People of the Thunder(73)

“And when I met you among the Natchez, you were called Fast Red Fox. Your husband was a subchief from one of the western Towns. I hate to say it, but that was nearly forty winters past. You were with child, as I recall.”

Trader masked his surprise. Old White had a good memory; the woman was nodding. “My daughter. Odd, isn’t it, the way Power works? You were there before my daughter was born, and now you are here just after her death. As though to mark both ends of her existence.”

“Power moves us all, Matron.” Old White paused. “The boy, White Cricket, called you the old matron.”

“I surrendered that position to my daughter. Now they have given it back to me. It has fallen to me to see to the supervision of things. Then, when the men return, we can go about the business of confirming a new high minko to replace my grandson.”

“You have my sympathy, Matron,” Old White said gently. “Though things appear grim now, Power will balance. It always does.”

She waved it away. “Please, Seeker, do not trifle with platitudes. Fortunes come and go. I have seen enough to know that Power is like water in a cup. Sometimes the slightest of movements can slosh it from one side to the other. Momentum builds, and with the right timing, a wave is generated well out of proportion to the initial movement.”

“I have often thought so myself.”

She gave the three of them a careful inspection. “You are going to the Sky Hand to Trade?”

Old White spread his hands wide. “We do not know, Matron. There is a certain temptation to visiting the Pensacola. Some of our goods would Trade for their most coveted pieces of shell.”

Her eyes glittered. “Do not play me for a fool, Seeker. I have lived too long, known too much of life. I brought you here for a reason.”

“And what might that be, Matron?”

“I want you to do a little Trading for me.”

“We are at your service.”

“My granddaughter was taken during the raid. She is known as Morning Dew.” She gestured toward the box. “That is all that I have, all the wealth I could muster from my clan. Under the Power of Trade, that is yours if you can get my granddaughter back.”

Trader glanced at the box, worth a fortune by itself. He stepped forward, opening the lid to find copper effigies of Eagle Man, and beautiful pottery jars that were decorated with water panthers; they were filled to the brim with pearls. Gleaming copper ear spools, long chert blades, and copper ax heads composed the rest.

“Matron,” Old White began, “like I said, we may not be heading up the Black Warrior.”

She ignored him, saying, “The other captives the Chikosi took are dead—but for some of my grandson’s wives. They are from other clans who can do what they will to get them back. My concern is Morning Dew. I need you to find her and Trade whatever you must for her freedom.” She whisked her fingers at the box. “If that is not enough, I can find more, later. That was all I could come up with on such short notice.”

Old White shot a casual glance at Trader. “We will do what we can, Matron. On the Power of Trade, I can only give you my word.”

“The word of the Seeker is enough for me,” she said firmly. “You must find my granddaughter, and have her out of Split Sky City by the coming of the equinox moon. That is my only condition. Beyond that, I could care less what you Trade, or how you get her, but have her out of the city by that date.” She smiled, her toothless gums pink. “Do that and I will grant anything you ask of me.”

“A Trade is a Trade,” Two Petals whispered. “The knot is drawn tight.” Her glowing eyes had fixed on Trader’s. “Much more, and you won’t even be able to wiggle.”

“How’s that?” he asked.

“Isn’t it tight in there?”

“Tight in where?”

“In that sack Power is closing around you.”





Fifteen


Little Stone was asleep when Morning Dew checked him. He had his blanket tucked up under his chin. She had sat with him, holding his hand, Singing a lullaby about squirrels and acorns she had heard as a child. Now she disentangled her fingers, folded in the edges of his blanket, and turned to attend the fire.

As she added two pieces of wood, she glanced at Heron Wing, sitting to the side, the raccoon bowl clutched to her breast. For most of the afternoon, she had sat thus, asking Morning Dew to turn away the steady stream of visitors coming to discuss clan business, to ask advice about the suitability of certain marriages, or any of the other problems that Heron Wing was constantly consulted about.

During that time, Morning Dew had finished processing her hickory oil, and now had four jars of the precious liquid sealed and stowed under the sleeping benches. She had cooked supper, fed Stone, and entertained him with stories of how Wind lost his four sons and killed a monster by blowing through a bullfrog pipe.