Old White finally trusted himself to take a step. He shouldered his carved wooden pack and his bags, then slogged his way up to the ramada Trader had indicated. White breath hung in the cold air. The feel of the heavy weight in his bag was a reminder of the long-ago past. Did it know where it was, the full turning of the circle that had taken him so far away, now coming to completion?
He cast a glance up at the Skunk Clan Council house, its gray roof almost camouflaged against the sky. Lightning lanced out and vanished. A short ten breaths later, it boomed over the land.
Trader did most of the work, lugging the heavy packs up from the canoes, making three trips for every one that Paunch and Old White managed. Two Petals carried some of the lighter items, and Swimmer, as usual, carried none.
With their goods stowed under the leaky ramada, Trader crossed to a pitch-roofed shelter where an Albaamo bartered dry firewood.
Old White puffed and rubbed his cold arms.
“My life is in your hands, Seeker,” Paunch reminded, shooting frightened looks up toward the city.
“We may all freeze to death before that, you fool.”
“I think freezing is easier than dying on the square.”
Two Petals was sitting hunched up, her hands twitching as she stared absently at the city.
“What do you see up there?” Old White asked gently.
“They are watching us with empty eyes.” She shrugged. “It must be confusing to see with such clarity.”
He squinted up through the rain. The beaten soil was silvered with water. Rivulets of it ran in patterns down the landing, carrying charcoal, mud, and refuse with it.
Trader came at a run, a bundle of wood covered in matting under one arm. His expression was grim when he arrived.
“They ask too much in Trade?” Old White asked dryly. “Or are you just that displeased to come home to so much fanfare and excitement?”
“The Yuchi messenger is dead,” he said grimly. “The story is that he tried to kill the high minko. The whole city is in shock. There’s a meeting at the tchkofa as we speak. According to the firewood Trader, people are just up there in the plaza, standing in the rain, waiting to hear what the Council has to say.”
Old White considered that. “Born-of-Sun will be enraged.”
“The Council will vote for war,” Trader agreed.
Two Petals looked up, shivering as she clutched her knees to her chest. “Weaving is such an art. So many strands have to go into it. Each one has to be laid with careful perfection. Now, the warp and weft must be made tight so that the story it tells cannot leak through.”
“We’re worried about treachery, and she’s talking about weaving.” Trader dropped the wood in a clatter.
“One and the same, I would suppose.” Old White looked up at the storm. “The messenger would have come under a white arrow. You and I know that Born-of-Sun sent no assassin. This is the work of Flying Hawk and Smoke Shield.” He glanced at Trader. “It would appear that they don’t want you back.”
Trader raised a rain-dewed brow. “I was smart enough to ask if the Yuchi had delivered any message before he died. The wood Trader didn’t know of one.”
“We must be careful.” Old White gratefully knelt as Trader opened one of their jars, removing tinder. Then he uncapped another, pouring ash from their last fire until he found a hot coal. Teasing it into the tinder, he bent, blowing gently. The coal brightened, and smoke began to curl into the air. Old White almost sighed with relief as the first tiny flicker sprang to life.
“I am no longer sure how to proceed.” Trader looked questioningly at Two Petals. “Do they know they are looking for the Seeker, a Contrary, and me, or do they expect us to arrive in some grand armada? Accompanied by Dancing, Singing, and marching warriors?”
“Oh, you are expected, all right,” Two Petals said between chattering teeth. “You look so proud, seated in the Yuchi palace. You shouldn’t laugh so loudly, or eat like a starved wolf as they ply you with food.”
“So perhaps we’re not expected?” Old White tried to decipher her words. “Is she saying that they still think we’re with the Yuchi?”
“Not there, no,” Two Petals told him. “You’ll see: Every eye will be on you as you enter the city.”
Trader looked out at the rain, his dashed hopes as damp as the weather.
“I think I should go up first,” Old White decided. “One old man won’t stir much interest.” He chuckled to himself.
“What’s so funny?”
“Endings and beginnings. I was thinking of the night I left Split Sky City.”
“And?”