People of the Weeping Eye(9)

Old White withdrew his hand from the bag, extending it, fist closed. “Look closely. You have never seen fire held in a man’s hand like this.”

The war chief did as he was bid, bending down, a disbelieving frown on his wary face.

Old White opened his hand to display a red powder on his open palm.

Fast Palm sneered. “That’s not fire! Just some—”

Old White blew, jetting the powder into the war chief’s face.

Fast Palm darted back, taking a deep breath. “You old fool! You are about to find out just what my wrath—” He coughed, then sneezed, reaching up to rub his eyes. The coughing and sneezing intensified. When he could catch his breath, he wailed, shrieking, dropping his war club to paw at his eyes. Tears were streaming down his face. “Gods! It burns! It burns!”

Old White raised his staff as the warriors pressed forward, eyes wide, mouths open. “Leave him be. I have done no permanent harm, only taught him a painful lesson in respecting unknown elders. And, I hope, given him a dose of humility.”

War Chief Fast Palm sank to the ground, weeping, moaning, tears rubbed wetly over his cheeks as he pawed at his eyes, kicked, and coughed out of control. “Gods, it hurts! Stop it! Stop it!”

“Will you give me the woman?” Old White asked. He stared sidelong at a warrior who had half drawn an arrow that rested on his bow. Extending his staff, he added, “You’re next.” The warrior slackened his pull, swallowed hard, and stepped back slowly. The others watched their war chief’s misery through horror-widened eyes.

“Stop it!” Fast Palm cried, trying to blink his swollen red eyes. He’d smeared snot across his cheeks, but the coughing had weakened. “In the name of the gods, stop this!”

“I want the woman called Two Petals.”

“Yes! Yes! Anything!”

“And you will not try to retaliate, or I shall call the fire to burn forever in your lungs. It has had a taste of your souls now. I can send it back, even from a great distance, should you give me reason.”

“I agree!” Fast Palm whimpered.

Old White motioned to the warriors. “Bring water. Use a damp cloth and carefully wash his face. I have sent the fire away, but like flames smothered in a hearth, the heat will have to slowly dissipate.” He hesitated, leveling a hard finger on the warriors. “Do not make the mistake of thinking your war chief weak because of what happened here. A lesser man’s face would have melted and dripped from the bone like heated fat. He is strong, this one.”

Old White walked with the assurance of a Cahokian lord as he strode up to the palisade. Using the reprieve, the defenders had managed to slosh water on the burning brush that had been gnawing at the base of their palisade. He could see wary faces peering out from between slits in the log walls.

“I am Old White. I have stopped the attack. I have come for Two Petals.”

From behind the posts a voice asked, “Old White? The one they call the Seeker?”

“I am he.”

“You’re supposed to be a legend.”

“Then the legend has come for Two Petals.”

“How do we know this isn’t just one of Fast Palm’s tricks?”

“As soon as he stops crying, you can ask him.” He cocked his head. “I am only here for the girl.”

“What do you want with her?” an older, more suspicious voice called from within.

“I need her help on a journey.”

“And if we refuse?” the first asked.

Old White chuckled. “I will burn down your palisade and hand you over to your enemies. Perhaps War Chief Fast Palm will be more forgiving than I.”

“A moment, please,” the older man called back.

Old White could hear voices muttering back and forth. Within moments an old man emerged from behind the double-walled entry. He looked haggard, as if someone had cored a hole into his heart and let its contents leak out. His face sagged with a weary resignation. A fine beaverhide cape hung from his shoulders, and a medicine bag made from a raccoon hide was suspended on the knotted cord belt at his waist. His finely woven hunting shirt dropped to below his knees. Flower patterns made from small colored wooden beads had been sewn onto his sleeves, the breast, and the hem of the garment.

The old man glanced suspiciously at the hostile warriors who clustered around Fast Palm. Many of them glared menacingly in their direction. “How did you stop them?”

“With a breath across my palm. He’ll be all right … provided he doesn’t irritate me again.”

The old man narrowed his eyes, studying Old White. “Are you truly the Seeker?”

“I am called that.”