Morning Dew’s heart warmed. “I’ve heard some talk, too.”
“Children carry their parents’ gossip where prudent adults wouldn’t think to speak. What have you heard?”
“That many hope Screaming Falcon will finally break the Sky Hand People’s Power. The hope here, and among the other clans upriver, is that what the Sky Hand now possess will become ours. That our chiefs will sit inside the Chikosi palaces, and we shall control all the lands between the Natchez and the Ockmulgee.”
“That is a most ambitious future.”
“You don’t think we can do it?” Morning Dew stirred the hominy. Why did Mother always see the least instead of the most?
“Daughter, do you also understand the terrible risks involved? You have never seen the strength of the Sky Hand People. You don’t know what they—”
“Their high minko killed his brother! The same thing almost happened again. But for a poorly aimed blow, Smoke Shield would be a long-rotted corpse by now. How can Power support a people whose rulers keep murdering their kin? The Chief Clan of the Sky Hand is tainted by blood and chaos.”
Sweet Smoke chuckled to herself. “Perhaps you are right. By Breath Giver’s shining light, I hope it is so.”
Morning Dew emphasized her point with the stir stick. “People are coming from all over for my marriage. They are going to see, Mother. This is more than just a joining between Screaming Falcon and me. We will use this as an opportunity for others to decide that we can lead them.”
“You’ve discussed this with your brother?”
“Biloxi understands completely. He has sent for hunters to bring in extra game. He has already talked to the warriors, and they will be at their best. He intends to hold ballgames after the wedding.”
“I heard. I didn’t think it wise. And he didn’t tell me that the games were to showcase our strength. What if we lose? Hmm? Think of that?”
“Mother, you have to believe in us. In our Power.” She grinned up. “Besides, you know that no one can whip us in stickball. You’re the best woman player among our people. And you taught me everything you know.”
Sweet Smoke’s expression hardened. “I am still matron, head of our clan. I wish he would have discussed this with me.”
Morning Dew shot a glance back toward the Men’s House, seeing Biloxi Mankiller, resplendent in a feathered headdress, his white apron immaculate, as he strode toward them at the head of a procession of warriors. “Well, here he comes. And dressed as if for some ceremonial occasion. What do you think this means?”
Sweet Smoke turned, standing straight and tall as the procession passed the Sun Stairs leading up to the palace. Most of the warriors laughed, making mocking gestures of obeisance to the suffering captives. Behind them, Morning Dew caught sight of two naked women, heads bowed as they shuffled along.
Biloxi Mankiller was indeed resplendent. Upon closer examination the headdress was a gaudy thing, filled with bristling white heron feathers intermixed with blue, green, and red that shimmered in the light. Splays of turkey feathers had been tied to each shoulder, and strings of polished copper beads gleamed around his neck. A large white whelk shell pendant depicting Spider bringing the sacred fire down from Breath Giver hung on his chest.
Beside Biloxi came Screaming Falcon’s old uncle, the tishu minko, Bow Mankiller. He was a stately man, tall, with gray hair bound up in a warrior’s bun. He carried only a chunkey stone, the one he used in ritual games, in his right hand. His white apron sported a falcon—its wings spread, beak open—woven into the fabric. Feather plumes from an osprey were tied like sunbursts to his shoulders.
“Greetings, Matron,” Bow Mankiller called formally as the party came to a stop.
The warriors spread out to either side, the disheveled captives standing with wrists bound before them. The women never looked up. Bruises could be seen, mottled black, green, and yellow on their dirty skin.
“A good day to you, Tishu Minko.” Sweet Smoke had adopted a serene look, though Morning Dew knew that she, too, was burning with curiosity.
Biloxi stepped over, taking his place slightly to the right and ahead of his mother. He had his chin up, as if expectant. Morning Dew could read the barely suppressed excitement behind his eyes.
Drawing himself up, Bow Mankiller cradled the round disk of his chunkey stone. “From the beginning times, it has been our custom to provide the bride’s clan with gifts as a demonstration of our goodwill. In view of the upcoming marriage which will once again join our clan with yours, I have come to offer a small token of our appreciation. We offer these slaves, taken in our recent attack, as but the first of our gifts. We hope that they serve you well.”