People of the Weeping Eye(131)
Black Tail inclined his head when he met Night Star’s gaze. “I personally think the Panther Clan chief is correct when she says that this was done by a Chahta. I would urge the Council to wait, to listen, and to learn. Then, when we discover who really murdered our captives, we must act swiftly, surely, and ruthlessly to punish the offender.”
He turned to Vinegarroon. “However, I do not discount the possibility of Albaamaha perfidy. If, in the end, it turns out that the Albaamaha were responsible, we must take the appropriate measures.” He lifted a hand. “However, we must also remember how we came to be here. When our Ancestors came to this land, we did it with Albaamaha support. Some welcomed us with open arms; others resisted. For generations we have ruled here, but we have done so through wisdom, strength of arms, and justice. The Skunk Clan chief speaks with wisdom.”
Smoke Shield made no attempt to hide his irritation. Flying Hawk shot him a look of warning.
Black Tail added, “Let us say that it finally turns out that an Albaamo really did kill the captives. I doubt this, but let us assume it so for the moment. The Albaamaha expect us to act with wisdom, restraint, and justice. I said justice, my chiefs. If we are to avoid a calamity, we must punish only the culprit. Should we punish all the Albaamaha, or the wrong ones, Vinegarroon is right: We will incite a revolt.”
Flying Hawk took a deep breath when Black Tail resumed his seat. “Is it my understanding that the consensus of the Council is to wait and learn what we can before making any decision?”
One by one, the chiefs nodded.
Smoke Shield’s eyes narrowed. Fools, by the time they come to a consensus, the Albaamaha will think themselves invincible.
“Then we will wait, listen, and learn.” He glanced around the room, finally ending with Smoke Shield. “Any final action will be taken with the approval of this Council. Is that understood by all?”
“It is,” came a chorus of replies.
“Then, in the name of the gods, so be it,” Flying Hawk concluded, his hard gaze fixed on Smoke Shield.
Twenty-five
In Trader’s Dream Two Petals was Dancing, her naked body weaving in time to the lilting Song of the medicine box. As the melody rose and fell, she swayed and stepped to the music. Her smooth arms flowed with graceful movement, and her long black hair swirled and gleamed in the light. When she cast a glance over her bare shoulder, her eyes were sparkling. She whirled then, her gaze locked with his. Despite that, his attention was drawn to her breasts. Next he fixed on the dark dot of her navel. Her belly was flat, and each movement she made emphasized the thick tuft of her pubic hair. He let his eyes trail down her shapely legs. She Danced closer to him now, a knowing smile on her lips. As she circled him, hair swinging, hips gyrating, her fingertips traced the air around his body.
Trader’s heart began to pound, blood racing in his veins. She flipped around in front of him, fully aware of his erect penis. Her agile hands began caressing the air around his hard shaft.
He gasped, raising his eyes to hers and finding them full of promise. The tingle began deep in his pelvis, anticipating the explosion of his loins.
It was at that moment that Swimmer barked, bringing him back from the brink to groggy wakefulness. The Dream shattered and fell away.
Trader opened his eyes and stared around. They were in camp, on a low tree-covered knoll. Blue hazy smoke rose from white ash in the fire pit. Swimmer was barking, growling, his back hair standing on end, tail like a lance as he fixed on something out in the forest.
Trader sat up, reaching for his weapons, and froze. Two Petals sat across from him on a log, her wide dark eyes fixed on his. He gulped, flushed with embarrassment. “Gods, did you do that to me?”
Her lips parted as if in anticipation. Then she said, “The blind man is embracing us.”
He shook himself, breaking the gaze and turning his attention to Swimmer. “What’s wrong, boy?”
Swimmer growled, barked, and retreated to Trader’s side to stare out at the forest.
Old White muttered as he sat up, asking, “What’s all the racket?”
“I think someone is out there,” Trader told him, trying to shed the last fragments of the Dream.
“None of them are real,” Two Petals said, her eyes now unfocused. “We can ignore them all. They’re of no consequence.”
“Who?” Trader asked, whipping his blanket off and standing. The morning sun was no more than finger high over the southeastern treeline. He searched the shadows, letting Swimmer bark to his content. Then he saw movement, the briefest glimpse of a man’s head as he peered from behind a tree.
“At least one man,” Trader noted as Old White stood, shivering in the cold air. The Seeker grabbed up a buffalo cape and hung it over his shoulders, then lifted his Trader’s staff, with its long white feathers.