People of the Thunder(42)

Now, looking at the woman, she wondered, Will I ever be as great as she is?

“Yes?” Heron Wing asked, reading her expression.

“Nothing.”

“It must have been something. You were looking at me with the strangest eyes. Almost a longing. Is something on your mind?”

“Does it bother you that Pale Cat sits on the Council and you don’t?”

Heron Wing looked startled. “Why should it? I’m proud of my brother. He’s a voice of reason on the Council. Actually, it amazes me that he can serve as Hopaye, fulfill his duties to the Council, and still be such a good uncle to Stone.”

“You Chikosi amaze me. I know of no other people who keep their women so removed from leadership. Among the Chahta, women sit in our Councils.”

“As does Night Star in ours.”

“But she is the exception, partially because of her age, partially because she’s a dwarf.”

Heron Wing arched an eyebrow. “Then, you think I should sit on the Council?”

“As capable as your brother is, you would be a better voice for your clan.”

“You have decided this, have you?”

“Sometimes people are blinded from being too close to things. Only when viewed from the outside does the shape of an object become clear.”

“And what about your own people, now that you’ve had a chance to—”

The hollow blare of a conch horn carried on the clear morning air. Heron Wing turned, staring south toward the high minko’s palace. There, at the gateway, stood Seven Dead, the horn held high to his lips.

“Warriors!” his faint voice called. “Chahta raiders are west of the river!” Then he started down the steps, taking the steep stairway three at a time.

Chahta! Here! Morning Dew stared off to the west, unable to see past the houses, palaces, and palisade. Her heart began to race, excitement building within her. Rescue!

“Not so fast,” Heron Wing said firmly. “Think this thing through.”

Morning Dew gasped, turning anxious eyes toward Heron Wing. “My people.”

“Yes, but how many?” Heron Wing propped a hand on her hip. “Tempting, isn’t it? Were I you, I’d be thinking that I could run, take a canoe in the confusion, and duck into the forest west of the river. Maybe, with a little luck, I could find those raiders.”

Morning Dew bit her lip, having just thought that very thing.

“But then,” Heron Wing added, “if it was a big war party, the scouts would have seen them coming. Slipping a small party past the scouts would be easy. But hundreds of warriors? The kind of war party necessary to deal us a real blow? No, that kind of force would have been detected. Were I you, I would decide that by the time I could reach the forest—assuming I could find a fast-moving, small force—they would be long gone. Another thing to consider is that this might be a false alarm. There may be no Chahta out there, just some nervous scout’s imagination. Either way, in an unfamiliar forest crawling with warriors, how would I avoid recapture by those hundreds of Chikosi scouring the woods for Chahta?”

“I would have thought of that.” Morning Dew sighed. “You’re right.”

“Yes, and I would stay here, knowing full well that when my time comes, I would finally go back to my people with my heel tendons uncut.”

Morning Dew dropped the basket, almost spilling the contents she had worked so hard to wash. “Why? Why do you care?”

Heron Wing smiled, amused at her distress. “Because you have just begun to discover yourself, Morning Dew. Take a while longer. Learn a little more about yourself. You have the time now, and soon events may not leave you with such a luxury.”



As the raid progressed, Smoke Shield was firmly convinced that Power rode his shoulders. They were closing on their quarry. The broken hills west of Bowl Town were the perfect place to hide. Thick timber, deep drainages, and broken ridges filled the land. While hidden nooks and crannies lay in every direction, the main trails were few and far between. Anyone wishing to hurry could only follow a few specific routes; otherwise they would become bogged down in rugged country, hampered by brush, deadfall, and steep slopes.

The first clue came from a forest trail. Here the leaf mat had been disturbed. Too many feet had been up and down the trail in recent days. Smoke Shield crouched, fingering the damp leaves. Around him, silent as cougars, his warriors settled into watchful wariness, their dark eyes searching.

Which way? Smoke Shield looked back down the trail toward Bowl Town. No, that would lead back to town. Whatever the people traveling the trail were after, it was farther west. He rose, pointed, and began easing down the trail, sniffing the breeze for telltale hints of smoke.