He followed her gaze to where she had fixed on an open spot in the trampled grass. She was listening intently, then laughed, crying, “That’s funny!”
“What’s funny?”
“I’ve never seen a bird whirl around like that. It’s some kind of crane, isn’t it? How can it spin like that? Gods, it’s a golden blur.”
Not for the first time did he wish he could see through her eyes. It might even have been worth the kind of pain the Kala Hi’ki had endured just for a glimpse. Though, truth be told, he had seen some wondrous things while under the influence of the Spirit Plants.
He continued his walk, bits and pieces of memory coming back to him. In the eye of his souls, he could see a stickball game in the southern half of the plaza; he himself had run there, his racquets swishing in the air as he searched for the ball.
“Never was much good at that,” he mused.
He remembered childhood friends, the sights of the Busk, with the women Dancing and Singing along the margins of the great plaza.
“I am home.” And he wondered at the curious interplay of emotions. “What sort of man would I have been if I’d stayed here?”
“There is darkness there,” she said, eyes fixed on something he couldn’t see. “Let’s go a different way.” And she struck off, headed due east across the wide plaza.
He had to hurry, forcing himself to keep step. He kept having images flash, sights of long-gone days.
Is that where the darkness lies?
He was puffing as she led him around the tchkofa and paralleled the chunkey court. They were almost even with the Tree of Life pole when she stopped, staring at the empty wooden squares. She walked forward, almost in a trance. A young woman dressed in a simple brown dress stood before one of the squares, seemingly lost in thought. Her long black hair was worn loose, gleaming in the sunlight. She carried a brownware jar propped under one slim arm.
Two Petals walked up beside her, paused, and reached out to finger the wood. The woman’s eyes widened, a look of dismay on her face.
“Their relief tingles against my skin,” Two Petals said. “The blood made you what you are. They know that.” She looked at the woman, eyes losing focus. “He is coming for you.”
“Who?” she asked, responding in Trade Tongue.
“The final knot.”
“I’m sorry,” Old White interrupted gently. “My friend here has mistaken you for someone else.” He grabbed Two Petals’ elbow, whispering in Oneota, “Come, let’s go look at the river.”
When he glanced back, the woman was still staring, her lips parted, a shining disbelief in her eyes. Then she turned and fled.
“Power is Dancing.” Two Petals pointed up. “Look at the colored lights.”
But when Old White followed her finger, all he could see was a pattern of puffy white clouds against the light blue sky.
Something just happened back there. It wasn’t idle ramblings.
But what?
He glanced up, nervous at being this close to the great palace. But when he turned to go, Two Petals fixed her eyes on the high palace atop its mound. A frown lined her smooth brow.
“Are you all right?”
“He’s the final obstacle before I join my husband,” she said in a worried voice.
“What husband?”
Even as he asked, she turned, hurrying back toward their house.
Morning Dew rushed into the house, blinking in the gloomy interior. Heron Wing sat on one of the benches, the raccoon bowl resting lightly in her lap. She laid it carefully aside, standing. “What’s wrong? You look like you just stared into the eyes of a snake.”
Morning Dew lowered her jar, smoothing her dress to keep from shaking. “The oddest thing just . . .” She swallowed hard. “I was going to fetch water. Normally I avoid looking at the squares, but for some reason, I stopped before my . . . my . . .”
Heron Wing lowered her voice. “There was nothing you could have done.”
Morning Dew nodded, her heart pounding in her breast. “A woman came up beside me. She might have just popped out of thin air. She reached out, touched the square, and then she looked at me. Her eyes, by Breath Giver, Heron Wing, it was like seeing into another world, dark and endless.”
“Did you know her?”
“No. A complete stranger. And when she spoke, it was in Trade Tongue, with a hard accent. “She talked about their blood. The captives’, I think.” She shook her head, as if to rid it of the echoing. “The woman told me someone was coming.” She couldn’t stop wringing her hands. “I asked her who. She said . . . she said, ‘The final knot.’ And then this kind-eyed old man told me the woman had mistaken me for someone else. He spoke to her, used some language I’ve never heard before, and led the woman away.”