Two Petals watched her feet as she walked down to the canoe landing. She was hardly aware of the few Traders who cooked over blue-smoking fires beneath the ramadas. They watched her with only mild interest, their attention on the fish, clams, and breads that they cooked.
She didn’t return the stare. No, her eyes were fixed on her feet.
Steps were a marvel. Each time one of her feet touched the earth, it was contact, a distinct moment in time. Like the beating of her heart, it marked that one instant of existence. Looking back in the damp ground, she could see the smudges where her moccasins had marked the earth.
Carefully, she stepped backward, placing her foot just so, shifting her balance to the position she had once held.
Why does time not move backward with me? Why can’t I retrieve that moment in the past?
It puzzled her, because in the Dream, she had seen all of this unfold. Lived it backward.
“The rules of the souls differ from those of the flesh,” one of the voices told her.
She had ceased to look around for the sources of those disembodied speakers. Better to just accept them. She didn’t need that confusion, not now that all of the threads were so closely woven. All that remained was for Power to pull the weave tight.
When her souls looked into a future that was her Dream past, she could see it all rushing toward her.
“Are you ready?” a musical voice asked.
This time, she knew exactly where it had come from. She raised her eyes to the river, stepping carefully as she walked to the water’s edge.
“Trader knows now.”
“Good,” the voice told her. “Are you being a great rock? Allowing the souls to wash past you?”
“Yes. The Kala Hi’ki taught me well.”
“He is a good man. He sees through my eyes.”
“I think he misses you.”
“His souls will return someday.”
“I know.”
“Are you frightened?”
“Yes.”
“Don’t be. All of your questions will be answered.”
She blinked her eyes, seeing a swirl out in the current, a sucking curl of water that reflected the early-morning light. She stepped into the cold waves, feeling the chill waters of the river trickling through the threads in her moccasins.
“Not yet,” the soothing voice told her. “But soon.”
She nodded, her heart beating urgently in her chest.
“He comes.”
“I know.” She stood there, watching the current. The river seemed to flex like a living thing. When she closed her eyes, she could feel the power of it. Could sense the life it sheltered, like glowing Spirits. Her souls could almost touch the fish, the water plants, and turtles sleeping deep in the mud. The water insects burrowed, and crawfish, clams, and mussels glowed like a thousand stars. They were nothing compared to his presence.
“Soon,” she whispered, half in dread.
“You have other concerns now.”
“Yes.”
She heard the man’s feet as he approached along the beach. Where her steps had been light and careful, his pounded, as though hammering anger into the earth. Then she caught the easy sound of his breathing. She knew the moment he saw her, felt the hot curiosity in his eyes as he appraised her, and slowed to a stop. When he addressed her, she couldn’t understand the words, but understood his intent.
She turned, but even though she had been forewarned, the impact of his eyes made her gasp. “I am always all right,” she managed to say, her souls reeling. As a woman, she should have admired his muscular body, the broadness of his shoulders, and the way his perspiration gleamed in the morning light. It accented his corded muscles, and gave his skin a faint glow. But all of it drained away as she looked into his eyes.
She swallowed hard. Looking beneath his eyes, she could see his souls twisting, knotting themselves around a fire that she could barely comprehend. They matched the deep scar on the side of his head, misshapen and maimed.
He spoke again, the Mos’kogee words like so much gibberish. But she felt the irritation behind them, mixed with barely hidden lust.
“Power is twisting around you,” she said in Trade Tongue. “It curls, reaching, only to pull back.”
He threw his head back, laughing. “Now, that’s a smart woman if I ever heard one.” His switch to Trade Tongue was facile. “I haven’t seen you before, and your accent is foreign. A Trader’s wife, are you?”
“No. I am no man’s wife. But I have come here to meet my husband.” She indicated the river. “He waits for me. Just out there.”
Smoke Shield shot a disbelieving look at the water. “He must be a fish.”
He cocked his head, amused, his eyes narrowing as he studied her dress, took in the rope belt at her slim waist. His gaze lingered on her round hips, and she could feel his interest pique as if he could see through the material to her warm sheath.
“So that is what it is like to see through your eyes,” she said. “There is no tree, only bark. No river, only water.”
“Is that so? And what do you see?”
“What I have never seen before.” She shook her head. “Even stones have friends.
He stopped, uncertain. “Stones?”
“You are not even a rock. There is only you. All the world is you.”
He laughed it off, oblivious. “I would love to continue this fascinating talk, but I must meet with my warriors in the Men’s House.” He paused, allowing his Dreams to feast on her body. “But if you would care to, let’s say, converse more, I may have time this evening.” He jerked his head toward the city. “At the high minko’s palace. Ask for me. I am called Smoke Shield, war chief of the Sky Hand.” His smile curled with desire. “The guards will pass you; and I promise, it will be well worth your time.”
“I shall see you forever,” she told him, feeling the swelling of Power as it stretched between them. “Nothing shall stop it now.”
“Tonight then?”
“Your Dreams will wrap around me all night long,” she promised. “I will Dance, stepping lightly around your souls. You will take me, over and over, that I promise.”
His grin spread. “Smart woman. I shall Trade a great deal if you are as talented as you think you are.” Then he turned, muscles bunching as he started up the canoe landing, resuming his run.
“Oh, what a Trade you will make, my lover.”
“We’ve got to hurry!” Stone pleaded. He stood in the doorway, his stickball racquets in his hands. “Morning Dew”—his voice rose to a pitch—“they’ll be waiting!”
“Yes, yes, I’m coming.” She reached down, using a stick to rearrange the coals around the base of a pot. The body of a duck floated in the water, along with bits of sassafras root, wild licorice, and large chunks of lotus root. She looked up at Heron Wing. “Don’t let this boil over. You know how foamy lotus root gets.”
“I won’t.” She waved her away. “Go on. You’ll have more than one frantic little boy if you’re late.” She chuckled to herself as Morning Dew picked up her racquets and ducked out the doorway.
Heron Wing sighed. I am going to miss her when she finally goes.
She shot a measuring look at the duck in its pot. Not even steaming yet. She turned, replacing Stone’s things. Why did little boys scatter so much in the simple act of preparing for a stickball game?
“Lady?” a pleasant voice called from beyond the door. “Would you have time for a word?”
“Clan politics? Marriage counseling? A property dispute? What is it this time?”
“Trade,” the man said.
Trade? That was a curious switch. “Enter. Unless you would prefer I step out.” Some men were hesitant about being seen in a married woman’s house. Their wives tended to get the wrong idea.
He ducked inside, and she turned, seeing a tall, white-haired man, his hair pulled up in a tight bun and pinned with a copper arrow. His ears drew her immediate attention. The lobes had never been pierced and stretched for ear spools. His face sported no tattoos to designate clan or people. Despite his age, he was well muscled, fit looking. But for his weather-beaten face she’d have placed him in his midforties. The face made him look sixty. He wore a heavy fabric shirt, done in odd zigzag patterns she’d never seen before. It was belted at the waist, from which hung a large pouch.
He studied her with kindly eyes, as if taking her measure. She lifted a no-nonsense eyebrow.
Then he glanced around the room, his gaze stopping on the raccoon bowl. He stepped over to it, running a gentle finger along its smooth curve.
“Quite a bowl,” he said.
“Supposedly it’s from up north. Made by a tribe called the Illinois. It was then Traded to the Yuchi by a man named Green Snake. One of our northern Traders obtained it from them.”
“Things do get around,” the man noted dryly. Then he looked at her. “You are Heron Wing?”
“I am. And you are?”
“I am known as Old White.”
“I see, Old White. And what did you want of me?”
“Trade,” he said reasonably. Then he frowned at the bowl. “Green Snake? The Trader?”
“Yes,” she snapped, stepping over and protectively tucking the bowl under her arm.
He gave her an amused look. “What would you take for that bowl?”
“It is not for Trade.” She felt herself begin to bristle. “Did you want something? If not, I have a busy day to attend to.”
He chuckled. “Oh, the ways of Power.”
She hadn’t expected that. “Power?”
“How do you know Green Snake?”
Was it just her, or was he teasing her? “From a long time ago.”
Then the man sat down, almost sprawling, as if he owned the place. His eyes settled on the duck. “That looks like it is going to be delicious.”
“Perhaps you should take your Trade elsewhere.” She arched her back, nodding toward the door.
“Were I to do that,” he said softly, “you would learn nothing more about Green Snake, the ways of Power, or the curious twists of fate.”
She felt her tension drain away to leave confusion. “Who are you?”
He glanced toward the door, saying, “Before I answer that, tell me, will Smoke Shield be back anytime soon?”
“No!” The anger was back. Old White seemed to read her souls like tracks in mud. She flushed. “I think you should go.”
“Actually, I came to offer Trade for the woman known as Morning Dew.” He paused, adding sincerely, “And I must confess to being slightly curious as well.”
“Morning Dew?” She stared, confusion rising.
He reached into his pouch, producing a long white pointed thing. “This is something called a walrus tusk. Probably the only one in the south. It comes from a creature that lives in the ice-bound wastes of the far north. Well, in the ocean up there, actually.”
She took it, feeling the weight, staring into the stark white color that seemed almost translucent. “You would offer this for Morning Dew? In whose name?”
“In the name of her grandmother, Old Woman Fox. She would like to have her granddaughter back. Is that sufficient in Trade?”
She hefted the heavy tooth, wondering if it was really as valuable as the old man said. She considered Green Snake’s bowl. No, this was a first offering. Played correctly, she could drive the price up. If this was an opening to communications with the Chahta, it would have to be handled delicately.
“I don’t know if this is enough, or not. I have my own plans for Morning Dew.”
“And those are?”
“Is there a reason I should share them with a stranger?”
“Since I am here as an agent of the current matron of the White Arrow, it might be prudent. If your plans for Morning Dew coincide with mine, it might have a serious effect on the value of our Trade.”
Heron Wing narrowed her eyes, studying the man. He seemed completely at ease, as if negotiating the fates of peoples was as ordinary as bartering for a used blanket. “Morning Dew is the matron of the White Arrow Moiety. Her son, if she ever has one, will become high minko. Eventually this madness with the Chahta must end. I think she will be an excellent and talented leader among her people. In the future I would rather see us dealing with her than any other.”
He nodded slightly, considering the sincerity of her words.
She seated herself, handing the tusk back. “All right, you have offered Trade for Morning Dew. It’s not enough when compared with the future of my people. Do you wish to offer anything in addition to some tooth I cannot judge the value of?”
“I’ll think it over.”
“Good. Now, where did you know Green Snake? A lot of men could be named that.”
“And many are.” He smiled. “Believe me, it’s a common name all across the land. This one, however, lived here, once. Hickory Moiety, born of the Chief Clan. Then, oh, perhaps ten winters ago, he had an altercation with his brother. Fled into the night, horrified at what he’d done.”
She realized she’d stopped breathing, that he was watching her, studying her reaction. “What do you want from me?” She tried to keep her voice normal, and failed.
“Nothing. At least not the way you think,” he whispered softly. “I am called Old White, but to most I am known as the Seeker. Perhaps you have heard of me?”
She frowned. “Legends . . . stories . . . tales of a man who traveled to far-off lands. The Seeker was supposed to find the ends of the earth, or so the story goes. I know the Natchez and Pensacola believe the legend.”
“Always a legend.” His lips bent in a wistful smile. “But then, there are worse things: like traveling around thinking you’d killed your brother, only to find out ten winters later that you’d just knocked him half-silly.” He paused. “Or half-insane.”
She shook her head in slow disbelief. “You really know Green Snake? How is he?” She hesitated. “I have hoped that he married . . . that he’s happy. I’d always thought that, well, maybe he settled among the Caddo, or perhaps the Natchez.”
“Sometimes, yes, for a season or two. He took the name of Trader. Nothing else. People on the rivers know him only as that.”
“But is he happy?”
Old White’s bushy eyebrows arched. “Happiness can be a relative term. Are you happy, Heron Wing? Wait! Now, before you pry away at me for an answer, ask yourself that same question. But ask it deep down between your souls, where the life you’re living rubs against the Dreams you once had for yourself.”
She sat stunned. “Who are you?”
“It appears that I am a legend.” He clapped his hands to his thighs.
“You speak our language as if born to it.”
“A man has to come from somewhere. I’ve yet to meet one that hasn’t—though some scoundrels would claim it so.”
She watched him, mind racing. “Why hasn’t Green Snake sent word that he was alive?”
“He did,” Old White snapped angrily. “The Yuchi who carried the message was murdered. Now people are preparing to go to war over it.”
She glanced down at the bowl. “Traded from the Yuchi.” She felt her souls slip sideways, staggering. “That’s why they killed him.” She stood, pacing, mind racing. “Smoke Shield must be half-frantic!” She turned. “You wouldn’t know this mysterious message the Yuchi was carrying, would you?”
“Oh, yes.”
“And it is?”
“Let us Trade. Who heads the opposition to Smoke Shield and Flying Hawk in Split Sky City? There is one, I’m sure. Just as there is among the Albaamaha.”
She stared at him, her heart thumping out a steady beat in her chest. What kind of brazen fool would dare ask a question like that? What is your game here, stranger? “As far as I know, our Council is united.”
The corners of his lips quivered. “And my memory of Green Snake’s message is slipping away ever so slowly.”
What did she do? Her desperation struggled against years of innate caution. She sighed, her heart sinking. This man knew her weakness.
“The opposition doesn’t really exist as such. Not organized like you would expect. The Albaamaha are already ahead of us on that front. We have held some meetings, trying to understand what is going on. Some of us have suspicions. That’s all. There are problems—things that don’t make sense. But there are only a few of us: those who fully understand Smoke Shield’s ability to plot and manipulate.”
“From your words I take it that you and your husband are not close.”
She gave him a hard glare in response.
He nodded. “I suppose you’re wondering if the Chahta could have made this recent raid?”
“Who are you?”
He stood, stepping to the door, looking out. Then he went outside. Checking the rest of the house, she figured. When he returned, he said, “I am Old White, the Seeker. And I also know for a fact that Great Cougar was in Feathered Snake Town at the same time he was supposedly here killing Albaamaha. I know that because I saw him there.” He pointed. “With these eyes. The other thing I know is that Lotus Root has twenty-three scalps that Smoke Shield’s warriors buried outside the hut where they found the tortured Fast Legs.”
She shot to her feet. “You can prove this?”
“Oh, yes.”
“I can have my brother call the Council. How soon can you produce Lotus Root?”
He waved her down, smiling kindly. “I admire your enthusiasm, Heron Wing, but there are other considerations. The Albaamaha are only part of the puzzle. We also have to deal with the Chaktaw.”
She smiled. “Chaktaw? You don’t often hear that pronunciation here.”
“Whatever you call them, Great Cougar is planning something daring for the first new moon past equinox. Old Woman Fox wants her granddaughter rescued before the attack. Then, too, we’ll have to deal with Born-of-Sun. He acted in good faith, sending that poor runner.” Old White pulled thoughtfully at his chin. “Breaking the peace when a white arrow is offered is most definitely unacceptable.”
She laughed, finding his assurance ludicrous. “Is that all?”
“Well, the major parts. There are some other things: details like copper, medicine boxes, Trade, balancing the Power, and a few other minor concerns.”
“Who else knows you are here?”
“And they are . . . who?”
He shook his head. “No, Matron. That is mine.”
“I am no matron.”
“You should be. You would serve your clan and people well.” He looked at her. “For the moment we will deal with you, and only you. You can trust anyone you wish, but I will only trust you.”
“Why?” she asked. “How do you know I won’t just turn you over to Smoke Shield? I’m married to him, after all.”
Old White pointed at the bowl. “You would have broken my arm to get that away from me.” He paused. “Why?”
“He Traded it.”
“Trader did?” He made a wounded face. “It came out of my canoe!” At her expression, he shrugged. “Well, yes, it was his idea to give the things away among the Yuchi during solstice. He did hand out each and every one. Well, at least the ones the Contrary didn’t.”
“Contrary?” She frowned. “What Contrary?”
“It’s a long story.” He gave her a harried look. “You haven’t lived until you travel in the same canoe with a Contrary.”
“And Green Snake’s message?” she asked, trying to keep the hope from her voice.
“The Yuchi messenger was supposed to announce to the Council that Green Snake would be returning to his people. That he offered compensation for the murder of his brother. That it was a matter of Power, of restoring the harmony.”
She felt a sudden excitement. “That is why Flying Hawk looked so confused in the Council. That is why the old fire wasn’t in his eyes when Pale Cat stitched him up. He knows.”
“What would that knowledge be worth, Heron Wing? What would it change? Who would it threaten?”
“Smoke Shield,” she said softly. “He hated his brother, envied him, and took everything he ever had.”
“How do you feel about Green Snake?”
“I will never forgive him.”
“For what?”
“Not taking me with him.”
