People of the Weeping Eye(91)

She choked on the sobs in her throat. Her vision narrowed, as if she stared down a long tunnel. Gray haze closed in from all sides. Her last thought was of falling … .





Eighteen

Old White blinked his eyes open and found them gummy. The Council House had been smoky, and the feasting, stories, and Dancing had lasted until late. He yawned, shifted in the finely tanned buffalo hide he’d been provided, and stared up at the smoke-hazed ceiling. The Inoca had been exemplary hosts, and memories of the evening played between his souls.

After the smoking of the pipe, invocations had been made to the “Master of Life,” as they called the Creator, and to the numerous manitous that filled the Inoca’s Spirit world. Three Bucks had given a long oratory about the raid, and the scalp had been passed from hand to hand before being given to the murdered woman’s bereaved family. Then endless bowls of stewed puppy—an Inoca favorite—had been followed by boiled squash, sunflower soup, roast venison and duck, hominy corn, and berry bread made of white acorn flour.

His Trade had been brisk as he dispensed pieces of worked shell, quartz crystals for scrying the future, and pieces of mica from the goods Silver Loon had given him. In return, he had amassed a collection of the striking wooden bowls the Inoca crafted. Each was thin walled, the deep dish carved in the shape of an animal. His favorite was the rendition of Beaver, its eyes inlaid with mussel shell. The booty had filled a large net bag.

Two Petals had been a sensation, the center of attention. Possessed of a frantic energy, she had almost vibrated, smiling, laughing while people asked her questions to hear the backward response. One by one they listened in awe, trying to decipher the meaning of her words. Things like, “The answer lies in the heart of a blue stone” or “Do not fly when the rain is falling.” Each of Two Petals’ pronouncements seemed to have great meaning as they were translated for the Inoca.

Old White had been awed himself, amazed at the Power that energized her. The look on her face had been euphoric.

For once, no one seemed interested in the stories the Seeker could tell about strange peoples he had visited, or the things he had seen. In retrospect, it had been rather pleasant to just sit, listen, and watch the rapt faces of the people.

Now fatigued from having slept poorly, and not for long, he stretched, yawned, and sat up. Scratching under his stringy gray hair, he looked around and froze. Two Petals’ bed had been rolled and was missing. The net bag filled with carved bowls was also gone. Not quite in a panic, Old White climbed stiffly to his feet, slipped his wooden pack over his shoulder, and retrieved his Trader’s staff.

He emerged into the day, the stone in his cloth bag banging reassuringly against his thigh. The sun was already high, and as he looked around the village, he could find no sign of Two Petals. Anxiously, he made the rounds inside the palisade, greeted only by several curious dogs and two wide-eyed little boys who giggled, then ran.

Old White hurried to the gate, passed through the narrow gap, and then down to the canoe landing. He couldn’t shake the memory that not a moon past, a young woman had been killed by raiders there.

As he stepped out of the trees, he slowed. Two Petals was sitting primly in the canoe, facing backward, the net bag with its bowls rising prominently atop the load.

“What are you doing here?”

“This is not the time to leave,” she told him, not even turning her head to look at him. “No indeed, I think we should dally all day. Eat their food, laugh, and drink.”

“Why? Are we in trouble?” He searched his memory for anything they might have done to sour their welcome.

“With the Inoca? Oh, yes, terrible trouble. That’s why we should stay. We should just be late, and forget journeying to Split Sky.”

“We should?”

“If we don’t stay, the Inoca will want to be rid of us forever.”

Confused, Old White muttered under his breath, “Just once, I would love to have a straight answer out of you.”

“All of my answers are crooked.”

“Ha! Got you. For once, you told it just the way it is.”

She gave him the same look she’d give an idiot.

Old White hesitated, glanced back toward the village. “It is considered rude to just up and leave.”

“Of course. No one thinks the ways of the manitou are mysterious.”

Well, that was a point. He could imagine how the story would grow over the coming moons. “The manitous came. Spent the night performing wondrous deeds, and in the morning, they were gone, leaving only their gifts.”

Old White bent down, arched his back, and began shoving the canoe. “You don’t want to get out and help an old man, do you?”