“High Minko!” A warrior burst into the room. “A canoe has just landed. It is a Yuchi! He brings a white arrow.”
Smoke Shield’s rage filtered away. “A white arrow? He is a messenger?”
“Yes, War Chief. He wishes to address the Council.”
“Go and alert the tishu minko. Tell him to call the Council,” Flying Hawk ordered.
“No!” Smoke Shield reached out, placing a restraining hand on his uncle’s arm. He gave Flying Hawk a warning look. “Bring him here, Black Hand. The high minko and I will see him alone.”
“Alone, War Chief?”
“He carries a white arrow, does he not? We will be perfectly safe. The high minko and I will hear his message, and then, having time to consider it, will bring him before the Council.” He gave his uncle a wink where Black Hand couldn’t see. “We are better forewarned as to his intentions. That way we can inform the Council before he makes his announcement.”
“Do it,” Flying Hawk ordered.
No sooner had Black Hand turned and left than Smoke Shield hurried to the door, looking out. Reentering, he waved down Flying Hawk’s question and asked, “Is anyone else here?”
“My slave.”
“Send him away.”
Flying Hawk’s eyes had narrowed. “What are you plotting this time?”
“This Yuchi may just turn out to be the solution to a very large problem.”
The Yuchi messenger, known as Bullfrog Pipe, held the sacred white arrow before him as he started forward. Split Sky City wasn’t what he had expected. As he followed his guide up from the canoe landing—bearing the white arrow so that all could see—people flocked out to watch his progress. The sight of this many Sky Hand and Albaamaha—all watching him with hostile eyes—was daunting. They cleared a path for him, making way for his escort, the warrior called Black Hand.
He had not expected to see such a large city, nor the great buildings, let alone so many of them. Several thousand people had to live here, just inside the palisade alone. And he had passed seven substantial towns already. More, he knew, were downriver.
That he was escorted by only one warrior was heartening. A guard of twenty would have left his heart hammering in his chest, and fear sweat beading on his brow. It was one thing to proudly claim the honor of bearing Trader’s message back in Rainbow Town. It was another to be here, alone, in a sea of hostile Chikosi faces. The eerie thing was the silence with which they watched him; but then, the Tsoyaha and Chikosi had been enemies from time the Mos’kogee had first migrated into this land.
He had seen the high minko’s mound from the river, as he looked up beyond the escort of warrior-laden canoes that followed him downriver. Perched on its high mound, the place might have been the home of gods, rather than men.
Now, as he passed along the northern base of one of the moiety mounds, the sight of the high minko’s structure atop its stupendous earthen mound amazed him. To the north, burial mounds and charnel houses rested atop the finger ridges overlooking the river.
The path skirted a deep drainage; the slope had been dug away to make climbing nearly impossible. A force of attacking warriors would slip and slide trying to storm it, subject the entire time to a hail of arrows. He looked down to see a tangle of brush and pointed logs at the bottom. No stealthy approach from that direction.
Black Hand led him around the head of the ravine and to the western wall of the great mound. This they skirted, people following along behind him like a human river. He peered again into the depths of that sheer-walled ravine.
If they kill me, throw me down into that mess, no one will ever find my body. It was a sobering thought.
I am Tsoyaha! The knowledge lent him courage. He held his head up straight, remembering how his people were born of the sun. When he cast his glance skyward, it was to see Mother Sun, beaming down on him with love and admiration.
The way led to a flat along the northern base of the mound. Here a small plaza had been leveled, a clay chunkey court running northward to the edge of the bluff.
At the long stairway, he took a deep breath, then started up, following in Black Hand’s steps.
He climbed and climbed, counting the wooden steps as he went. The knowledge of how high this was awed him. Nevertheless, aware of the crowd that had gathered below, he forced himself not to look back.
Only when, breathing deeply, he reached the high gate did he stop and glance down. Below him the people looked like colorful dots. Beyond the bluff with its charnel houses and mounds, the river gleamed in the light like a wide silver band. Beyond the opposite shore, endless fields, dotted with tiny distant houses, stretched to the far forest. Rolling up from the south came a solid black line of clouds, flickers of lightning at the fore. It looked like he’d just beaten a nasty storm to Split Sky City.