“I am not tired. Not at all. What need do I have of sleep?” Two Petals asked herself with a sigh as she stared up into the night sky. The young woman had hollow eyes, her face lined with fatigue. Her head kept nodding, and she’d jerk before blinking stupidly.
Trader laughed as he puffed reflectively on his pipe.
Old White sat with a buffalo robe around his shoulders, his hands extended to the flames. Firelight played across his aged features. Was it just the exhaustion, or was his face more drawn, his eyes sadder? Trader drew from his pipe and wondered.
“Storm is coming,” Old White noted, glancing up at the clouds.
“Cold wind from the north, dark clouds moving up over it from the south.” Trader gave the sky a slit-eyed appraisal. “My guess is freezing rain come morning. Should make travel miserable.”
Old White grunted in humorless agreement.
Trader suspected the old man wanted nothing more than to sleep for three days straight. Then he, too, looked up at the night. Dark and tortured, it threatened rain. Heavy clouds—menacing and swollen—were rolling up from the gulf. The air carried the scent of moisture, and here, so close to the earth, it had grown thick, cold, and still after having blown down from the north that entire day.
The three of them sat around a crackling fire, backs to logs that other travelers had drawn up at the terraced campsite. Their two canoes rested at the edge of their vision, where the creek flowed. Thick ropes were tied from the bows to the trees in case rain raised the creek waters high enough to float the craft.
The morning of their departure from Rainbow City, the canoe landing had been packed with enough people that the crush knocked over a ramada. Too many volunteers came forward to pull them upriver. A lottery had to be held. They hadn’t pushed the canoes out into the Tenasee River’s water until almost midday, but the paddlers made up for it, arriving at Cane Break Town just after dark. Then it all started again.
Trader laughed as he stared at the fire. “I don’t think a single Yuchi has what he started out with. We could have saved a lot of work if we’d just told everyone to switch households.”
“I’ve never seen such a thing,” Old White agreed as he reached for his own pipe. “They’ll be talking about us for years. Kind of pleasing, actually.”
The Yuchi men who were traveling with them had a roaring fire a stone’s throw to the south. They, too, looked exhausted, having expended unflagging energy towing the two canoes upstream. Word had traveled upriver like a wind-borne leaf, and as the party passed, people would appear on the banks, waving and calling greetings. The Yuchi paddlers had waved back, then expended their efforts against the current, making a show of their strength and energy for the spectators.
They had been on the river for four days, now. Travel had been slow because it seemed that a Yuchi town lay at the end of each day’s journey. And, at each, they had been honored, feasted, and kept up late into the night, telling stories. Mostly, it was Old White who related his adventures as the Seeker. Night after night, the old man stood beside a fire in some crowded Council House, his sonorous voice eliciting gasps of disbelief from his listeners. But Two Petals had drawn her own crowds, evoking awe and reverence as people asked her questions, listened intently to her backward answers, and then struggled to interpret the Power behind her words.
Trader glanced down at Swimmer, flopped on his side, paws twitching as he chased something in his Dreams. Then Trader looked out at the Gray Fox River—their route up to the portage that would take them to the headwaters of the Horned Serpent.
“I have a question.” Old White lit his pipe and puffed.
“For me or Two Petals?”
“I am Contrary, now,” she said through a yawn. “You no longer see Two Petals.”
“Right,” Trader replied. “I forget. It will take a while.”
Old White blew smoke toward the fire. “That last cast at the chunkey game. You gave me a look, trying to tell me something. I thought you were going to miss on purpose.”
Trader expelled a weary breath. “Honestly, I didn’t know what would happen. I was torn, Seeker. Born-of-Sun made me a very good offer. We could have stayed at Rainbow City, Traded from there, built lives. They would have made Two . . . the Contrary welcome among them.”
“It surprised me that you didn’t look worried. From the way you and the high chief were talking, congratulating each other, I wasn’t sure that you had your heart in it.”
“Oh, I did, Seeker, believe me. When I’m on the chunkey court, I play to win. I really wanted to see which of us was better.” He laughed at himself. “The night before the match, I was all tied in knots. Worried like I had never been worried before. Then, when I went out to practice, Born-of-Sun joined me. We talked, and I suddenly realized, the best thing to do was enjoy myself. So I did. I gave myself over to fate. If I were to lose, it would be the will of Power. And as a result, I played brilliantly. I can’t remember enjoying a game more.”
“And that final cast?”
“That look I gave you, it was surrender. I didn’t know what was right. Should we go on to Split Sky City and face whatever terrible thing awaits us? Or was it better that we stay with the Yuchi? So I was trying to tell you: ‘Here it is.’ Then I made my cast. But just at the last moment, I closed my eyes, letting the lance seek its own path. I didn’t make that throw. I let Power do it.”
“And shattered the lance.”
“Which I regret!” He gestured with his pipe stem. “That was the best lance I’d ever made. It will take time to craft one as good.”
Old White nodded, a look of relief on his face. “The Contrary knew. She tried to tell me. Stone would shatter wood.”
Trader sighed, remembering his complete calm. “We are destined to arrive at Split Sky City.”
Old White blew smoke up at the threatening sky. “What did you think of that messenger, Bullfrog Pipe? Was that his name?”
Trader shrugged. “I made him memorize my message word for word. He was quick. He had it after two attempts. We talked some about how long it would take for you and me to Trade our way through the Chaktaw and make our way up the Black Warrior to Split Sky City. Assuming we don’t have some unforeseen problem, he should arrive sometime before we get there.”
“I’m still not sure that later wouldn’t be better.”
“We talked about this.”
“I know. I’d just like to be sure that the Sky Hand honor the white arrow.”
“Seeker, anyone who refuses to honor the white arrow would bring disaster down on their heads. No, Bullfrog Pipe will be quite safe. And once his message is delivered, the Council will be expecting us to come from the north. I was explicit. Bullfrog Pipe is only to tell them that I’m coming to make restitution for Rattle’s death.”
“Well, it will lay the groundwork for our final meeting with the Council.”
For a long time they sat and smoked, each lost in his thoughts. Trader noted that Two Petals had drifted off to sleep. She looked so delicate in the firelight. Her glossy black hair hung around her; a peaceful expression had settled on her smooth face. Lately she had come to his Dreams. More often than not, it ended in some erotic Dance in which her naked body hovered just beyond the reach of his straining manhood.
It’s just that you’re a man and she’s an attractive woman. Forget it, she’s Contrary.
“The Kala Hi’ki says that a Horned Serpent lives under Split Sky City in the Black Warrior River,” Old White said suddenly. “He told me the story of his escape. According to him, he died, and Horned Serpent took him to the Underworld and healed his wounds. Then it left him on the banks of the Tenasee for his people to find.”
Trader lifted an eyebrow, happy for a distraction. “Then, maybe we’d better not go to Split Sky City.”
“Oh?”
“You’ve heard the stories. Horned Serpents are supposed to be enamored of copper. There are legends that if you can follow one down to its lair, you would find a huge cache of copper. I’ve heard that for copper, Horned Serpents will do great favors, grant wishes and Power to anyone who can meet their price.” Trader narrowed an eye. “Even drag an enemy’s canoe underwater and drown someone.”
Old White gave him a tired sigh. “Beware, Trader. Sometimes I think you covet that copper more than your own life.”
He chuckled. “That’s all right. Giving up the copper might be worth it if I could see a real Horned Serpent. In all my travels, I should have seen at least one. Several times, I thought I had, but closer investigation proved they were just submerged logs. How about you? Ever seen a Horned Serpent, or Tie Snake?”
Old White shook his head. “Not without the help of Spirit plants or a high fever.” He paused. “But then, I never tried luring one in with copper, either.”
They enjoyed a companionable silence before Old White added, “I have gone to places—caves, springs, empty canyons—where people have sworn Spirit beasts lived, but none ever appeared to me in this world. Over the years, I’ve grown skeptical. On the other hand, it doesn’t matter where you go, people believe these things. Whether it is Sedna, at the bottom of the sea, or Nanabush in the far northeast, none have appeared to me.” He smiled. “When the Katsinas came to me to tell me to go home, my souls were floating with the Power of a cactus button.”
“I don’t know that plant.”
“From the far south, in the desert, north and west of the Azteca. The Huichol call the Spirit Peyote. I have some if you would like to try it sometime. But the point is: I think the world of the Spirit beasts lies side by side with ours. Remember our discussion of the Healer’s bits of bone? We are separated, kept apart by some barrier I do not understand. One must pass through the portals to move from this world to the next. In the case of the Kala Hi’ki he had to die first. Because he did, he sees out of that world into ours.”
“So, they can see us, but we can’t see them.” Trader nodded. It figured. All of life had rules. “Is that why Power is sending us to Split Sky City? Because we can do what some Spirit cannot?”
“That would be my guess.”
“How are we supposed to know what to do?”
Old White glanced at Two Petals. “Ask the Contrary. She sees things we do not. Hears voices beyond our human ears. Through her, they will tell us when the time comes.”
Trader nodded, remembering Old White’s misinterpretation of the stone and wood statement during the chunkey game. “If we are smart enough to understand.”
Old White was nodding off, his eyes half-closed.
Trader yawned. “Time to sleep.”
But after he rolled into his robes, his Dreams were troubled. In them, he killed his brother over and over.
Two days of freezing rain had left Split Sky City sodden, cold, and miserable. People had huddled around their fires in an effort to avoid stepping out into the cold. Ice had rimed pestles, ramada roofs, and any other object left outside. It had coated the ground, making travel difficult. Finally the weather had broken, the clouds retreating to the north. At first opportunity, Smoke Shield had called out his Hickory Moiety men.
The Albaamaha councilor called Amber Bead stood at the edge of the plaza and watched the Chikosi war chief berate his warriors as they raced back and forth on the stickball field. Then he glanced up at the sky, seeing the puffy white clouds scudding away. The ice melted, dripping into puddles from thatched roofs and making travel under the trees a nasty endeavor. The Hickory Moiety stickball players were having a miserable time of it, slipping and sliding more than running, catching, and casting. Most of the men were soaked, streaked with grass stains, and splotched with mud.
Mikko Amber Bead was old, nearing fifty winters. He wore an old white hunting shirt, the image of Tailed Man—one of the Albaamaha culture heroes—hanging down over it from a thong on his neck. Faded starburst tattoos could be seen on his withered cheeks. His feet were clad in grass-stuffed moccasins for warmth. That morning he’d pulled his hair up in a conservative bun and pinned it with a turkey-bone awl.
For the last ten winters he had served the southern Albaamaha clans as their voice in the Chikosi Council. Most thought him little more than a Sky Hand lackey, having but a faint idea of the role he played in his people’s resistance. Amber Bead liked it that way. As long as the Chikosi considered him to be their little lapdog, he learned things. Most of what he learned he had been able to turn deftly against the conqueror’s interests.
“You run like a bunch of women!” Smoke Shield cried in frustration.
“Yes, but the women won,” Amber Bead added smugly to himself. He cast a glance back over his shoulder and shook his head. Of course the Hickory warriors were practicing. They’d just lost the most humiliating game in recent memory. Rumor had it that Smoke Shield had bet everything, even down to his shirt, and lost it all. Even his slave, Morning Dew—his prize from the White Arrow Town raid—was now Heron Wing’s possession. The very thought of Smoke Shield’s loss brought a light-hearted joy to Amber Bead’s breast.
Amber Bead tried to see the pattern in all this. One moment Smoke Shield is at the height, and the next, here he is, at the bottom. Rumors were circulating that Flying Hawk had given the man half of his clothes so that he didn’t have to appear in public wearing a slave’s shirt.
But what did that mean for the future? Fact was, losing a stickball game was of only passing interest. Great wealth was gambled every season on the games. Clans were destitute one season, wealthy the next. It was the flux of things, dictated by Power. Fortunes rose, and in an instant they vanished.
None of it meant that Smoke Shield wouldn’t be confirmed as high minko should anything happen to Flying Hawk. That it hadn’t yet was either a tribute to Smoke Shield’s affection for his uncle—which Amber Bead doubted—or the knowledge that he might face embarrassing questions prior to the Council’s approval.
That being the case, just what was Smoke Shield waiting for? He had had only limited success so far in whipping the Council into a fervor against the Albaamaha. When it came to politics, the enemy closest to home was the one you wanted to pick on. The threat was more immediate than, say, blaming the Charokee far off to the northeast.
Amber Bead wound his way through the clutter of houses and out the south gate. He nodded pleasantly to the warrior stationed there, and had almost reached his house when a travel-stained young man stepped out, calling, “Mikko? Could I speak with you?”
Amber Bead noted the mud, the soggy moccasins, and the soaked cape the man wore. The youth had his damp hair in a tight bun, pinned with a wooden skewer. Other than a belt pouch, he carried no other pack.
“Come from far, have you?”
The man nodded, a haggard look about him. “Mikko, I am Bull Fish, of the Bobcat Clan. I come from Bowl Town. My mother is Slick Pole, of the Flat Rock lineage. I have news for your ears only.”
Amber Bead wasn’t sure, but the man’s legs seemed to be trembling. Exhaustion? “Come. My house is this way.”
He took the lead, but from the corner of his eye he could see that loose-jointed walk characteristic of an exhausted runner. At his door, he glanced this way and that, ensuring that no one seemed to be paying attention, and gestured young Bull Fish in. The fellow nodded appreciatively and lowered himself by the hearth, extending cold hands to the warm air above the coals.
“If you will give me a moment, I’ll add some wood to that. Have you eaten?”
“No, Elder. I came here as fast as I could.”
“Just a moment then.” Amber Bead tossed some wood on his fire and stepped out the door, using the trip to his niece’s house next door as an opportunity to look around and ensure that no one was lingering close to his walls.
After borrowing half a cooked turkey and a bowl of beans, Amber Bead returned, taking a final look around. No one lurked behind the screen of his latrine, or behind the woodpile.
Entering, Amber Bead found his guest gratefully absorbing the fire’s heat. Bull Fish looked up, abashed. “Excuse me, Mikko, but I seem to be leaving mud on your floor. I should take these moccasins off.”
“Do not worry about the floor. The matting will sweep clean. What’s the point of having kin if they can’t care for an old man’s house? But do take your moccasins off. Use that stone there and prop them so the heat dries them. Meanwhile, eat, and then, when all is well, you can tell me your story.”
He watched the young man toss an offering of meat into the fire, and then utter a prayer for the turkey’s soul. He did the same for the beans, thanking the Spirit of the plants.
Well, at least he’s devout. From Bull Fish’s clothes, and the wooden image of Tailed Man that he wore on his necklace, Amber Bead could readily believe he was from Bowl Town. A great many interesting rumors were circulating out of the north these days.
When Bull Fish finished, he tossed final offerings to the fire, smiled weakly, and said, “If I may, great Mikko. Might I use your toilet?”
“Out back.” He nodded approval. “Oh, and while you’re out there, you might just take one last look around.”
Bull Fish hesitated, momentarily confused, then caught his meaning. “Of course.”
Amber Bead waited, collecting his thoughts. Something about the young man’s manner spoke of great excitement. As if he’d been bursting with news. Ah, well, all in good time.
When Bull Fish reentered, he propped his bare feet before the fire, and sighed. “The food will make me sleepy. I ran all night.”
“To tell me what?”
“You have heard the allegations about Red Awl’s capture and murder by Smoke Shield?”
“I have.” Amber Bead leaned forward. “You must understand, while I do not put such a thing beyond Smoke Shield’s capacity for stupidity, it will take more than just producing his weapons and Red Awl’s widow standing up to make accusations. We need the body. Some sort of actual proof of the deed.”
Bull Fish smiled. “You have heard that Fast Legs was the second warrior?”
“I have, but the mysterious Fast Legs is missing.”
“Not anymore.” Bull Fish lowered his voice. “We have him!”
Amber Bead’s heart skipped. “You killed Fast Legs? Gods, if this doesn’t play out right that could turn on you like grabbing a cottonmouth’s tail! Who knows of this thing?”
The young man raised a cunning brow. “Elder, please, we are smarter than that. He’s alive. Oh, granted, his leg is badly broken, but his black heart is still beating in his chest.”
Amber Bead sank to a seat, stunned at the implications. “How did you do this thing?”
“First we set a trap, and then we lured him into it. Lotus Root was incredibly brave. We let the fool believe he was undiscovered. He even took the food we set aside for him in our granary. The plan was, if nothing else, we’d poison it.”
“Where is he now?”
“In a hunter’s shack a couple of hands’ travel west of Bowl Town. We are taking special precautions, keeping an eye on the Chikosi. If any of them take off to hunt, we’ll have plenty of warning. We’ve made sure that Chief Sun Falcon doesn’t suspect a thing.”
“Fast Legs didn’t consult with him?”
“No.” Bull Fish frowned. “That was odd, too. You’d think that he would have gone there, demanded Lotus Root, and had Sun Falcon do his dirty work for him. Sun Falcon is Chief Clan, after all, a cousin to High Minko Flying Hawk. Instead Fast Legs lurked out in the forest like the animal he is.”
“There is a reason Sun Falcon wasn’t alerted. He knows nothing of this. No one does. Smoke Shield did this against the orders of the Council. Don’t you people hear anything up there?”
“Our representative to the Chikosi Council is dead, Mikko!”
“Keep your voice down. You are welcome to your passions. I have my own. But that doesn’t mean shouting them at the top of your lungs is either smart, or necessary.”
The young man looked chastened.
Amber Bead considered. “So, we have War Chief Smoke Shield’s bow and arrows, Lotus Root’s accusation, and Fast Legs. Better yet, no one knows. The question now is how do we use it all?”
“We sneak our mikkos from up and down the river to see this man, hear the accusation, and inspect the war chief’s arrows, that’s what. Then, when the time is right, our people storm the Chikosi, and they serve us for a while.”
Amber Bead felt the corner of his lip quivering. “Is that how you people see this playing out?”
“Mikko,” Bull Fish pleaded, “it is our time! This is a sign, sent by Abba Mikko above, for the Albaamaha to reclaim our land.”
“I see. Tell me, has Sun Falcon acted in some atrocious manner in the last couple of moons? Anything I wouldn’t have heard about?”
“He’s still the same arrogant Chikosi he ever was.”
“But he hasn’t beaten any of our people? Raped our women after dragging them from their husbands’ beds? Hasn’t defiled any of our temples?”
“No. He’s just arrogant. Thinks we’re beneath him. He even has Albaamaha who grovel and go whimpering at his feet. Those people, we tell nothing.”
“How many Albaamaha do you know who go groveling?”
“Too many!”
Amber Bead nodded. “Yes, my young friend, and that is exactly the problem. Unlike some Chikosi, Sun Falcon is a just man.”
Bull Fish glared up. “We thought you were on our side! Red Awl was the one who constantly called for patience, who wanted to compromise. Look where that got him! We heard you were the one who chafed under the Chikosi burden basket.”
Amber Bead fingered his chin, nodding. “Chafe? Oh, yes, I do. Am I willing to undermine the Chikosi at any opportunity? Definitely. Here’s the thing you must know: If we strike at the Chikosi, we will be crushed. This is exactly the sort of thing Smoke Shield is hoping for. An Albaamaha revolt would shoot him onto the high minko’s stool up there in that palace yonder. It would solidify the Council’s support.”
“We outnumber them!”
“But they are better warriors.”
“We trapped Fast Legs! The fool ran right into it.”
“You manipulated one tired man in the forest.” Amber Bead raised his hands, stalling any outburst. “I am not your enemy. Do not mistake me. I do not like the Chikosi. I want to see them gone from our country, but that time hasn’t arrived. They must be weakened, made vulnerable. We just avoided one calamity; I would not instigate another.”
“They are vulnerable. You proved that when you murdered their captives.”
“I murdered their captives? Is that the story told upriver?”
“Who else? It is thought that you had Paunch do it. He’s missing, isn’t he? What better person to sneak in through the fog and drive a knife into the captives’ hearts?”
A cold chill ran down Amber Bead’s back. “First, let me make this painfully clear: I had nothing to do with the captives’ deaths! You must go back and tell everyone who will listen. No Albaamaha had a hand in that action. And it certainly wasn’t Paunch! He’s out hiding in the forest somewhere because the Chikosi think he had something to do with Crabapple’s attempt to warn White Arrow Town of Smoke Shield’s raid. Do you understand?”
“Then who did?” Bull Fish seemed perplexed.
Amber Bead sighed, fully aware of the danger he was in. “To the best of my knowledge, the Chahta did it. And, in the end, I fervently hope it was them. Let the Chikosi distract themselves raiding Chahta towns. I need you to make sure that everyone upriver knows it wasn’t us. And, in Abba Mikko’s sacred name, do not attach my name—or Paunch’s—to it in any way.”
“Why? It strengthens your position among our people.”
“And will get me hung from one of their squares if the Chikosi hear of it.” He shook his head. “No, even if I could have done it, I wouldn’t. Listen. Understand. The Chikosi consider me to be an old, amenable fool. I make sure they think of me that way. No one suspects the old dog that sleeps by their door to be a wolf. If they blame me for the death of the prisoners, you will get some lackey appointed in my place that will lick their hands, and wag his tail at any Chikosi order that comes along.”
“Then why do you resist using Fast Legs against them?”
“I don’t. I just can’t figure a way to do it right now without getting our people killed.” He looked at the perplexed young man. “Don’t you see? We need them weakened before we strike.”
“Our Albaamaha could take Bowl Town in a single night. We outnumber them. All we have to do is sneak in, unlatch the gate, and kill them in their houses.”
“You have planned this?”
Bull Fish nodded. “All we need is approval from the mikkos. And when enough people have heard Lotus Root’s story about how Red Awl was killed, we will have it.”
By the Ancestors’ bones, the man was right. They probably could take Bowl Town. Red Awl had been a respected man there. But what about Wind Town? Chief Buffalo Killer and his Albaamaha depended on each other. How many would side with the rebels? Yes, the Albaamaha could take towns up and down the river, but how could they crack Split Sky City’s hard shell? The fact was, they couldn’t.
How do I buy time? “Your people are committed to this?”
“We are.”
Amber Bead broke out in bitter laughter.
“What do you think is so funny?”
“I have waited all of my life to see our people united against the Chikosi. And now, when the gods have finally granted me my wish, it is at the worst time possible. The joke is a cruel one.”
“I see no joke here. We have the means to destroy the Chikosi.”
Time. He needed time. That and a convenient miracle. “I need you to take this message back to your leaders: I sit in the Chikosi Council. I hear things, know things, that they do not. I am in the unique position to know when the Chikosi are the weakest. Will they be willing to wait for word from me before they strike Bowl Town? If they will, I will do what I can to throw the support of the southern Albaamaha to their side. But here is my condition: If you act before the time is right, I will urge the southern mikkos to side with the Chikosi. I will do this not because I do not share your goals, but to save the lives of my people from senseless slaughter.”
“You would act against your own people?” Bull Fish cried incredulously.
“I would act to save my people, you fool!” Then he lowered his voice. “You have my message.”
Bull Fish glared at him through hostile eyes. “I will take that message to my leaders. They will send you an answer by the full moon.”
Amber Bead nodded. At least he had some time, but how on earth could he forestall a conflagration and still be rid of the hated Chikosi?