People of the Weeping Eye(160)
“The White Arrow. But how does any of this get started? Someone inflicts a real or perceived insult on someone else, or a grieving relative attains a position of authority. A chief believes he can gain prestige and Power by defeating his neighbor. In this case, according to rumors, a young and inexperienced high minko thought he could chastise the Chikosi.”
Trader was frowning. “The Flying Hawk I remember would take this as an opportunity to repay old debts. I don’t blame the Chaktaw for preparing their defenses.” He looked at Old White. “What do you think? Should we stick to the original plan to travel down the Horned Serpent River? Or would it be better to make the more expensive portage from the Tenasee to the headwaters of the Black Warrior?”
“That’s a much longer, rougher portage,” Old White noted. “Crossing into the Horned Serpent, we cross hills from one watershed to the next. Two days at most depending on the trails. To the Black Warrior? That could take seven to ten days depending on labor, the trails, and weather.”
“Figure three times the Trade,” Trader decided. “Maybe more if there is news of a Chikosi war party in the area. People will be nervous.”
Old White shot him a curious look. “I thought you were the one who said we had to stop calling them Chikosi, that it was derogatory.”
“If it doesn’t bother you to be insulted, why should it bother me?”
Old White turned to Wolf Tail. “Do the Chaktaw still honor the Power of Trade, or have they grown introspective like the Michigamea?”
“Introspective?” Wolf Tail mused. “I like that. It’s a good term for people who are busy staring up their own behinds. But to answer your question, the Chaktaw have always honored the Power of Trade in the past. For the moment, however, they will be very suspicious, worried about spies, and—I don’t have to remind you—wary of anyone with ties to the Chikosi.”
“Well,” Old White said wearily, “Power didn’t promise us that this would be easy.”
Trader fingered his chin. “What kind of trouble would we be in if we just went back upriver and Traded with the Oneota for a while?”
“Somehow,” Old White said dryly, “I don’t think Power would let us get away with that.”
“There’s the Charokee over to the east,” Wolf Tail suggested. “If you’re bound and determined to deal with barbarians, they can be as rude as Chikosi.”
Old White noticed that Swimmer had decided to lift his leg on the corner of the square. Wolf Tail shifted his attention to the dog, one disapproving eyebrow raising.
“It’s all right,” Trader said, smiling blandly. “I was inclined to it myself.”
Heron Wing pounded acorn and hickory nut flour into a patty, slathered grease on both sides, and laid it on a growing stack atop a wooden platter. She kept casting sidelong glances at Morning Dew as she stirred dried pawpaws into a mix of cornmeal and sunflower seeds.
The day was chilly, but bright. The warmth from the fire they worked around had coaxed a fine perspiration from Morning Dew’s skin. People were already arriving at Split Sky City from the towns up and down the river. Camps were springing up outside the palisade. All brought food, of course, but bellies—never full for most of the year—always seemed to yearn for more during the holidays.
Among the Sky Hand, the solstice served as the major winter ceremony when people remembered Spider, who had climbed up to the sun after Vulture, Bushy-tailed Opossum, and Many-Colored Crow had failed to bring the fire down to earth. Winter solstice wasn’t as important as the Busk Ceremony—when the green corn was sanctified and the people underwent their ritual cleansing before restarting the sacred fire—but it was still one of the major celebrations.
“Smoke Shield returned from his ‘hunt’ last night,” Heron Wing announced.
“I know.” Morning Dew continued to concentrate on her cooking.
“Curious thing, he came back with speckles of blood on his clothing, but no game. He’s in a surly mood.”
Morning Dew ground her teeth, fearing to look up and meet Heron Wing’s eyes. Tell me he hasn’t asked for me. Please!
“I don’t know what happened upriver, and apparently he won’t speak of it.” Heron Wing thoughtfully greased another of the cakes. “I have heard that he returned without his bow and arrows. His bearhide cape is missing, too.” Heron Wing wiped at her forehead, smearing it with grease. “Flying Hawk is worried. He didn’t come out and say it, but I can see it in his eyes.”
Morning Dew glanced down at her hands, absently rubbing her fingers together. She could sense Screaming Falcon’s eyes, as if he were watching her from across an immense distance.