People of the Weeping Eye(12)

He blinked, lifting his head to stare about. The far wall was faintly visible in the glow cast by the two fire pits, one at each end of the lodge. He could just make out the lighter framework of supple poles that had been sunk into the earth and bent over before being lashed together to make the loaf-shaped roof overhead. Crosspieces had been tied to the uprights to provide stability, and overlapping sections of bark had been lashed on to cover the whole of it. In the bluish haze that drifted up toward the smoke holes, he could see bags of corn, goosefoot, marsh elder, and cattail root hanging in their net bags. Along the walls, sleeping benches, like the one he lay on, were covered with hides. Below them, decorated bark boxes held all manner of awls, stone tools, clothing, and the other accoutrements of a successful household. Round-bottomed pots lay canted in a row, ready for use.

Snow Otter ran his tongue over his teeth, feeling the furry covering left from the roasted acorns he had fed to Trader as an addition to the fish cakes. So, too, had he broken open not just one, but two of his prized jugs of berry juice.

Worry over what he was about to do came rolling back like some dark wave to wash over his thoughts. Trade was spiritual—a thing of Power. It wasn’t just that the gods and Spirits had given men a sacred trust allowing them to cross nations, cultures, tribes, and customs, but it served to fulfill spiritual and physical needs.

He fingered the shell pendant Trader had given him for the right to dig for copper. Among his people, the shell gorget engraved with woodpeckers and the sacred pole was worth an entire winter’s food supply. At the time—when Trader had offered it—it had seemed an incredible coup! Imagine: the whelk-shell gorget in return for the privilege of digging around in an old exhausted hole in the ground, one that had only produced small nuggets of copper? Ludicrous!

Who’d have thought the foreigner would discover a deposit of huge wealth, worth many times the value of the white shell gorget?

Snow Otter made a face at the darkness. Power, the whole thing reeked of it. A Trade: one large value in exchange for an even greater one.

He closed his eyes, remembering the thick slab of copper. It ran through the rock in a sheet as thick as a man’s meaty palm. The metal had gleamed wickedly in the firelight. Snow Otter could feel it calling to him from across the lodge. Such wealth! The likes of which he had never seen in all his life—and he, a copper Trader of no small means. Possessing that sheet of copper would make him the wealthiest man among his people. Travelers would come from all over, providing him with gifts and offerings just to see it. And eventually word would spread down the rivers and still more Traders would come from as far away as the distant gulf, each bearing unimaginable wealth. Each would offer something, competing, fed by lust for that thick slab of copper. In their frenzy, they would pile goods before Snow Otter the likes of which no chief of his people had ever seen, let alone a clan leader such as himself.

So much to gain. So much to lose.

He glanced over at the robes where Trader lay sound asleep next to Snow Otter’s daughter. Power permeated Trade. He could feel it in the air, almost a tangible thing. The shell gorget on his chest seemed to weigh heavier than his thoughts. His palms were damp and sweaty. He would have to be most careful. Both his wife and daughter could be trusted to keep their tongues. Compliance, if not complete understanding, had been in their eyes when he’d ordered a feast, plying their guest with food and drink. His daughter had swallowed reluctantly but nodded assent when he’d whispered in her ear that her best interest would be served by offering herself to the Trader.

“And not just once,” he had insisted, waving his finger before her face. “Do you understand? He’s a young man. Use your hands, your mouth, whatever. He should have three or four vigorous couplings in that strong body of his.”

The fact that she’d complied had pleased him; that she had erupted in moans and sighs three different times had shocked him. A father shouldn’t know such things about his daughter.

He swallowed hard. If the thing was to be done, it was better done now. The Trader should be in deep sleep, his belly full, his manhood depleted, his souls lulled by a sense of satisfaction.

You are defiling the Power of Trade! The thought rolled around in his head as he carefully lifted his blanket and eased out from beside his wife’s warm body.

Reaching under the bed, he found the long copper knife. The corded handle felt solid and firm in his sweaty grip. Heart pounding, he tiptoed across the lodge to his daughter’s bed. This would have to be done just so. He needed to slip the blade straight and true, driving it up under the sternum to pierce the heart. Pressing the man down into the bedding, he could keep the bleeding to a minimum. With one hand on the man’s throat, the cries could be smothered. Then, he need only drag the corpse outside, down to the canoe landing, and a short paddle later, he could drop the stone-laden Trader over the side to sink in the night-black waters of the lake.