People of the Thunder(60)
Trader shifted to a different position on the tree, blowing smoke up at the mosquitoes. “How did relations grow so strained between the Albaamaha and the Sky Hand?”
“They are arrogant conquerors.” Paunch spread his hands. “Look, I realize you are foreign Traders, but you must understand: This land was ours once. We came here just after our emergence from under the World Tree. The Chikosi took our heritage from us. How can resentment not fester? They just sit there, behind their walls, imposing their will through their mighty warriors. We are the ones who sweat in the sun, raising their food, building and repairing their towns.”
“I thought you had a voice in their Council,” Trader remarked.
Paunch looked at him. “You have only passed through. Seen only what a Trader would see. Yes, once we did have a voice. But that was long ago, back before the great fire, when Makes War was high minko. In my lifetime I have seen things turn against us. We have become even more meaningless than ever. Flying Hawk worked to silence our voices. The Ancestors alone know what our fate will be when Smoke Shield is made high minko.”
“Smoke Shield,” Trader muttered. “I keep hearing his name.”
Paunch declared, “He’s Chief Clan. They’re all sired of weasels mated with foul-tempered badgers.”
Chief Clan? Trader and Old White glanced at each other, expressions amused. Paunch missed it. Whippoorwill didn’t, a curious smile gracing her lips.
“It’s a large clan,” Trader noted. “There are many lineages.”
“I hope Horned Serpent crawls out of the river and devours them all,” Paunch growled. “I remember my uncle telling me how things were better in the old days. Before Flying Hawk. We might have been two peoples, but at least we were granted a little respect.”
“Back before the great fire,” Old White mused.
Paunch nodded. “People always bemoaned the fact that Flying Hawk and his dead brother were the only ones who survived that night. But even before that, so the stories say, things were turning against us. It started with the loss of the war medicine and the death of High Minko Makes War. Then Midnight Woman, the Chief Clan matron, married that War Chief Bear Tooth, and things went bad.” Paunch made a face. “I think Power wanted to be rid of them all. That’s why the Great Palace was burned that night. Power tried to kill them off, but somehow, it missed Flying Hawk and Acorn.” He grunted. “Although Flying Hawk finished half of Power’s work later. Too bad he didn’t kill himself after he drove a rock into his brother’s head.”
Trader swallowed hard, having stiffened, his ears burning as the man talked. It all brought back memories—that look in his dead brother’s eyes that he had fled from so long ago.
About to speak, Trader happened to glance at Old White, and the words stopped in his throat. The expression on the Seeker’s face was like a lightning-riven mask.
“Time to turn in,” Old White said with odd defeat.
“The currents eddy and flow,” Two Petals added ominously. “No one can stop the river.”
“It lives, and a flood is coming,” Whippoorwill added in Albaamaha.
Trader blinked, shook himself, and knocked out his pipe bowl. He gestured to Swimmer and took his bedroll before heading off into the darkness. After the talk of dead brothers, the nightmares were sure to come. This night, he wanted to be by himself.
I walk under the trees, moonlight playing through the branches. I can feel them as they come alive. The first of the sap is waking, beginning to flow toward the branch tips. Soon, they will bud. The flowers, so delicate and fine, will enlarge inside the buds, swelling until they burst the shell. Soon they will unfurl and send their sweetness into the air. Pollen will spread with the sweet aroma, finding new homes. The seeds will be fertile.
I look down at the patterns of moonlight crisscrossed with branches. I am a being of the forest. I, too, feel the call. It Dances with me, swaying with each careful step I take. I let myself flow with the forest, feeling the dormant world around me beginning to stir.
For the first time, I am stirring with it. Coming alive in a way I never have before. What will it be like to take the seed, to begin the process of new life?
I stop, seeing the dog, his white-tipped tail arcing in the pale light like some curious creature.
I kneel down, hearing the man groan in his sleep. Moonlight caresses his smooth face, reveals the movements of his eyes. His Dreams are tortured, set free to plague him by careless words.
Straightening, I pull the dress over my head, letting it settle onto the ground. I throw my head back, and the moonlight casts its magic over my naked body. I trace the shadow patterns of branches over my skin, running the tips of my fingers along the designs cast by new life. I shift slightly so that the shadows lay across my breasts, and center over my womb. The warm rush in my loins quickens.