“People have been looking for you.”
“That is why I have come in the middle of the night. Is there a place here where you can hide me?”
“There are many.” He paused. “You have heard that Fast Legs was killed by the Chahta?”
She gave him a level gaze. “Oh, yes, Mikko. I know the lie well. I saw it happen.” And she reached down, patting the bag with a tender hand. “These are the scalps of our people. The ones the Chikosi sought to hide. I brought them here, along with Smoke Shield’s bow and arrows.”
Amber Bead stared at her in the dim light. “The scalps of . . . But the Chahta . . . How is this possible?”
In a haunted voice she said, “Power has given us the means to destroy the Chikosi. And by the ghosts of these murdered people, I swear, I will do it!”
Deep in her voice, in the set of her shoulders and the passionate glow of her eyes, he recognized pure hatred mixed with a deep-burning rage.
The smell of steaming hickory oil mixed with the pungent odor of woodsmoke as Morning Dew lifted the heavy pot. Loops had been molded into the rim, and cords had been run through. When the thongs were laced over the sticks of a tripod, the bowl could be hung over the fire, its height adjusted by the position of the tripod legs to control the temperature. She now used the cords to carry the vessel over to a larger pot over which she had placed a loosely woven fabric.
Moving the heavy pot into position, she shortened the cords to pour the hot mash of ground hickory nuts and oil into the larger vessel. Stepping back, she laid the pot to one side and lifted the edges of the fabric, using it to strain hickory pulp from the oil.
The hot fabric she then placed into a shallow bowl, allowing it to cool. Later, when the temperature was right, she would wring the last of the oil from the cooked meats. The meats she would use with white acorns, walnuts, and ground goosefoot seeds to produce a heavy bread.
Hickory oil was used in cooking, oil lamps, wads to be placed on torches, and any number of other uses. Sometimes it even served as a dip to be soaked up with lotus-root bread.
Wiping her brow, Morning Dew stepped around to the doorway. There in a tall-necked bottle, a cool drink of sassafras tea slacked her thirst. She was replacing the bottle when she saw Wide Leaf, her head bent close to Heron Wing’s. The old slave nodded, gave Heron Wing a quick hug, and turned, leaving around the back of the house.
Heron Wing stared thoughtfully after her, then, wiping her hands with a rag, she turned, seeing Morning Dew. She sighed and started forward, brow lined.
“News from the Albaamaha?” Morning Dew guessed.
“Something is up. Wide Leaf only caught a whiff of it. Amber Bead has a visitor. Someone so secret, he doesn’t want anyone to know.”
“And who could that be?”
“Wide Leaf has no idea, but she says that young men have been dispatched to most of the Albaamaha mikkos.” She looked back in the direction Wide Leaf had taken. “I hope to the gods that she’s careful.”
Morning Dew reached for the tea bottle again. “Drink?”
Heron Wing took the bottle and raised it to her lips. She didn’t even seem to taste the sweet tea, her gaze instead drifting toward the plaza, resting for a moment on the tchkofa. She seemed to ignore the two men practicing on the chunkey court. A knot of children were watching, shouting encouragement. “Whatever it is, Wide Leaf says that tension and speculation have grown overnight in the Albaamaha village. No one seems to know what’s happening, but it’s important enough that Amber Bead has left for the hills. He was gone before sunrise.”
“Amber Bead?” Morning Dew wondered. “I thought he was just an old man.”
Heron Wing gave an absent shrug. “I’ve always thought he was more; but then, what do I know?”
“I think you know a lot.”
“Most of the Council ignores him for the most part.”
Morning Dew considered that. “I don’t know him.”
“Maybe none of us are supposed to.”
“Meaning?”
“I’m not sure.” Heron Wing waved it off. “Perhaps it is nothing.”
“The Albaamaha could suspect what we do, that the raid was a sham.”
“Let’s go for a walk.”
“To the Albaamaha village?”
“No. I was thinking of the canoe landing. Maybe we should go poke around among the Traders. If anything is happening, that’s where the rumors fly.”
“What about my hickory oil?”
“It should be cool by the time you return. No one will bother it.”
Morning Dew slipped inside, finding capes for both of them, then matched Heron Wing’s stride as she started across the plaza.