People of the Weeping Eye(56)

“In Power, yes. I’ve touched it, Danced with it. I’ve felt it rush through me like a hot wind. It’s gods that I no longer believe in.” He looked down at Two Petals’ slack face. “But then, you always thought I was a fool.”





“You could stay with me for a while.” Fox Squirrel’s words echoed between Trader’s souls as he used a broken branch to dig his copper out of its cache. The snow had ceased, the air crisp. Around him the forest dripped, and occasional bits of icy snow clattered as they fell from the branches. At the trail crossing, brown water swirled around his canoe. The forest was quiet, as if waiting, the Dreams of the trees hidden down in the roots beneath the frosty leaves.

“What do you think?” Trader asked Swimmer as the dog lifted a leg to pee on a sapling. “If I left the copper, no one would find it. For half the packs we’re carrying, Fox Squirrel would keep us for the winter.”

Swimmer cocked his head, probably the same way he would if listening to a lunatic.

“It’s a warm place to stay. And she liked you. Scratched your ears and belly like it was you giving her gifts instead of me.”

Swimmer turned his attention to sniffing a zigzag pattern down the trail. He seemed particularly interested in a set of turkey tracks that were fading in the melting snow.

Trader pulled the last of the dirt free and reached down for his pack. “Of course, the weather will break. These fall storms, they drop a couple of days of snow, then the air warms right up. Won’t be true cold for another moon.”

Swimmer came trotting back, his furry tail wagging. He stopped to pee on the same sapling, then switched sides and peed on it again.

“Just making sure, huh?”

Trader lugged the heavy copper down to the canoe and settled it. “Come, Swimmer. If I’m being an idiot, I’d best be about it.”

The dog jumped nimbly to the canoe, clambered onto the packs, and settled into his place on a fold of fabric Trader had placed for him. Trader pushed off, raising his paddle and driving the canoe into the current.

“Oh, I guess it’s not the last foolish mistake I’ll make in my life.” He nosed the canoe past the creek mouth and into the main channel. “Still, there’s something about her. Our dear Fox Squirrel has a certain spirit. And it’s not just the coupling. The thing is, she really likes men.”

He glanced at the dog. “Not all women like men. But I guess you wouldn’t know about that. I think it has to do with the people. Different people have different ways about how men and women deal with each other. Now, among my people, women are … well, they care for the house. That’s their duty. That and raising the children. Men make the decisions. I guess you’d say there’s a wall. A difference that’s bred into us. Men and women have to be so very careful not to get too close.”

Swimmer stared at him from under lifted eyebrows.

“No, I’m serious. Coupling is all right. As long as you’re married. And to each other. And it’s not too close to some sacred time. And you’re not trying to purify yourself to keep some lightning-blasted Power in balance with some other crazy Power. Rules, rules, rules. That’s what we have.”

He pondered that, swinging his paddle in a steady rhythm, reading the current.

“Makes you wonder how that all got started.” He nodded back toward the shore. “Fox Squirrel and I, we had fun. We coupled and talked, laughed, and talked some more, then we coupled.” He paused. “The thing is, I really enjoy spending time with her.”

Swimmer shuffled on his fabric and dropped his muzzle on his paws.

“Among my people, a man who spends too much time with a woman is considered weak. They believe that he picks up a woman’s ways, and his heart turns watery. Then you spend time in an A’khota village and they have women warriors. Not many, but women who go on battle walks, shoot arrows, and swing war clubs. Mention that among my people and they’ll think your head’s gone softer than your heart.”

Swimmer tapped his tail a couple of times.

“So,” Trader mused, “we’ll go to the lower river. Down past the Natchez and Caddo. I know of a band of Tunica down there where the women are as much fun as Fox Squirrel. Not as attractive, mind you, but willing.”

He frowned. “Of course, they don’t speak much Trader Tongue. You can get the point across: These furs for a night with you.” A pause. “Trouble is, after Fox Squirrel, lying with a woman who can’t talk to you just isn’t the same.”

From Swimmer’s expression, he wasn’t sure the dog believed him.