“That is good,” Pale Cat told him.
The Hopaye inspected the bowl, and when Smoke Shield’s vision cleared, he could see a worm wiggling in the bottom of the milky fluid.
“The purging brought this up. At some time in the fighting, some Chahta witch shot this into you.”
“Did he?” Smoke Shield sighed, raising his head to stare at the roof of the Men’s House. Around him, additions had been made to the relics of war that lined the walls. Some Chahta arrows, a shield, several medicine bundles, but most prominent of all, Blood Skull had placed the White Arrow war medicine atop a wooden stand. There lay the heart of White Arrow Town’s warriors, as surely as if Blood Skull had cut it from their breasts.
For three days now, Smoke Shield and his warriors had been fasting, drinking button snakeroot, and purging themselves. They had alternately steamed in the sweat lodge, and offered their prayers to the gods. The blood and rage of the war trail had to be purged from their bodies and souls. The process of balancing Power was both grueling and difficult. It took sacrifice and stoicism.
Pale Cat had overseen every aspect, ensuring that no man shirked his duty in following the rituals. The very health of the people depended upon it. As each ritual had been finished to Pale Cat’s satisfaction, he had ordered the warriors to leave the building. There, on cue, their wives and mothers had met them, forming two parallel lines. As the men emerged Singing and waving eagle wing fans, the women Danced, calling out their praises. Only then did the warriors reenter the Men’s House and begin the next phase of the rituals.
The whole thing is tedious, Smoke Shield thought. He had his own suspicions as to where the worm had come from. The Hopaye carried several small pouches of “medicine” tied to his waist, and Pale Cat was a well-known magician, the best sleight of hand Smoke Shield had ever seen. But he saw the effect it had on his men when bits of bloody feathers, old arrowheads, crystals, and other objects appeared in their vomit.
Were it up to him, he would have skipped most of the ordeal; but, being a leader, he endured. He was the first to fast, to sweat, and to drink the sacred tea. When this was over, let no man say he was not dedicated to the well-being of his people, or the Power that they cherished.
Smoke Shield looked up when the high minko entered; cheers broke from the warriors’ throats. Flying Hawk strode grandly across the floor, dressed in his ritual finery, white apron flashing. He had feathers tied to his arms, his copper headpiece shining atop his head. The turkey-tail mace was clutched in his right hand, and all of his small white arrows had been poked through his tight hair.
“I bring greetings to each of you,” he said as he walked up to the White Arrow war medicine box. Tapped lightly with his stone mace, the wood elicited a hollow sound. Then he turned, addressing the Hopaye. “I have taken the liberty of calling the people. I assume all has gone well?”
Pale Cat clasped his hands before him, bowing slightly. “It has, High Minko. These great warriors have approached their purification with the same dedication they have shown on the war trail.”
Flying Hawk glanced around, meeting Smoke Shield’s eyes. “We have much to do. A great feast has been cooked. The tishu minko has sent runners. The Council has been called.” He glanced at the Hopaye. “Would it be inappropriate if I led the warriors out myself?”
“It would be an honor,” Smoke Shield cried, hoping to forestall any last-minute “purification” that Pale Cat might want to inflict.
“And you shall walk by my side,” Flying Hawk said. “Has your slave brought you your things?”
“Thin Branch delivered them this morning.”
“Then by all means, dress!” Flying Hawk said jovially. “And I warn you all, look your best.”
Hoots and laughter burst out as the warriors flocked to the bags their relatives had brought. Fine aprons, feathers, copper jewelry, shell gorgets, paint boxes, and palettes appeared.
As Smoke Shield began to dress, Flying Hawk stepped over, lowering his voice. “The Council may be called upon to do more than praise your success. I have sent word out about the Albaamo you discovered, and his confession. As we speak, warriors are seeking the elder known as Paunch. I am hoping that we will have him before any alarm can be raised.”
“Good.” Smoke Shield considered. “How did you plan on handling this?”
“If found, he will be dragged in and made to talk. I want everyone to hear his treachery.” Flying Hawk gave him a disapproving look. “It would have helped if you had brought this Crabapple back alive.”
Smoke Shield waved it off. “I had other reasons.”