People of the Weeping Eye(95)
“Not just your joy at hearing him scream?”
“No, I …” What? He thought furiously. Of course it would have been better to bring the man back. But in the forest, despite Blood Skull’s wiser counsel, he’d wanted the man to pay. “I was thinking of the effect when the Albaamaha saw one of their own among the captives. It would have spread like fire in a dry field. The plotters would have been warned.”
Flying Hawk nodded, expression blank. “Perhaps you were right.”
“What of the captives?” For three long days, his mind had been fixed on Morning Dew. Perhaps not tonight, but soon, he would be living his Dreams of her. “Were the women guarded as I instructed?”
“I, myself, appointed the guards. The crowd has been at the men, though. I made sure that the guards tempered their enthusiasm. For the most part, the people have shown remarkable restraint.”
Smoke Shield nodded. His sore stomach made a rumbling as he tied his best white apron to his hips. Food would calm any last upset from the button snakeroot drink. Slipping on moccasins, he tied white swan feathers to his shoulders. Finally, Smoke Shield removed his honorary arrows from their otterhide case and slipped them through his hair.
“Let me help you with the paint. On this day, it will be my honor.” Flying Hawk took the paint box, opening it. The bright colors—yellow, red, black, blue, green, and white—had been mixed with bear grease.
When all was ready, the Hopaye watched them form up in two lines; then he exited the door. The growing murmurs of the crowd went still with anticipation.
Smoke Shield’s heart had begun to pound. Flying Hawk, noticing his excitement, said, “Yes, heady stuff this. In memory, no one has achieved such a victory!”
The Hopaye’s voice carried on the cold air. “My people, the balance of Power is restored. I ask you to greet your brave warriors.”
A shout went up as Flying Hawk and Smoke Shield stepped into the sunlight. The plaza was crowded; people, wearing clothing in all the colors of the rainbow, waved, jumped, and shouted. As they emerged, Tishu Minko Seven Dead and the clan chiefs fell in behind them. Warriors called to their wives and families. Smoke Shield saw that Heron Wing and Violet Bead stood at the front of the crowd. Unlike the others, they only smiled, acting the part of proper high-status wives. Well and fine—at least they were good for that.
In the rear, handpicked warriors carried the spoils of war. Some brandished scalps, fleshed now and stretched in willow hoops; another bore the White Arrow war medicine; then came warriors carrying the shields, bows, and other trophies, all held high so the crowd could see them.
They made the ritual walk north to the base of the tishu minko’s mound, then east, toward the great mound.
People parted as they neared the captives. Smoke Shield, head high, chin up, studied them from the corner of his eye. As expected, Biloxi looked the most pitiful, weak like a wounded puppy. Screaming Falcon, however, maintained an air of dignity, studiously ignoring the proceedings. But Smoke Shield had eyes only for Morning Dew. She hunched on the ground at the end of her rope, head down, face hidden by her dirty long hair.
Soon, my little bird. Very soon, he promised himself. The route turned south past the Tree of Life with its red and white spirals, and proceeded to the tchkofa with its guardian posts.
Smoke Shield’s stomach growled as he caught the scent of food over the packed odors of humanity. Then he was climbing the steps, passing the guardian poles, and entering the recesses of the tchkofa. Inside, the blazing fire’s heat came as a relief from the cold. He directed his warriors to places of honor beside the fire, the clan chiefs taking their positions behind them.
When all had assembled, Flying Hawk lit the Eagle Pipe, calling the invocation. One by one, Smoke Shield and his warriors took a pull on the pipe, blowing the sacred smoke to the heavens.
The prayers and rituals seemed endless, but finally food was brought in—one fragrant bowl after another—and placed before the warriors. Each man reached in, tossing some morsel into the fire, sharing his feast and appreciation with Power.
Before he could so much as take a bite, Smoke Shield was called upon to relate the story of the raid.
He stood, all eyes fixed on him. The Eagle Pipe was lit, and he took a deep drag of the sweet smoke and blew it out through his nostrils. Raising his hands, he said, “Makatok! I shall tell you the story of how, blessed by Power, we have broken the hearts and souls of the White Arrow people!” As his men ate, he related their reasons for war, told of their preparations, and of the journey to the White Arrow lands.
“And then I reconsidered,” he told the rapt audience. “From my scouts, I learned that the marriage was over, and that all manner of people had begun to leave White Arrow Town.”