People of the Weeping Eye(41)

“Mikko?” came calls in his own language as people recognized him.

“I can say nothing,” he told the crowd that seemed to materialize out of the gloom. “The chiefs will make an announcement when the time comes.”

An old woman stepped out to block his path. “My daughter and her family were murdered at Alligator Town,” she cried harshly. “They will get blood, won’t they?” she asked, referring to the Chikosi.

He could see several Traders in the crowd. One could never trust the Traders. The only master they served was themselves and the Power of their Trade. “I can only say that the Sky Hand People take the outrage at Alligator Town very seriously.”

“Most of the dead were our people,” the old woman cried, raising a chorus of muttering assent.

“It’s the Chikosi,” another growled. “Always the Chikosi.”

“Hush,” someone rejoined. “Do you want them to hear? You’ll end up a slave, cleaning their chamber pots.”

“Someday,” another added ominously, “we’ll have our chance.”

“Enough,” Amber Bead said gently. “Leave this to the Sky Hand. Let them deal with it.”

“Figures we’d hear that from you,” a young man in the back replied. In the gloom Amber Bead couldn’t make out the speaker’s identity.

“Ah.” Amber Bead kept his voice reasonable. “Then perhaps you should walk through those gates, climb the Sun Stairs, and tell the high minko how to run his affairs. I’m sure he’s pacing the floor up there, waiting for some green Albaamo youth to come whisper wise counsel into his ear.” He got the laughter he wanted, then added, “When the time is right, you shall hear what decision has been made. Until then, I am tired, hungry, and wish to eat.” He paused just long enough before adding, “Alone!”

The crowd gave way as he walked boldly through.

“It had better be justice for our dead,” the old woman cried in a parting shot. “If not, there are others among us who will act.”

Amber Bead turned on his heel. “I know. Tensions are high. But do not start down a path that will lead us all to disaster!” He did his best to stare them down in the darkness, and received silence instead.

After a moment, he continued on his way, passing the last of the camps. Stepping off the trail, he skirted his small garden, the squash, pumpkin, and corn stalks brown and shriveled. His house, as benefited his position, was larger than most. Like two humped beehives joined at the hip, it was made of individual saplings sunk into the ground, then bent over and tied at the top. Green vines had been woven through the saplings to strengthen the walls, and thatch was tied over the whole.

Amber Bead ducked through the low doorway and straightened. No fire gleamed from his hearth. The boxes, matting, and sleeping bench made darker shadows. A faint reddish glow came from the doorway into his second room.

The savory smell of roasting catfish filled his house and brought the juices of anticipation to his mouth. Three people sat on the matting around the central fire: Old Paunch, Whippoorwill, and young Crabapple looked up as he entered.

“It is done?” Paunch asked by way of greeting.

“It is done, Paunch.”

Paunch looked at the youth. “Crabapple, go outside. Make sure that no one sneaks out of the dark to place his ear next to the wall. We need to talk without worry.”

“Yes, Uncle.” The youth jumped lithely to his feet, nodded respectfully to Amber Bead, and ducked out the doorway.

The girl, Whippoorwill, stood. She took Amber Bead’s elbow and helped him down as he took his seat on the rush matting. His bones cracked in the process, and he gasped with relief as he relaxed.

Behind him, his bed was a confused tangle of blankets on a waist-high pole bed built against the wall. Several cloth bags hung from the walls, and brownware ceramics made a disorderly collection under his bed. The catfish, wrapped in large basswood leaves, sizzled on a green willow rack, just high enough off the coals to keep from charring.

Whippoorwill reseated herself, her virgin’s skirt swaying. As was proper, she sat with her knees together while the men sat cross-legged. She had laid a muskrathide cape to one side. The red light bathed her face and skin, touching her full breasts ever so softly and casting shadows in the hollows behind her collarbone. She would have been a most attractive girl but for her large haunted eyes. Something in their depths sent a shiver down his spine. She seemed aloof, as if this world was but an illusion and her souls resided elsewhere.

“What have they decided?” Paunch asked.

“Smoke Shield will attack White Arrow Town. He has gone straight from the Council to the Men’s House to begin fasting and purifying himself for battle. He and what warriors remain will leave four days hence, and secretly travel to White Arrow Town.”