People of the Weeping Eye(129)

Smoke Shield cleared his throat hoping to be recognized, but Flying Hawk nodded to old Night Star. The dwarf woman stepped forward, drank from the shell, and took a pull from the long pipe stem. She turned, but ignored Smoke Shield’s simmering eyes as she surveyed the Council.

Her reedy voice rose. “If we are searching for culprits, I say that we send a large party of men to comb the territory between us and the Chahta. Looking at this as calmly as I can, I can think of no one else who would have reason to rob us of the captives’ lives. I think we can dismiss the Pensacola Traders. They honor the Power of Trade, and they could care less who we torture, as long as it isn’t their people.” She looked around, sharp old eyes taking in the chiefs. “Some here might say the Pensacola have an interest in keeping good relations with the Chahta, and such an interest might have urged them to take such drastic measures. Yes, they do considerable Trade with the Chahta, and yes, the Chahta might think kindly of them for doing this thing. But, think a little further and you will realize—as I’m sure the Pensacola would—that eventually it will get back to us. Someday in the future, some foolish Chahta would brag about it. When that day came, the Pensacola are fully aware that we would turn our wrath upon them. So, while yes, the Pensacola Trade with the Chahta, they Trade more with us.”

She gave them a thoughtful expression. “Again, if you are searching for a motive behind these murders, look no further than the Chahta. Do not waste your time looking for a large party, but for a single warrior, a lone man. He will be someone who could pass unseen, sneak into our city, do this thing, and slip away again.”

Once again Flying Hawk ignored Smoke Shield by acknowledging Two Poisons. The Deer Clan chief drank, smoked, and offered his prayers. Then he said, “For the most part, I agree with Night Star. The Chahta have the most to gain from this. And if one of them did kill the captives, we will eventually learn of it. No man who has accomplished such a deed will be silent upon his return to his people. I know the Chahta. They are a proud and boastful people. The man who did this will be feted, feasted, and honored in many ways. Committing this crime against us is almost meaningless if it is not rubbed in our noses. My counsel is to wait. Within a moon, word will reach us one way or another. When it does, we can prepare properly. When the Chahta have grown complacent, we strike, sending a large war party to attack the town where the culprit lives. We may not be able to fill the squares with a high minko, a Priest, and a war chief, but where five squares now stand, we can fill ten or twenty.” He looked around. “Consider this, my chiefs. Think carefully about it. Thoughtful planning will give us much more in the end than a rash act committed in a moment of rage.”

When he sat, Flying Hawk acknowledged Wooden Cougar. The Crawfish Clan chief took his turn at the black drink and the Eagle Pipe. Only when he had offered his prayers did he face the Council. “Many of the dead at Alligator Town were Crawfish Clan. We rejoiced in the success of Smoke Shield’s raid, and my people heaped indignities upon the captives, calling to the dead to come and see, to watch what we do to those who would kill them without provocation.” He considered his next words. “I, too, suspect the Chahta first and foremost, but I have been a chief too long not to look for other explanations. I notice that this Council is called, but the Albaamaha are absent. Is there a reason for that, High Minko?”

Flying Hawk nodded. “Some have hinted that the Albaamaha might have been complicit in the killings. I made the decision that we should discuss this among ourselves.”

It’s about time the Albaamaha were brought up, Smoke Shield fumed.

“I wondered that very thing,” Wooden Cougar said. “But if they are accused, should not their representatives be here to answer to the charges? I myself—though never completely trustful of Albaamaha—have doubts about their reasons for attempting such a thing. While many of the dead at Alligator Town were Crawfish Clan, a great many Albaamaha were killed there as well. How would it serve the Albaamaha dead to have their killers escape justice?”

Smoke Shield bounced from foot to foot, clearing his throat.

Flying Hawk turned. “It would seem that the fog has clogged my nephew’s throat. Does he wish to speak as a means of clearing it?”

Smoke Shield stepped forward on charged muscles, bent, drank of the bitter black drink, and took a pull of the sweet smoke. He offered his fervent prayer and stood, letting his audience absorb the rigid muscles, his stiff posture. “I will tell you what races through the minds of the Albaamaha: the same thing that urged them to send a runner to warn White Arrow Town that we were about to attack. They chafe under our leadership, and would rather see themselves at the mercy of the Yuchi, the Pensacola, or the Chahta than protected by our warriors. When they come to Split Sky City, they do not see the grandeur of our works, but only note a blot on a land they think of as their own.”