“Come on. Let’s go see,” he said to Swimmer, and together they trotted down the court behind Born-of-Sun. The lance had stuck no more than an arm’s length from the stone. “The distance between your cast and mine could only be determined with a measuring string.”
“I got lucky,” Born-of-Sun said modestly. “It’s the first cast of the morning. Generally I’m happy to keep stone and lance inside the bounds of the court.”
“I’m sure,” Trader noted as the chief retrieved his pieces.
Together they walked back, Swimmer’s tail cutting lazy arcs in the morning air.
“That was a good visit we had the other day,” Born-of-Sun remarked. “I have given our talk a great deal of consideration.”
“And?”
“I would set your mind at rest. When I win this thing, I will not be putting you to death.”
“That’s a fine thing. When I win this thing, I will not leave with a dark view of the Tsoyaha.”
Born-of-Sun chuckled. “I would like to know something: When I win, and your fate becomes mine, will you stay here without resentment, understanding that the outcome was the will of Mother Sun?”
Trader shrugged. “I accepted this gamble in good faith. I am a man of many things: One of them is my word. I am here under the Power of Trade. But, yes, if by some sorcery you manage to win, I will keep my end of the bargain.”
“Good. As I will keep mine.” He gestured as they reached the starting mark. “Your cast.”
Trader put Swimmer in his place, telling him to stay. He walked to the mark, seating the stone carefully in his hand, feeling the cold disk against his palm. From long practice, he stilled himself, running the cast through the eye of his souls. When he launched, it was in fluid motion; he barely broke stride as he bowled the stone, shifted the lance, and released it to arc, spinning through the sky.
The lance nosed over, almost meeting the stone as it toppled onto its side.
“Well done!” Born-of-Sun cried.
In his excitement, Swimmer let out a staccato of happy barks.
As they trotted down the course, Born-of-Sun added, “We talked about something the other day—about how over the last tens of summers, people know less and less about each other. Face it, the Trade is slowly fading away. You, however, know the hearts and minds of a great many peoples, nations that I will never visit.”
“I do.”
“You and Old White could become valued counselors to a chief who would listen and consider your words.”
“Meaning you.”
Born-of-Sun nodded. “I think we are entering a difficult time. This thing with the Chikosi, for example—I have no idea how it will turn out.”
“If we are to believe Power, then Old White, the Contrary, and I will bring it to some sort of conclusion. Something happened when Old White was a boy. His heart beats at the center of this. I think that’s why he ran.”
“Who is he?”
“Honestly, I don’t know. Nor will he say. And, believe me, I have been searching my souls for the answer.” Trader stopped to stare down at the lance. It rested no more than a hand’s breadth from the edge of the stone.
“That will be hard to beat.” Born-of-Sun raised an eyebrow.
Trader recovered his pieces, and as they started back, said, “I can’t figure it out. Unlike me, he has no tattoos that would indicate he was Chief Clan, but he thinks he is a relative of mine.”
“And you heard of no one of his age leaving your people?”
“No one. And if they had, I would have heard. No, he’s as much a mystery to me as he is to you. I could almost believe that Power made him up from clay and breathed Spirit into him for reasons of its own.”
“He has never given you a name?”
“Only Old White, and of course, the Seeker is known far and wide. When he and the Contrary found my camp that night, I thought it was a trick. The Seeker is almost mythical.”
They reached the mark, and Trader stepped to one side. He watched Born-of-Sun curiously. His entire future hung in the balance, and here he was, talking as if to a best friend. Fact was, he really liked Born-of-Sun. This was the sort of chief that people longed for, his authority tempered by a kind and thoughtful humanity. That Born-of-Sun could shift from an indulgent uncle playing with children and dogs to a respected leader was a trait Trader had rarely seen—and never with such deft competence.
Born-of-Sun took a breath, his eyes closed. When the man launched, it was with grace and power. He had bowled his stone perfectly, his cast arcing through the sky. Trader stood, craning his neck to see. It would be close.
Together they trotted down the course, Swimmer bounding along, his long hair rolling with each joyous leap.