Trader lifted an eyebrow. It had been smoothly done.
White Bear clapped his hands. “Then let us begin with black drink. We will follow it with a feast, and then, Seeker, you had better be as good as the stories say you are.”
Old White smiled.
Trader knew it would be like shooting carp in a mud puddle. Then he cast a nervous eye toward Two Petals. If she’d blow backward through a lit pipe, what would happen if someone offered her a sip of the sacred black drink?
Nine
Flying Hawk made his way to the tchkofa, touching his forehead respectfully as he passed the guardian posts at either side of the entrance, and climbed the wooden steps. With each, his knee grated and burned. At the palisade on the summit, he nodded to the guards and passed the clan totems staring down at him with baleful eyes.
He entered the dim tunnel that led inside the main room and walked around the circumference to his stool. The eternal fire was burning in the central hearth, and offerings had been placed on the altar.
Once he had settled himself on his stool, a young man motioned, and Vinegaroon, minko of the Old Camp Moiety and Skunk Clan chief, emerged from the covered hallway that led to the Old Camp council room on the south. At the same time, Tishu Minko Seven Dead, chief of the Raccoon Clan, led a procession from the northern hallway and the Hickory Moiety’s room.
The moiety representatives filed to their respective sides of the chamber and seated themselves. The young Priest, dressed in white, knelt, tamped tobacco into the Eagle Pipe bowl, and lit it.
Flying Hawk, as high minko, took the first puff before offering a prayer to invoke Power. He asked it to guide him in finding a solution to the current problem.
Then, one by one, the others took the pipe stem and exhaled smoke toward the high smoke hole, letting it mingle with the sacred fire’s as it rose to the sky beyond.
This was the part of being high minko that Flying Hawk liked least. Any squabble among the moieties that could not be brought to a satisfactory conclusion eventually ended here, in the tchkofa, to be decided through an appeal to his authority. Mostly it involved property, divorce, or some petty boundary dispute.
He glanced at Blood Skull. The man was Seven Dead’s brother, the second war chief, and Smoke Shield’s sworn enemy. Flying Hawk detested him. “It is my understanding that you represent the accused.”
“Yes, High Minko.”
“And, Vinegaroon, you represent the aggrieved party?”
“That is correct, High Minko.” Vinegaroon rose and pointed to a short man who looked uneasily in every direction except toward Flying Hawk. “This is Fine Clay, a man of the Hawk Clan. I believe you are familiar with his work?”
Hawk Clan specialized in the finest pottery made at Split Sky City. While they made cooking vessels and other utilitarian pottery, they were most noted for the fine ceremonial ware used in rituals, for gifts and Trade, and for purposes like burials, weddings, and other special events. The Hawk Clan potters sought out the finest of clays, ground, and washed it. They made their own temper, and mass produced bowls, jugs, jars, and other ceramics. Each was carefully decorated, incised, and fired according to rituals and processes that were strictly guarded by the clan.
“I know his work,” Flying Hawk agreed. “I have one of Fine Clay’s jars, one that has Flying Serpent depicted on the side.”
For the first time Fine Clay looked up and smiled.
Vinegaroon cleared his throat, saying, “The matter before us today concerns one of Fine Clay’s molds.”
“I don’t understand,” Flying Hawk said. “I thought the molds were the property of the clan.”
“That is normally the case.” Vinegaroon clasped his hands before him. “However, Fine Clay made this mold, ground it out of stone, and used it to make a certain style of jar.”
“Explain this.”
“Yes, High Minko. You’ve seen how many of Hawk Clan’s bowls are quickly and efficiently produced? Instead of making each one by taking clay and flattening it with a paddle and anvil, the potter makes a mold, usually a half or third of the finished pot. In a mold the clay can be formed quickly and exactly each time, and to the same dimensions. Each piece of the pot is then removed from the mold and joined to its mates, perhaps a bottom, top, and neck. Only three seams need to be joined to create the whole.”
“I am familiar with the process. What seems to be the trouble here?”
Vinegaroon spread his hands wide. “Fine Clay made a new mold. Ground it from stone, and formed it for his own purposes.”
“I went to the hills up north,” Fine Clay interjected. “I collected the stone myself. Then I ground it down, High Minko. I made it just so. When it was finished, I didn’t like it. So I Traded it to Burnt Hand.” He pointed to a man sitting beside Blood Skull.