He smiled faintly, the patterns of scars rearranging. “I could sense the people coming. Hear the strokes of their paddles on the water. I heard their voices, and the language was Tsoyaha. I shouted, at least tried to. My throat was raw from screaming curses at the Chikosi while I hung in their square.” He made a smoothing gesture with his good hand. “What I did next surprised me. I reached out with my souls and called to them. Touched them, and drew them to where I lay on the bank, all covered with mud.”
The Kala Hi’ki sighed. “At first they thought I was some sort of monster. ‘No!’ I croaked. ‘It is Bull Shield Mankiller, escaped from the Chikosi.’
“‘You are dead!’ they cried.
“So I told them who I was, who my relatives were, and how I got my man’s name. Only then would they believe me. But they still didn’t want to touch me, so they carefully loaded me into a canoe by using a coat to sling my body aboard. Then they brought me to Rainbow City, where the Priests interrogated me, heard my story. They were suspicious at first, but I knew things about Horned Serpent that only the Priests know. And I could see through the eyes of my soul. I told them things about the Spirit World, about beings I could see through my new kind of sight.
“Meanwhile the story of my escape traveled along the rivers. It was told how Flying Hawk was frothing with anger. How his nephew, Green Snake, had tried to kill his brother, how the Power at Split Sky had gone wrong that night I vanished. The Chikosi had followed my bloody trail to the river, where they thought I had drowned.
“And I did. The man my people knew, he died that night. I was given a new life, a different existence, by Horned Serpent. Down there in the Underworld, he saved me. Gave me a Vision I would never have had. Now, Seeker, you will see what I rarely show any other man.”
With great care, he reached up with his good hand and undid the white cloth binding around his head. As it came loose, the Kala Hi’ki turned to stare.
Old White gasped. Pressed into the scar tissue in the empty eye sockets were two large crystals.
“These were the gift of Horned Serpent,” the Kala Hi’ki said. “They are scales that fell from his body onto the moss in that cavern deep down in the earth. When I placed them where my eyes should have been, I could see.” He smiled, the effect sending a shiver through Old White’s bone and muscles. “It was through these eyes that I saw the Contrary. This is the gift of Horned Serpent to the Kala Hi’ki.”
Thirty-five
The world had turned on its head once again. Morning Dew tried to make sense of it. She crouched in the sunlight on the southern side of Heron Wing’s house. Just behind her the matting screened the old storage pit where they relieved themselves. What made the odor bearable was the oyster shell that Morning Dew crushed. She used a large river cobble to grind the shell into a fine powder. When she had enough, she would scoop it into a shallow bowl and hand it to Heron Wing. Heron Wing in turn pressed the ceramic bowl down in a bed of hot embers to further process the shell. The resulting rotten-onion stink overwhelmed anything rising from their toilet.
“I’m still a slave,” Morning Dew mused. She couldn’t help but think about the wealth that had been heaped upon her. Unlike her marriage gifts, this she could keep, although good manners dictated that it be given back to people in the coming days. Gifts came with Power. People who hoarded wealth that was bestowed as an honor offended that selfsame Power. Misers were known targets of witchcraft, illness, and other bad humors.
“You’re my slave,” Heron Wing corrected, shifting upwind from the cloying smell given off by the cooking oyster shell. The purpose of grinding and heating the shell was for use as temper in the production of ceramic cookware. Part of Heron Wing’s spoils from betting on stickball had included a sack of oyster shells that had been Traded north through the Pensacola. With it, Heron Wing could barter for new cooking pots. Clam shell made better ceremonial pottery, but oyster was more durable for everyday use.
Your slave. “I still don’t see how that could have happened. Smoke Shield doesn’t often let loose of his things, does he?”
Heron Wing chuckled. “He did this time. I’m sure the last thing he would have expected was that I would bet against my own moiety. Nor can he come here demanding anything. I sent that crawling Thin Branch back as a gift. It would make Smoke Shield look like the foul-tempered badger he is if he made a fuss. Fact is, for the time being I expect him to leave. He’s not the type to walk around and take it when others can strut.”
“Heron Wing,” Morning Dew said. “If I am now your property, what do you intend on doing with me?” She glanced around. “It’s Wide Leaf, isn’t it? She’s going to marry that man.”