Smoke Shield studied the man. If trouble was coming, it would be at this man’s hands. He was too new, his motives undetermined. People looked up to him as a rising leader. This was the kind of man who could be dangerous, the sort the Albaamaha would rally around. Red Awl and his wife, Lotus Root, were too good to be true. Smoke Shield needed little imagination to see him and his gorgeous spouse conspiring to discredit the Sky Hand.
What are you plotting, Red Awl? How close are you to treason?
Flying Hawk stepped forward from the tripod and walked to the Eagle Pipe where it rested on its small altar. With great ceremony, he poured chopped tobacco from a painted gourd, then used a small wooden pestle to pack the bowl. Seven Dead, the tishu minko, stepped forward and lit a twig in the sacred fire. This he held to the bowl as Flying Hawk pulled on the long stem.
Turning, Flying Hawk exhaled the blue smoke and raised his hands. “Hear me, gods of the Sky, Earth, and Underworld! I am Flying Hawk Calls the Morning Mankiller, high minko of the Chief Clan of the Sky Hand People. I have come here to speak and hear the truth! Know that my words come from the heart, without deceit or falsehood. Carry these words to all beings and know that they are just.”
He stepped back as each of the Council members in turn of their rank came forward to take a pull from the pipe, exhale the smoke toward the high roof, and repeat the dedication.
When they finished and returned to their places, Flying Hawk took the floor. He let his gaze take in each of the seated chiefs.
His voice rose firm and clear. “In the beginning, all was Power. Breath Giver breathed this Power in and out. When the Sky was separated from the waters, before Crawfish brought the first land from the depths, Breath Giver’s Power was divided in two. Then, when the land was formed, it was split into three. Order was separated from Chaos, and what was one, was many, but equal. Each of the worlds—Sky, Earth, and Underworld—had its own kind of Power, and it was harmonious and in balance.
“The People have tried to live with this harmony. They have tried to keep Power in balance. When we use one kind of Power for some worthy purpose, we attempt to restore the balance that Breath Giver intended. We are not gods, or Spirit beasts. We are not arrogant in the belief that we know better than Breath Giver’s wisdom. We are only men, seeking to do what is right. What is in harmony.”
Again the Council uttered a soft assent and nodded their heads.
Flying Hawk clenched his fists. “But now the balance is shifted. Alligator Town has been attacked. Blood has been spilled. Fire has scorched the lives of the survivors. The dead cry for justice. Chaos is loosed on our land. Our harmony is disrupted. Can you feel it? Does it shake your realms as it does ours?”
Growls of anger went from lip to lip.
“In the beginning times, when Eagle Man slew the monsters,” Flying Hawk continued, “he gave us the knowledge of how Power had to be restored when it is out of balance. He taught us that it is up to men to struggle to keep the harmony. The burden of that struggle has been placed squarely on our shoulders.”
Flying Hawk lowered his gaze to the Council, then fixed it on Pale Cat. “Hopaye, what happens when Power is out of harmony?”
Pale Cat stood, the folds of his robe falling straight. “Soul sickness, High Minko. We are weakened; illness comes upon us. The ghosts of the dead congregate around the living, pawing at them, demanding that their murdered Spirits be freed to follow the path westward, there to pass through the Eye Hand into the Sky World.”
Flying Hawk nodded slowly. “We all know the route to the afterlife. Just as we all know how we’ll end up if we do not restore balance to our lives and souls. The Hopaye has told us we will sicken. And we will. But rotting from within isn’t the only danger. If we do not respond, the Chahta, Yuchi, Pensacola, Charokee, and others will think us weak. They will believe that Power has abandoned us. Mark me, they will come, war parties bristling, eagerly anticipating the joy of picking our bones clean before their rivals have a chance to do so.”
Two Poisons stood, head tilted skeptically. “I do not question that something must be done, High Minko, but is now the time? We are late into fall. Most of the young men are up hunting, laying in meat for the winter while their families collect hickory and beech nuts. The berries are ripe, and people are spread all over the country.” He gestured at the Albaamo, Amber Bead, who stood behind him. “We must have all the food laid in that we can get. If not, how can we feed those hungry mouths robbed of their harvests when the White Arrow Chahta burned it?”
Amber Bead nodded his agreement, shooting a curious glance at Flying Hawk.