“Right up to the solstice games when he lost everything,” Blood Skull countered.
Morning Dew shot a look of thanks at Heron Wing. “But that wasn’t his fault. He made five of the goals.” She straightened. “Here’s what I think: Flying Hawk hears of something wrong upriver. He tells Smoke Shield to fix it. So Smoke Shield takes matters into his own hands again. By deceiving us into believing it’s a Chahta raid, he throws the Albaamaha off-balance, dampens their ardor for revolt. The raid also affects the Council—distracts them from Smoke Shield’s misdeeds and focuses them on the Chahta threat. Suddenly attention is shifted from the missing Red Awl to outside enemies. When the Council thinks of the Chahta, they think of Smoke Shield’s raid again.” She shook her head. “How brilliant.”
Pale Cat mused, “And if something happens to Flying Hawk, the Council will confirm him to be high minko. What then?”
Night Star said, “He will plunge us into war. He will do it as a means to increase his prestige and authority. He will lead us to destruction with his plotting.”
“The problem is,” Heron Wing noted, “who—with the exception of those present—is going to believe any of this?”
Thirteen
At the suggestion of some Chahta who had accompanied them partway downstream, Trader made camp on an old levee of the Horned Serpent. Behind them a shallow swampy backwater was full of bald cypress, tupelo, and sweet gum. Hanging moss drooped from the branches, and white herons waded in the shallows. In summer it would have been riotous with fish and swarms of insects. The mosquitoes were already humming in loathsome columns, kept at bay only by the grease-based lotion Old White had concocted of spruce, larkspur, and red root. A fire not only gave them warmth, but cast its cheery light over the camp. Trader sat with his back propped against a tree and listened to the last of Paunch’s story. He kept noticing that young Whippoorwill continued to give him her large-eyed attention.
Why is she so obsessed with me? Not that he minded an attractive woman’s intimate stare, but gods, the woman had just met him.
In his mind he couldn’t help but compare her with Two Petals. Where the Contrary had a fuller body, wider in the hips with more pronounced breasts, Whippoorwill carried herself with a slender grace. When she moved it was almost as though she were ethereal. Whippoorwill had washed her hair, allowing it to flow around her in soft black waves. The effect was to make her face even more delicate and feminine. For the moment she watched him with a curious attention that missed no detail. Her large dark eyes seemed to drink of his very soul.
Trader muttered to himself, turning his attention back to the conversation.
“And then the Chahta captured us,” Paunch finished. “You know the rest of the story.”
Old White tapped the dottle from his pipe, expression lined. “It wasn’t wise to try and warn the White Arrow.”
Paunch lowered his head. “I know. It was my fault. Our mikkos had decided against it. I have no one to blame but myself.”
Trader had translated most of the story to Two Petals, but near the end, she had finally looked at him, saying, “I’m hanging on each of your words, each one echoing in the Spirit world. Is it because the world’s hollow? What do you think of the Chahta arrows sticking in the dead? It’s all a mystery.”
He’d glanced uneasily at her, chalking it off as one of her peculiar moments.
Old White sighed, slapped at a mosquito, and studied his pipe in the firelight. “Lucky for you that the Contrary chose you, Paunch.”
Paunch shook his head. “My Power is bad. It has led me to poor choices.” He glanced at Whippoorwill. “It has plugged my ears when they could have listened to wiser counsel.” He paused. “How has this happened to me? I have gone from a happy man to a prisoner and slave.”
Old White shrugged. “Your fate belongs to the Contrary.”
“But it was you who Traded such a precious gorget to save us.” Paunch looked confused.
Old White replied, “I did it for her, for Power. So, Paunch, I wouldn’t be too quick to think Power had turned against me, were I you.”
He nodded. “I am not the same man who once plotted against the Chikosi. Looking back, it wasn’t so bad, having a full belly and never having to worry about being hung in a square.”
Two Petals said, “Everything in its place, threads woven.”
In Albaamaha, Whippoorwill added, “The weave must now be pulled tight.”
Trader and Old White crossed knowing glances, wondering if Two Petals was referring to Paunch’s declaration, which—not speaking Mos’kogee—she couldn’t understand, or if she was talking to one of her Spirits. The way Whippoorwill followed the Contrary’s speech was a puzzle to both of them.