People of the Thunder(81)
“Then there is only the second to worry about.”
Smoke Shield gave him a sloe-eyed look. “And what would that be?”
“Power.”
“Power?” Smoke Shield laughed, tossing his stick into the air. “I am the Power! It hovers around me, red and beautiful. Watch me. I’m going to carry it with me and let it wash all over the Chahta!”
“You will be sending a white arrow to Great Cougar.”
“A white arrow? That’s what you are worried about? What threat could white Power have for me? In all my life, it’s never hindered me. Not once.”
Yes, I know.
But then, when had it ever hindered him, either?
Sixteen
“Masters, I have to tell you, this is a bad idea.” Paunch looked back and forth from Trader to Old White.
To Old White’s way of thinking, the old Albaamo had just reason to worry. Outside of a definite talent at cooking, he wasn’t good for much else. The man was an old farmer. He knew beans, corn, and the turning of the soil. That he had dabbled in politics had been to his misfortune. The old man would have required more than just a dislike of the Sky Hand to have defeated them.
They had bypassed Alligator Town, accepting Paunch’s word that the rebuilding center had nothing of value that hadn’t already been carried off by the Chahta. Instead they had called greetings to both Albaamaha and Sky Hand who passed or shared their course. Some had Traded across the canoe gunwales, offering food or pottery for small things. During those visits, Paunch had fidgeted studiously, rubbed his hands, and tried to keep his face hidden.
“Cut your hair,” Old White said.
“Cut my hair?” Paunch reached up, fingering his gray-white locks.
“Who will know you?” Trader asked. “You’re dressed in a Chahta-style hunting shirt, and if you keep your mouth shut, act like a mute, no one will look twice at a Trader’s slave.”
“But . . . cut my hair?”
“That or you could hang from a Sky Hand square.”
Old White read the man’s expression, dashing his hopes when he said, “Running off didn’t get you much last time, either.”
Paunch made a face.
“I can only wonder how your granddaughter is doing.”
“She will be fine.” He sighed. “She lives in the shadow of Power. I’ve never understood that girl, I swear, master.”
“She seemed to know what she was doing,” Trader mused, his eyes lost in thought. Then he glanced at Two Petals, who sat by the fire, whispering softly and listening to the air. Her hands were fluttering like butterflies.
“I just hope that no man has found her.” Paunch shook his head. “Oh, the young men watched her, admired her; but then she would turn those odd eyes on them, seeing down to their souls, and they’d find other interests. And right fast at that.”
“So she never married?” Trader asked, suddenly curious.
“No. My clan even tried a couple of times. She always broke it off, usually before she could even meet the young man.”
“The child was more important to her,” Two Petals said absently. “It was worth waiting for. That boy’s a strong one. She knows how important he is.”
Paunch, of course, missed it, not having the language, but Old White could see Trader suddenly turn pale.
Gods, had he lain with her, too?
“Trader?” he asked in Natchez, knowing that neither Paunch nor Two Petals had any fluency in it.
“She came to my bed that first night, Seeker.” He knotted his hands together. “I swear, I made no gesture, hadn’t even thought of it. Then there she was, leaning over me in the moonlight. It seemed like a Dream then, and it still does.”
“You have the worst luck when it comes to getting a good night’s sleep.” He glanced at Two Petals. “You think she’s right? That you planted a child in her?”
“How could I know? Maybe. It depends on where she was between her moons.”
Power again. Flowing around them, using them.
Old White fingered his fabric sack, feeling the outline of the object within.
“Master?” Paunch asked. “I hate to keep bringing this up, but do you know what they will do to me?”
Old White growled, “Shut up! Gods, don’t you know who I am?”
“A very Powerful Trader, yes, but the wrath of the—”
“Will be nothing compared to what I will do to them if they bother you!” Old White ground what few teeth he had left, glaring at the man.
Trader fought a smile.
“Listen, farmer,” Old White snapped. “I have sat in the company of high chiefs. I have stood on the heights of Cahokia. I have climbed the steps of the Azteca sun temples. I have Danced with the Katsinas in high Oraibi. The Great Serpent Chief of the Natchez calls me friend. Sorcerers and Dreamers listen with respect when I speak. No petty Sky Hand high minko is going to cross me.”