People of the Thunder(87)

Bullfrog Pipe met the man’s warm smile with his own. “I thank you for your greeting, High Minko. It was a long trip. I ran overland from the Tenasee to the headwaters of the Black Warrior. There, I bartered with one of your Traders for a canoe. When I encountered your people on the river, I called out to them in friendship, and extended the white arrow of peace to show them my intentions were honorable and protected by the white Power. I am proud to be bound by that Power.”

Flying Hawk nodded. “Though our peoples are enemies, you will receive the treatment of an honored guest.” He stepped over to one of the wall benches and retrieved a wooden gorget carved in the shape of a water cougar, its back sprouting wings. This he handed to Bullfrog Pipe. “I offer you a token of our respect. Take this as a gift. When you return to your people, you can show them that we treat your chief’s messengers with respect and honor.”

Bullfrog Pipe studied the piece. Hung on a deerhide thong, it was beautifully carved.

“Our woodworkers are among the finest,” Flying Hawk said frankly. “This comes from a man named, fittingly enough, Woodpecker. His pieces are in great demand all the way down to the gulf. Some have been Traded as far as the Calusa.”

“It is beautiful, High Minko.”

Flying Hawk smiled happily. “It pleases me that you like it.” He paused. “Now, about this message, what can I do to help you?”

“I need but deliver it to your Council. That is all.”

Flying Hawk’s brows lifted in amusement. “Oh, no, my friend. Our politics are anything but as easy as that. Your chief would not have sent us a message if he didn’t expect a favorable outcome.” He slapped the heavy mace against the palm of his left hand. “If this is a peace offer, I may be able to anticipate the objections of some Council members. If this concerns territory, others could be approached with certain discretion and made more amenable.” He shot a knowing look at Bullfrog Pipe. “That is, if I agree with your chief’s objectives.”

“I see what you mean, but no, High Minko. My message concerns none of these things.”

“You said that you carried another’s message through your chief. Could it be from the Chahta? We are looking for a way to smooth our relations with them. A prolonged war will do neither of our peoples any good.”

“No, it is from one of your people, actually.”

From his expression, Flying Hawk expected any answer but this. “One of my people?”

“He and his party came to us just before solstice. The Kala Hi’ki saw them in a vision. The Trader is a man of your moiety and clan. He played the most remarkable game of chunkey! I, myself, lost many of my most prized possessions betting on the high chief to beat the Sky Hand man. They played evenly, High Minko. Right up the last cast, when Green Snake splintered his lance on the stone. It was a thing of Power.”

“Green Snake?” Flying Hawk said in disbelief. “Did you say Green Snake? My nephew?”

“Yes, my message is to inform your Council that Green Snake is returning to his people.”

Flying Hawk actually staggered, his legs seeming to go weak, his expression dazed.

Bullfrog Pipe stepped forward, steadying the old man’s elbow. “High Minko, are you all right? Can I—”

He caught the barest of movement behind him, thinking that Smoke Shield, too, was rushing forward to steady the old man. The whistling of a war club cutting the air was his only warning—then lightning and pain blasted through his head. His skull snapped and jerked at the impact. He had a momentary feeling of falling; then his body bounced on the matting, his vision blurring, the world growing ever more gray and distant. . . .





Seventeen


Flying Hawk stumbled away from the falling Yuchi, barely catching himself before he toppled into the fire. In the process, he dropped his mace. The war club’s slapping impact as it broke the Yuchi’s skull rang in his ears. He’d had misgivings when Smoke Shield hung the strap of his club around his neck, letting it dangle down his back.

Unable to stand, Flying Hawk sat weakly, staring incomprehensibly at the dying Yuchi. The man’s arms and legs twitched, his open eyes staring with disbelief. His mouth formed a questioning O as his sight dimmed and the pupils expanded. Blood was leaking from the back of his head, pooling bright and thick on the matting.

“What did you do?” Flying Hawk whispered.

“I killed him!” Smoke Shield said through gritted teeth. “Green Snake? Living among the Yuchi? He’s up there . . . spreading his poison? No one must know this.”

“Green Snake?” Flying Hawk asked in amazement. “After all these years?”