“Ah, you were away from the Chahta raid.”
“Oh, yes,” the man said quickly. “Fortunately, they went north. But we’re closer to the river, safer for the most part. Could I interest you in the fish?”
“No, not today, but he’s a fine one. I wish you the best of Trade.”
“And to you,” he said, and touched his chin.
One by one, they passed the blankets, talking, praising the goods.
“What do you think?” Morning Dew asked.
“I think whatever Wide Leaf heard, it hasn’t made it here, yet.”
Morning Dew looked around, then stopped to inspect a wooden bowl. It was a beautiful thing, made of walnut, carefully hollowed out, polished, and waxed to a sheen that accented the perfect grain. The handles had been formed in the shape of a raccoon’s head on one end, its tail on the other, rings rendered in the carving. The four five-fingered feet had been cunningly carved into the bowl’s legs so that it stood free.
“You like that?” a young Sky Hand man asked.
“It’s beautiful.”
“So are you,” he said brazenly. “And for you, I would make a special Trade. Just a little something and a smile are all it would take to send my souls into flight.”
“What kind of something did you have in mind?” Heron Wing asked.
The man shrugged. “I am Gray Squirrel, of the Deer Clan and Old Camp Moiety. From up at Thunder Town. I just Traded for this bowl. But for the Chahta raid, I’d have brought it down sooner. I obtained this most special bowl from a friend of mine. He’s half Yuchi, half Sky Hand. Now, he lives on the other side of the divide. He’s got a Yuchi wife, you see.”
“Yuchi?” Heron Wing asked, impressed. “It’s good work for the Yuchi.”
“They do all right,” Gray Squirrel agreed. “But this bowl isn’t Yuchi. It comes from the Illinios way up on the Mother Water. Look at the excellence of this workmanship. You don’t see the like among the Yuchi.” He cocked his head, looking shrewdly at the bowl. “Now, a piece like this would make a wondrous gift . . . perhaps something to give at a marriage, or perhaps for a special occasion like the Busk Feast. Then again, maybe you have a cherished uncle, someone who has spent most of his life as a teacher and guardian.”
Morning Dew ran her fingers over the smooth wood. “What news did your Trader friend tell you of the Yuchi?”
“The most incredible things.” Gray Squirrel sat back knowingly. “They are bursting with news.”
“Not about Chahta raiders, I hope.” Morning Dew carefully replaced the bowl and picked up a wooden cup decorated with the Seeing Hand design.
“No, not the Chahta. The big news on the Tenasee is that Traders came through from the north. Remarkable Traders, like in the old days. That’s where this bowl came from. It cost me a shell cup that my Yuchi friend has been admiring for years. These Traders brought all kinds of wondrous goods, and the blind Priest up there . . . you’ve heard of him?”
“I have,” Heron Wing agreed. “The one who escaped from us summers ago.”
“Yes, he’s the one. He saw them coming.”
“I thought you said he’s blind.” Morning Dew, herself, had heard of the Kala Hi’ki. The greatest of the Yuchi Priests, he lived at Rainbow City.
“Nevertheless, my Yuchi Trader friend told me the Priest saw them coming. Who knows? Perhaps he actually got word from the Kaskinampo. Those people are thick with each other.”
“And these Traders?” Heron Wing asked absently, her eyes straying to the next blanket.
“That’s the remarkable thing. One was a Contrary, a woman. She sees everything backward. The other is supposed to be the legendary Seeker. You know, the man who has traveled all over the world. But the biggest thing was a chunkey game.”
Heron Wing had taken a half step, her attention on the next blanket. She was interested in Albaamaha rumors, not Yuchi ones. Still, Morning Dew hesitated, loath to leave the magnificent raccoon bowl. “Chunkey is chunkey,” she said.
“Not this game. The young Trader played for the Traders’ lives against Chief Born-of-Sun. They had to play to twenty-one. And on the last cast, the young Trader made the cast of a lifetime.” Gray Squirrel grinned. “He shattered his lance on the stone.”
“I thought you said there was only a Contrary and the Seeker?”
Heron Wing was clearly impatient, but too well mannered to drag her away.
“Ah, but there is a third.” Gray Squirrel reached down, lifting the bowl, fully aware that Heron Wing wanted to take herself to the next blanket. “And here’s the odd part. The young Trader, he’s Sky Hand.”