People of the Thunder(36)
By the time the sun was slanting in the sky, Old White and Trader had collected a small flotilla of canoes, all interested in the Traders from the north, anxious to hear the news, spend a night with relatives at Feathered Snake Town, and, if possible, Trade. Several of the young men, anxious to bear word, sped ahead, paddles flying.
When Trader nosed his canoe into the landing, it was already crowded with people. More were on the way, appearing one by one on the heavily traveled trail that led up from the landing to disappear into the trees.
Willing hands laid onto Trader’s gunnels, dragging his birch-bark craft high onto the bank.
“Easy, Swimmer,” Trader coaxed. “These are friends.” But he noticed that none of the Chaktaw were anxious to get too close to the growling dog.
Old White’s canoe was similarly hauled up onto the beach, and the old man climbed stiffly from his seat, raising his staff high and calling out in Mos’kogee, “We come under the Power of Trade, and would see your chief. I am Old White, called the Seeker. With me is Two Petals, the Contrary. This man is Trader.”
Trader stepped out, flexed his cramped legs, and lent Two Petals a hand. She turned, staring at the crowd. In Trade Tongue, she said, “When the world changes, there is no thunder, only the wonder of it. Look, they don’t know their lives are about to be altered forever. That’s for the future. It lies between them and me like a fine net.”
One or two, who perhaps understood Trade Tongue, stared awkwardly at her.
Trader sighed, and said, “We are pleased to be here.”
The crowd parted; a muscular man of perhaps thirty winters stepped through. He wore his hair in a warrior’s bun pierced with a multitude of miniature white arrows. To have earned such honors, this was no ordinary warrior. One hand held a polished war club that sported two copper blades inserted into the wood. A red apron hung about his hips, the point falling between his knees. His face was tattooed in a forked-eye pattern, his cheeks and chin done in black diamonds. A bobcat-hide cloak hung around his shoulders.
He stepped forward, hard eyes on Old White. Then he turned his inspection to Two Petals, and finally Trader. He seemed to hesitate as he studied Trader’s tattoos. In a perfect accent, he asked, “You are Sky Hand?”
Trader shook his head. “I am called Trader. Recently from the far north. I have lived among many peoples. Your friends among the Natchez, the Caddo, and Tunica know my name. We come under the Power of Trade, and would stop here for that purpose.”
The warrior considered, glancing sidelong at Swimmer in the canoe, then taking mental note of the packs. He seemed to be adding up the validity of the claim. Fact was, spies, if that was what he assumed them to be, would not carry a wealth of northern goods.
“From the far north?” the war chief mused. “Have you things from there to Trade?”
“We do,” Old White replied, holding his staff a little higher.
“Forgive me,” the warrior said. “I am Great Cougar Mankiller, of the Red Arrow Moiety. I am war chief of the Chahta. It has been some time since Traders such as yourselves have come among us. Let alone from such a great distance. Further, relations with the Chikosi have become a little strained. Just today we captured two Albaamaha spies.”
Two Petals smiled wistfully, saying, “Hello, my sister.”
“Our purposes are only dictated by Power,” Old White assured while shooting the Contrary a sidelong glance.
“And where do you come from, woman?” Great Cougar asked Two Petals. She stared openly at the crowd, as though seeing them through some transparent veil. She kept reaching out with questing fingers, as if encountering something only she could see.
“She does not speak any tongue of the Mos’kogee,” Old White told him. “Sometimes she will answer in Trade Tongue, but being Contrary, her answers and responses are backward.”
“What is her native tongue?” Great Cougar asked, looking somewhat unnerved by Two Petals’ continued preoccupation with the space before her.
“Oneota, War Chief. A people of the north.”
“I have heard of them.” He glanced again at Old White. “And which people do you come from?”
“Many,” Old White replied. “I am known as the Seeker.”
“The Seeker?” Great Cougar lifted an eyebrow. “There are stories about a man called the Seeker. They say he has traveled the entire world. The Caddo speak of him with reverence. It is said that only last spring he was with the Natchez.”
“The Natchez high chief, Spotted Serpent, made me welcome during my journey upriver.”
“I have heard stories of that.” Great Cougar smiled suddenly. He turned, ordering, “Inform Chief White Bear that we have guests. Prepare a feast. Someone fetch two warriors to guard the Traders’ possessions. Make sure their belongings are undisturbed.” Turning back he remarked, “As Traders, you will wish to have certain packs taken into town. My people will bear them.”