People of the Weeping Eye(116)
Buffalo rubbed his chin, thoughts racing behind his eyes. “Where do you go with this Contrary and this terrible Spirit Power?”
“Split Sky City. Once there, we can divest ourselves of our charge, and return once again to our normal lives,” Old White said honestly. “We were wondering, would a half pack of prime northern beaver hides cover portage past the rapids, and perhaps two canoes filled with young men to pull us upriver?”
Buffalo thought, then shook his head. “No, for that many men, I would need much more than that.” An eyebrow raised. “And being around both a Contrary and such Powerful medicine would mean that they would have to be secluded, purified by our Hopaye, our greatest Healer.” A pause. “Then, too, we have plenty of beaver in our own country.”
“I see.” Old White let his gaze run over the packs.
Trader interrupted his thoughts. “I have something that Kaskinampo have not seen often.”
“We have seen many things,” Buffalo Mankiller said, affecting boredom.
“Have you seen a white fox skin?” Trader asked, crossing his arms against the weight of the copper.
“Sometimes—rarely, I’ll grant you—a fox is born white. They don’t live for long.”
Trader bent over, the pack swinging awkwardly on his back and banging his elbow. Old White smiled at that, having been bruised by his own stone-weighted sack over the years. The young man finally managed to find the right bale and untie the straps holding it. From under a press of flattened mink, lynx, and wolverine, he brought forth a gleaming white fox skin, rubbing the thick long fur to make it stand. He handed it to Buffalo Mankiller, asking, “What do you think of that?”
Old White watched the Kaskinampo’s expression as he inspected the fox skin. Buffalo Mankiller was no novice given the amount and number of goods passing through his hands, but the look of fascination overcame his control. “Where did this come from?”
“The far north,” Old White added, having seen the beasts in his travels in those distant lands. “The white fox doesn’t live below the tundra. You’ll notice its ears are smaller than any fox ears you’ve ever seen before. Being small keeps them from freezing in the miserable cold.”
Swimmer was already out of the canoe, having found children who would pet him and scratch his neck.
“How many of these do you have?” Buffalo Mankiller asked, trying to peer into the partially uncovered pile.
“I would Trade four. One for you, one for the chief here, and one for each of the chiefs who control the rapids upriver.”
“And for the men who paddle us upriver,” Old White added, “I will throw in a shell gorget apiece for their labor and the discomfort of cleansing, as well as a large crystal for the Hopahe who must conduct the rituals.”
“I shall see what can be done,” Buffalo Mankiller relented. “In the meantime, we still have daylight left. Do you wish your canoes and packs carried up to the landing above the rapids?”
“That would be fine.” Old White inclined his head. “We would offer a sack of wild rice to the porters. I suspect that you don’t get much of that here.”
“Your gift is most generous.” Buffalo Mankiller gave a signal. His strong young men began unloading packs.
Old White told Two Petals, “If you don’t want to walk, stay in the canoe.”
She immediately climbed out, a frown on her forehead as she watched the porters swing the heavy packs onto their heads and start up the trail. “Just keep me away from the flies.” She batted at the air around her. “It’s like kicking a carcass. Confusion everywhere.”
Old White glanced at Trader, who shrugged. The unpacking, shouldering of the packs, and lifting of the canoes onto strong backs was finished before Old White could cinch his packs tighter on his back.
“One thing,” Trader asked of Buffalo Mankiller, “would you have an ornately carved box? The sort of thing war medicine is carried in?”
The Kaskinampo thought for a moment. “I might.” A pause. “Why?”
Trader indicated the fabric on his back. “It was the best I could do at the time, but fabric can rip. To keep Powerful Spirits like these, I would prefer something sturdier.”
Buffalo Mankiller took a quick measure of the size with his eyes. “We have something. A box of great Power. It comes from down south, and those who have owned it have all suffered terrible misfortune. Our Priests have decided that it should be sent from our lands. But it will cost you.”
“Somehow I expected that.”
“Just promise me you won’t let that Power loose in the process of transferring your Spirit Stone.”