’ve seen the like over most of the country. The cheek bar, the forked eye. As you noted so aptly, mine was never finished with the intricacies that make the Chief Clan tattoo so distinctive.”

“Learned the design from Cahokia,” Old White noted. “A long time ago. Maybe it won’t be an issue. Maybe tell them you got it among the Caddo.”

“I speak pretty good Caddo.”

“After we’re there for a while, if it seems wise, maybe we’ll have the tishu minko call the Council. By then, assuming that no one recognizes you, Bullfrog Pipe will have delivered his message. We’ll have a feel for how your message has taken root. Then, when the Council rituals are done, we’ll tell the entire story. We can give them something to talk about for a long time to come.”

They would indeed. He glanced at the war medicine box, and thought about the copper it contained. We’ll both leave them talking.

“Split Sky City is a big place. It’ll be pretty easy to disappear into the crowd. If my return is the talk of the place, we can take steps to avoid anyone recognizing me.” Trader shot a sidelong look at Old White. “You’re Chief Clan, too. What if someone recognizes you?”

“They won’t. It was a long time ago.”

“Why have I never heard of you?”

“Because I’m dead.” Old White smiled at Trader’s expression. “At least that’s what everybody thinks.” He glanced at his heavy fabric bag, a thoughtful expression on his face.

“But you never got tattooed.”

“Wasn’t there that long. I was just a boy.”

“Stolen?” Trader asked. “You were captured in a raid?”

Old White stretched. “I think I’ll turn in.”

“You’re not going to tell, are you?”

“No. Not yet.”

“Will you tell me why?”

Old White stared absently at his feet. “Part of the deal I made with Power once. That, I think, you can understand.” He glanced at Trader. “I learned some things in Rainbow City. I think you’re in for a surprise, too. But that’s another thing I think Power wants you to find out on your own.”

“What surprise?”

“Oh, you’ll find out when we get there.”



Smoke Shield looked at the score of warriors who crouched around the fire. Each and every one had been part of the White Arrow Town raid. He could see the admiration in their eyes as they watched him. It vied with the worry and disquiet that had accompanied their rapid departure from Split Sky City. He had allowed them to speak to no one—not even wives or family.

Some feral instinct had led Smoke Shield to order his warriors out by ones and twos, each with the story that they were headed out in different directions to hunt. Each had been told to wear hunting clothes, to carry their war clubs and shields sacked, so as to elicit no undue comment.

The rendezvous was here, at Tie Snake Spring. Little more than a seep, the spring lay under a ridge in a recessed bowl eroded out of the exposed sandstone. The trickle of water was home to a stand of tall oak, hickory, and beech. In the sheltered bottom, he had built a great fire and waited for his warriors to assemble. As they listened, he outlined the plan that had come to him as he had trotted, fuming, up the trail.