People of the Weeping Eye(181)

People called out encouragement as Born-of-Sun trotted down to retrieve his pieces.

Old White shot a glance in the direction of the stakeholders. A considerable pile had been bet on the Yuchi chief. A rather pitiful pile on Trader. Those few who had, Old White suspected, were hedging their bets. And besides, what good was it to bet everything against nothing?

Trader had taken the mark, did a deep knee bend, and rolled his shoulders. For a moment he looked calmly down the course.

Is he any good? Old White wondered, having never seen Trader play.

Trader launched himself, releasing with the smooth skill of an accomplished player, the stone disk rolling true. Then he cast—the motion smooth. Old White stood transfixed, watching the lance arc toward the stone. Both lance and stone came to rest at the same time. For the life of him, Old White couldn’t tell which cast had been closer. The priest measured, holding up the string. “The point goes to the high chief by half a knot!”

Again the crowd roared.

To one side, an elder twisted a pointed stick into the ground.

Twenty casts, Old White thought. Then at the end of them, my future will be decided.

In all of his life he had never felt such a sense of futility.

Trader and Born-of-Sun were talking like old friends, each calm, both congratulating each other on their casts. They acted as if they had played thus for all of their lives: a friendly rivalry.

The notion formed in Old White’s head. Gods, does he even want to win? The rumor had been running through the city like a scalded dog. “The chief would have the visitors stay. He has offered a cousin to Trader for a wife. The Contrary would live with us.”

Old White’s heart began to hammer, and he looked at Trader anew. The man stood relaxed, no hint of the gravity of their situation reflected in his easy smile.

Do I dare try to stop this?

“Wait for Power,” Two Petals said, eyes focused on the distance. “Power knows all.”

Born-of-Sun cast again. The crowd cried happily as the lance imbedded at about the same distance from the toppled stone as before. After the Priest measured, he held the string up for the audience. More cheering.

Trader cast, and Old White stepped forward, as if he could will the slim lance to its destination. He held his breath as the priest measured, then called, “Point to Trader, by a full knot!”

Again the crowd shouted happily. Old White could see individuals slipping away, headed in the direction of the stakeholders. If it stayed this close, even more would be slipping away, trying to change their bets in spite of the fact the stakeholders would have declared it closed at the first cast.

“How about you, Seeker?” the Kala Hi’ki asked. “Are you all right?”

“I believe I am a bit anxious.”

The scarred blind man drew a breath that whistled through his nose holes. “This is a thing of Power, Seeker. This is done in the light of Mother Sun, on her special day. You do not know the ramifications of your journey. Things may have changed at Split Sky City since you were summoned. Do not fret; if Power wants you to go, it will happen.”

How can I tell him? What would make him understand why I must go back?

“You could tell it like it actually is,” Two Petals said, again seeming to read his thoughts. “I see a stick in the current. It cannot help but go where the river wills.”

He drew a breath. Gods, what a mess!

The points wavered back and forth. One to Trader, another to Born-of-Sun. Each cast was so close, each measured by a knot, or half knot. Old White ground the few teeth remaining in his head. Images of his past were slipping out from between his souls, only to be beaten back by force of will alone.

“I can smell your worry, Seeker,” the Kala Hi’ki said. “Perhaps I should have brewed some of the Contrary’s tea for you. It calms the nerves, settles the thoughts. Your souls are in need of soothing.”

“My souls may jump out of my body if this turns out wrong.”

The score was tied at five and five. Old White’s mouth had gone dry. Was the entire match going to be this close?

Then, to his horror, Born-of-Sun took two points in a row. The crowd had grown increasingly silent. Now they burst out in gleeful cries. Only to fall silent again as Trader won two.

High above, an eagle floated into view, as if curious about the proceedings. People pointed, sure that the bird signified a blessing for Born-of-Sun. A jubilant mood seemed to flow through the crowd, lifting them upon its wave, only to have Trader make the next point to pull ahead.

Old White’s heart leaped. Gods, there was a chance.

Born-of-Sun then tied it.

A chill formed in Old White’s bones, creeping out through his flesh as the nineteenth cast was made. Born-of-Sun won by a knot’s length.