People of the Weeping Eye(169)
Sun Falcon looked around at the other chiefs. “Have any of you heard rumors of this? Does anyone here know of such a thing being done to Red Awl? Because if you do, and such a deed has indeed occurred, we must all take measures.” He looked at Flying Hawk. “High Minko, as my chief, do you have any information about Red Awl?”
Flying Hawk frowned, his gaze fixed on the four logs that fed the sacred fire. “I do not. While the Council has been concerned about the Albaamo courier we captured, they have ordered—with my blessing—that no one incite the Albaamaha. If anything happened to Red Awl, I swear on my Ancestors that I know nothing of it.”
“Thank the gods,” Sun Falcon said with a sigh. “Hopefully Red Awl will appear and give everyone an explanation of his absence.”
Smoke Shield stood stiffly, a tingling of unease at the base of his spine. “Pardon me, but do we fear the Albaamaha? Forgive me, wise chiefs, but who controls our warriors? And what if this is some Albaamaha plot? Red Awl has vanished into the hills, probably to consort with his friend Paunch, and we are to take the blame?” He spread his arms wide. “By doing so, are we not playing into some Albaamaha plot? Who knows? Maybe that was why my bow and arrows were stolen while I was traveling. Some Albaamo will turn up with a silly story. Perhaps it will be that I slew Red Awl, shot him with that very bow, or something equally insane. I say if the palisades need to be rebuilt, we place our demand for the workers to cut and transport the timber. Perhaps sweating Albaamaha with calluses on their hands will have less free time to dream up stories that do nothing but sow discontent.”
Wind Town, the northernmost Sky Hand settlement, lay in the flats just downriver of the fall line. Black Buffalo, the town’s Hickory Moiety chief, stood, his hard eyes on Smoke Shield. “War Chief, it is easy for you, who live here surrounded by Split Sky City’s high walls, to make ultimatums. We, who survive on the borders, cannot be so brash. Across the mountains from me, the Yuchi are very real. My Albaamaha are my ears and feelers. We depend on each other, knowing that if we are attacked, we have only ourselves. True, I can send a runner and know that Sun Falcon will dispatch any warriors he can spare from Bowl Town; but help from Split Sky City will come too late. By the time a runner travels to you, you assemble warriors, and they run full-tilt up the trails, they will arrive a full two days later. Not to mention exhausted. I need my Albaamaha as much as they need me.” He looked at War Squirrel. “Some of us rely on that relationship. We have survived only because we work for each other.”
Calls of agreement came from the other chiefs.
“The Council understands this,” Flying Hawk told them. “That is why we have backed off from accusing the Albaamaha of anything, even with proof that an Albaamo runner was sent to warn White Arrow Town.” He raised his hands. “For the moment, you must trust us. We are listening, learning. If it does turn out that some Albaamaha plot is discovered, we will not act rashly.” He shot a warning look at Smoke Shield. “For the moment, if you could simply broach the topic of the palisade to your Albaamaha, let them consider it for the time being, I think that will be sufficient.”
Smoke Shield swallowed the angry retort that was building in his throat. The old man is placating them! His eyes narrowed. There are ways. Even these whimpering chiefs can be made to understand the threat.
It was just a matter of creating the right circumstances.
Two Petals studied the empty cup she held and waited for the Spirits in the tea to take effect. She stood in the great room of the temple. The Kala Hi’ki—blind eyes wrapped in white cloth—seemed to be observing her, his ruined face expressionless. Outside in the plaza, a hundred drums were thumping while thousands of voices rose in Song to mark the first of the Yuchi solstice ceremonies. She swayed on her feet, as though the rhythm of the voices, the music, and the Dance outside were a physical presence pressing against her. The first soothing fingers of the tea began to massage her souls.
So many people. So many souls. She tried to shut them out, to stop the movement. Her first impulse was to press her hands to her ears. Instead, she concentrated on the intricately carved relief of the two great rattlesnakes on the west wall. The daylight shining through the east-facing door illuminated the red, black, and yellow chevrons, and gleamed off of the polished copper eyes.
“What are you seeing?” the Kala Hi’ki asked.
“The snakes curled about each other.” She leaned over the pole bench, running her finger down the wood. “What are the black circles on the snakes’ sides?”