The final resolution would boil down to attrition—and who could find allies. The Natchez, surely, would side with the Chahta. But who would help the Sky Hand? Not the Yuchi or Pensacola. The Coosa and Tuscaloosa would probably make excuses and remain home. They, after all, would have no stake in a war off to their west.
So, there it was, a grueling conflict pitting a better, smaller Sky Hand force against a larger, poorly organized Chahta resistance. And just to the north the Yuchi lay in wait. Born-of-Sun’s people would sense an opportunity.
There will be no winners here.
That notion preoccupied him as he entered the defensive gate and made his way through the houses inside the walls.
People smiled, waved, and called greetings as he passed. He touched hands with large-eyed children who ran out to greet him, and entered the plaza. He was passing the Men’s House when Great Cougar emerged from the sweat lodge, his skin dripping with perspiration.
Just the man I wanted to see. Old White stopped to watch as the war chief raised a water jar and poured the cool contents over his glistening body.
“The perfect temperature,” Old White noted, taking stock of the war chief’s muscular body. He was tattooed over most of it, scarred here and there.
The man used a cloth to dry himself and nodded. “A warrior must be clean. The body is the home of the souls, and must be maintained like the temple it is.”
Old White nodded as the man dressed himself and flipped his wet hair back. The long warrior’s lock that hung down over his forehead had been pulled through three white shell beads. His copper ear spools gleamed.
“I was just thinking of what war would do to the people here,” Old White said. “If you fight the Sky Hand, who do you think will win?”
“We will.” Great Cougar flashed him a smile. “Power will side with us.” He used the cloth to slick away the remaining dampness on his brawny arms.
“I suppose that if you asked the same question to Flying Hawk, he would give you the same answer. People, no matter what their beliefs, always believe Power, the gods, fate, whatever, sides with them.”
Great Cougar walked over, expression reserved. “I have fought the Chikosi before. Beaten them, too. That was some time ago. They’ve grown soft since then, only skirmishing with the Yuchi.”
“And your Chahta haven’t grown soft as well?”
Great Cougar chuckled to himself. “What is your purpose here, Seeker? Really? Oh, I know the reasons you’ve given, but I think there is more. Especially when that odd woman you brought with you is so obsessed with my Albaamaha captives.”
“Do you think we are Sky Hand spies, too?”
“The thought has crossed my mind.” He studied Old White through narrowed eyes. “Trader speaks with a Sky Hand accent. His tattoos remind me of theirs. The pattern is Chief Clan, but unfinished.”
Old White pointed. “I see forked-eye designs on your face. I have seen them on the faces of the Caddo, the Natchez, the Yuchi, and so many others. The falcon eye design spread out from Cahokia long ago, as did the cheek bar he wears. Seriously, don’t you wonder why a man of his age would only have the design, not the finished tattoo, if he were Sky Hand?”
Great Cougar grunted noncommittally. “I think the three of you are full of secrets.”
“On that we agree.” Old White gave him a mild smile. “But on my honor, we are not here to seek an advantage of the Chahta.”
“But you are concerned about us going to war?”
Old White shrugged. “I was just wondering at the reasons for it. War in general, I mean. I was just contemplating how happy everyone is. All around Feathered Snake Town, people are simply living, dealing with their everyday problems. If this thing between you and the Sky Hand goes wrong, it will change those lives.”
Great Cougar glanced up at the failing daylight. “War serves its purpose, which is to keep a people in balance with life. You asked if we had become lazy during our years of relative peace? Perhaps we have. We are part of this world, Seeker. Look around you.”
“Believe me, I have. And in more places and for more summers than you have.”
“And you see the deer, agile of foot, keen of senses, because he knows the cougar stalks the shadows. So, too, does the passenger pigeon remain fast and darting in flight because the falcon sails high on the currents, awaiting the unwary. People who live in comfort become easy prey when they forget that predators wait on the fringes. Power must balance, Seeker. The white Power of order grows stagnant, soft, and weak. When it does, the red washes in, bringing with it the strong, who pick the bones of those unprepared for its ways.”