People of the Weeping Eye(117)

“I will be as careful for my sake as for that of your people,” Trader promised. Then he whistled. “Come on, Swimmer. Leave the children alone. Let’s go.”





Trader hummed a tune to himself as he reclined before the fire. Swimmer curled beside him on his blanket, allowing Trader to stroke his silky hair. Periodically the dog sighed in contentment and shifted himself so as to expose other parts of his body to petting.

The night was cold, but one thing Trader wasn’t short on was furs. That the heavens were clear, literally frosted with stars, was a blessing. The alternative would have been either cold rain or swirling snow. He’d take the stars, and with pleasure, thank you.

Buffalo Mankiller had made the decision that, due to the Power they represented, it would be unwise to lodge them in one of the guest houses before the main town’s palisade. Instead, they had been asked to camp here, on the sandy canoe landing above the rapids.

Just by lifting his head, Trader could see his birch-bark canoe—reloaded to his specifications—ready to be pushed off at a moment’s notice. Old White’s finely made dugout sat beside his, mounds of packs visible. The river ran black, its surface reflecting the faintest sheen of starlight.

“Cheaper than I expected,” Old White said as he used sand to scrap out the cooking bowl. Supper had been a thick fish stew flavored with hickory and beechnuts. Afterward they had nibbled on a local cornbread.

“White fox is a powerful incentive.”

“You must have been in the north a while.”

“Trade was good.” He grinned. “And I wanted to do a little digging of my own.”

“Paid off,” Old White noted, glancing at Two Petals.

Trader turned his attention to her. She’d seemed preoccupied of late, as if a great depressing weight had settled on her since she’d been in the moon lodge. Trader considered her features: definitely comely. She kept cropping into his thoughts. Watching her brought the constant reminder that she was an attractive and single female with a charming body. But just when his thoughts began to dwell on her full breasts, or the way her dress clung to those round hips, she would look at him, and say something spooky enough to snuff any sprouting desires.

“Nice to be among Mos’kogee speakers again,” Old White noted.

“It is,” Trader agreed, rubbing Swimmer’s ears. “But I have to concentrate. Enough words are different that you get lost if you don’t pay attention.”

From the darkness, a voice called, “Hello the fire.”

Trader could see Buffalo Mankiller approaching, a dark square object in his hands. As he walked into the firelight, it formed into an intricately carved wooden box, red cedar, if Trader was any judge.

“Mind if I join you?”

“We would be honored,” Old White said, moving to make a place by the fire. He indicated a fold of matting. “Here, keep your bones off the cold ground.”

Buffalo Mankiller seated himself, extending the box to Trader. “You said you were going to Split Sky City? See if this will do?”

Trader disengaged himself from Swimmer, who had sat up to inspect the newcomer; his nose sifted the air for the man’s scent.

The box had been carefully crafted, lightweight but sturdy. Two thick straps had been run through slits in the bottom and then double sewn over the shoulders. The bottom side, visible when carried, had been carved with images of rattlesnakes, water cougars, and snapping turtles. The sides were done in relief with buffalo, deer, raccoons, and turkeys. The top had a depiction of Eagle Man, his turkey-tail mace in one hand, a rattlesnake in the other. The back, or lid, brought a cold shiver to Trader’s souls. There, perfectly rendered, was the eye-hand symbol of his people.

Old White gasped, as if shocked. His eyes were wide, fixed on the box. An expression of disbelief filled his face. He reached out, as if to touch the box from across the fire, but his hand froze midway to its goal. Two Petals, however, had a knowing smile on her face, as if something had just come clear in her odd souls.

Trader stared at the symbol, running his fingers over the relief. “Where did you get this?”

“It’s been around for a long time,” Buffalo Mankiller said, shrugging. “According to the stories, a young Yuchi, who had been disgraced, stole it. The young man brought it here, thinking he could obtain enough wealth to become a Trader. It has passed from hand to hand, each of its owners falling on bad times. Since you travel surrounded by Power, perhaps it would be best to send it away with you.” He lifted an inquiring eyebrow. “Assuming you can meet my price.”

Trader swallowed dryly, and managed to say, “What … What would you want for it?” Gods, what had gotten into Old White? He looked as if he’d seen a ghost.