People of the Weeping Eye(173)

In the predawn light, Trader studied the cool stone disk he cupped in his right hand. He had Traded for the stone blank many years ago while living among the Caddo. The blank had come from high in the mountains at the headwaters of the White River. Then, over the next year he had laboriously ground concaves into each side, and rounded it to fit a circle he had scribed onto a piece of leather. When he had the shape perfect for his hand, he had used fine sand sifted through fabric to polish it. The process had entailed using ever finer sand on wet leather until the surface was so glossy it reflected his image. The rounded circumference was dull now, having been rolled down countless clay tracks.

He hefted his lance in his left hand and looked around at the awakening city. A smoky pall hung over the pointed roofs. When a dog barked in the distance, Swimmer perked his ears. Stakeholders had already set up shop on the plaza before the Council House. There they would take the wagers on the day’s chunkey match as well as for the final stickball game. This was the grand one, played between the Yuchi Chief and Warrior Moieties. It would follow immediately after his chunkey game with Born-of-Sun.

Trader took a deep breath, watching it rise in the frozen air as he exhaled the tension inside him. Then he walked to the starting mark. Swimmer sat to one side, his head cocked. It had been something of a battle to keep the dog from running beside him, barking, and then chasing the chunkey stone as it raced down the clay track.

Trader stilled his thoughts, balanced his lance, and played the cast in his mind. Uncle Flying Hawk’s words came back from his youth: “The trick is to concentrate. You must release the stone true. Knowing how it will roll and where it will stop is to know where to cast your lance. If you understand this thing, you will win. Mastery only comes of long practice, of familiarity with your equipment.”

That Trader knew. After all, what did a Trader do for an entire winter among a foreign people? He didn’t have family, friends, and kin obligations. He needn’t prepare for festivals, or see to the raising of his nieces and nephews. Instead, he played chunkey. If he was good, he could gamble on his skill; and by winning, fill his canoe with more precious Trade to take upriver.

But I’ve never wagered my life before. It was sobering knowledge that had plagued his sleep.

Uncle’s words came back. “The trick is to concentrate.”

Trader scuffed his moccasined feet on the hard clay, flexing his thighs, rolling his shoulders. Swimmer perked up, aware of what was about to happen.

Trader crouched slightly, his gaze fixed on the long clay strip. He launched himself, taking four fast steps, bent, and smoothly released the stone. It kissed the ground, spinning off his fingers. Trader let momentum carry him forward, smoothly shifted his lance, and cast at the second mark, sure of where the stone would stop.

He pulled up, watching the lance spin slowly through the air. The stone rolled straight and true. He could feel the rightness of it. As the lance arced, the stone slowed. It curved to the right as he had known it would, and toppled to its side. The lance impacted point first—an arm’s length from the stone.

“Well done!” a voice called from behind.

He turned back to see Born-of-Sun kneeling beside Swimmer, mussing the dog’s long hair.

Trader shrugged. “I’ve done better.”

“So have we all.” Born-of-Sun rose and gestured for Swimmer to stay. He carried his own lance and one of the beautiful stones Trader had seen in the box.

Trader trotted down the clay, retrieved his stone and lance, and jogged back. Born-of-Sun was staring at his stone.

“Nice piece,” the chief noted. “Trade for it?”

“Made it.”

“Excellent workmanship. And the lance?”

“Cut from a white ash sapling. It took a while, but with judicious sanding I managed to get the balance just right.”

The chief nodded, his attention turning to the chunkey court. “I didn’t get much chance to practice. The chiefs had a meeting that lasted most of the day yesterday. I didn’t even get to watch the game between Canebrake and Cattail Towns. I heard that Cattail pulled it out in the end.”

“It was close,” Trader agreed. “Canebrake would have had it, but one of their players struck another from behind with his racquet. The judges took a point as penalty.”

“Passion can lead men to foolish things.” Born-of-Sun hefted his lance, testing its balance. “May I?”

Trader stepped back, nodding. He walked over to Swimmer, stopping to lay his lance to the side and scratch the dog’s ears. “Let’s see what we’re up against.”

Born-of-Sun squatted to loosen his muscles, flexed his shoulders, and took his position. He drew a deep breath, eyes closed. When he opened them, he started forward, neatly bowling his stone down the track. In another four paces, he released, just shy of the mark. Trader nodded, impressed by the man’s perfect cast. He stood, watching the lance arc over the speeding stone. It would be close.