Old White sighed, stretched his aching back muscles, and rolled his arms as he stepped out into the frosty night and away from the Albaamaha Council House. Low clouds scudded from the north, breaths of wind tugging at him. His entire body longed to do nothing more than lie down and sleep. He yawned as he looked back at the Council House. Yellow light glowed from the doorway, people standing around in knots, speaking in low voices.
Off to one side, Trader talked to Whippoorwill. Was it Old White’s imagination, or did a large black wolf lurk in the inky shadows behind her? He blinked, craning his neck, but the thing had faded into the night.
I must be tired. I’m seeing things.
Lotus Root emerged, squinted in the darkness, and walked over to him, the bulky fabric sack cradled in her arms. She stopped an arm’s length away, as if uncertain.
“It’s all right,” he said. “Whatever it is that you wish to say to me.”
“I am still uncertain.”
“So are we all,” Old White agreed.
“Did you mean what you said in there?”
“I did.”
She looked away, as if searching for something in the night. “If only I could believe Whippoorwill’s vision is true.”
“A great deal remains to be seen.”
He smiled. “Do you understand what you must do? How difficult it will be?”
“I do.” She looked up, arms clutching the fabric pack to her chest. “How do you think she found him?”
“She said he called to her . . . that she dove down to find him.”
“How could she have known?”
“Because it is a thing of Power.” Old White glanced at Whippoorwill’s slim form. “I think your people would be well served to follow her counsel.”
Lotus Root gave him a level stare. “You know, Chikosi, I will never forgive you.”
“I know, and I understand.” He smiled. “But I have learned many things in my travels: One is that nothing is forever. Not even Split Sky City, though the Chikosi and Albaamaha may go on for a long time yet.”
“Then I shall see you when I am called.” With that she turned, walking off into the darkness, her bundle clutched to her chest.
Amber Bead had waited discreetly. “Seeker?”
“Yes?”
“The runners have been dispatched. We shall know soon enough if what you say about Great Cougar is true.”
“If Trader and I are wrong, it is an inconvenience. Assuming we are right, however, it will save everyone a great deal of grief.”
Amber Bead scuffed at the dirt with his foot. “No matter. We still have a great deal to overcome. It does not pay to underestimate Smoke Shield.” He looked back at Trader. “You are wagering that the Council will take the word of a stranger and a disgraced Chikosi . . . Chief Clan though he might be.”
“That is true.”
The old man sighed, looking back at the mikkos. “Come the morning, there will be doubts.”
Amber Bead shook his head. “I have never placed much faith in Power. Too often its name has been invoked to the detriment of my people.”
“And it will again, no doubt. But for the moment, Trader and I must ride this river, and trust to the forces that have brought all of us together.”
“Bringing Smoke Shield and Flying Hawk down, let alone convincing the Council—this may kill us all.”
“No man lives forever, Amber Bead.”
“No. But then, I have no desire to end my days on a Chikosi square.” And with that he walked away.
Old White took a tired breath, seeing that Trader was alone. He hadn’t seen Whippoorwill leave, but Trader stood, head down, as if lost in thought.
Old White walked over, and said, “It’s late, Trader. I’m so tired you may have to carry me home.”
“Age has crept up on you?”
“That and a lack of sleep. If you find a woman in your bed tonight, would you mind moving your blankets outside?”
Trader stared back at the darkness where Whippoorwill had stood. “When she left, she called me husband.”
“Lucky Trader.”
They started for the dim trail that led up onto the terrace.
Trader asked, “What was in the pack Whippoorwill gave to Lotus Root?”
“Bones.”
“Red Awl’s?”
“So it would seem.”
“Do you think we solved anything back there?”
“That, my young friend, is going to depend on the future.” He sighed. “All we have to do is discredit Smoke Shield and Flying Hawk, manage to stay alive, and figure out a way to keep Great Cougar and his warriors from killing any Chikosi. Or the other way around.”
“Right. Overthow a high minko and his tricky war chief, and stop a war. Shouldn’t be any trouble at all. If Heron Wing, Swimmer, my canoe, and I are missing in the morning, you carry on without us.”
“And then there’s Two Petals.”
“She can carry on, too.”
“Your confidence is so reassuring.”
It was then that the first stiff gust of wind came howling down from the north.
The equinox celebration barely had a chance. The rituals, of course, were attended to, offerings made at sunrise to thank Mother Sun for her journey north and the promise of the planting season that would begin with the first new moon.
The games were poorly attended, stickball matches more battles against the blowing wind than the opposing teams. Most people spent the day struggling to keep the thatch from peeling off their roofs and their possessions from tumbling away. The celebratory feasts were held inside buildings that swayed and rocked as gusts savaged them, whistling and hissing around gaps in the eaves.
Anything that wasn’t tied down went twirling away, including baskets, latrine screens, ramada roofs, and occasional bits of fabric. Little whirlwinds, spawned in the gaps between houses, sucked up bits of debris, charcoal, and ash, and batted them this way and that. Fine grit filtered down into stew pots and coated bedding, food, and matting.
People passed with their arms up, trying to shield their eyes and mouths from the grit, bits of thatch, and matting that pattered against them.
Trader and Old White had slept late, hardly bothered by the shuddering house around them. The poles creaked and groaned while the wind sang a rasping sound through the thatch. Particles of soot filtered down, shaken loose from above, only to scurry this way and that as they rode the draft. Trader had tied the door hanging by its corners to keep it from flapping, but it batted back and forth with crisp snaps.
The draft carried away the fire’s heat, wicking it in all directions. Trader grumbled to himself, poking at the embers that boiled their smilax, lotus, and hominy corn stew.
“We could have done without this,” Old White muttered, his buffalohide cape pulled tight around his shoulders.
“Thankfully, we’re not out on the river.” Trader studied Swimmer where he lay beside one of the pole beds. His normally black hair was tinged gray with fine soot and dust.
“Put a lid over that,” Old White suggested as a beetle fell from the weakened thatch, just missing the stew pot.
“You worried about eating a beetle?”
“Food’s food,” Old White told him. “Among the Yamparika I ate crickets, grasshoppers, and other things. In dry years they make nets and drive the hoppers like we do deer. Then they smack them with flails. They grind them up on stones, make a kind of bread out of them, and bake it on flat rocks. But here, who knows? Some beetles can be poison. Among the Azteca I heard of people mashing them to make poison for their arrows.”
Trader hurriedly placed a flat piece of bark over the rim. “Poison beetles?”
Old White shrugged. “My guess is that beetles don’t like being eaten any more than any other creature.”
Outside they could hear someone shouting. Voices—barely audible over the din—called back and forth, then faded. Then more people ran past, their words carried away with the wind.
“What do you suppose that’s about?” Trader glanced at the door.
Old White looked up at the roof, then cocked his head to listen. He sniffed the angry air. “I don’t see our house falling apart, can’t hear anything collapsing, and I can’t smell smoke, so nothing upwind is burning. Whatever it is, someone else can handle it.”
Trader made a face. If fire broke out on a day like this, everything downwind would go up. “I saw a town like that. Over among the Caddo. They had a big wind, and one of the houses caught fire. Burned the whole place down. Killed ten, maybe twenty people.”
Old White extended his hands to the coals. “Can’t think of a better reason to build a roof from earth. Now, down in the southwest, you’ve got to work to burn one of the towns. All the walls are made of dried mud bricks or stone. They put dirt over the roof. To burn those towns you have to set a hot fire inside, something that will catch the inside poles on fire.”
“I’ll keep that in mind next time I have to burn a southwestern town.”
Trader checked under the lid to see the stew boiling. “How do you think Great Cougar is doing? He and his warriors must be having a miserable time of it. If he’s on the way, the trees are lashing, branches cracking and falling. Some of the old forest giants will be crashing to the ground.”
“Better him than us.” Old White stared thoughtfully at the coals. “Might slow him down some. If he’s at the head of that big a war party, it’ll give him fits.”
Trader pulled out their bowls. “You really think Smoke Shield has Two Petals?”
Old White took his bowl, lifted the lid off the pot, and dipped out some of the boiling stew. “That would be my best guess. If she were anywhere else, we’d hear. A Contrary, as you well know, causes commotion. But if he had her hidden away in the palace he might be able to keep a lid on her just like we’ve done with that pot.”
Trader sighed. “What if she’s actually up there?”
“I don’t know. I’ve been wondering.” Old White blew across his steaming bowl. “The thing is, Trader, we can’t just climb up there and start searching the place.”
“Maybe we should go as soon as we eat?” He nodded his head toward the shaking walls. “This is about as good a distraction as we’re going to get. Smoke Shield might be out trying to be useful, you know, tying down roofs and such.”
Old White shot him a disbelieving glance.
“Well,” Trader said in frustration, “we have to do something! She’s our Contrary! The gods alone know what he’s doing to her up there. Beatings? Rape?”
“May the ghosts of the long dead help him if he does.”
“You sound pretty unconcerned given what you’ve learned about Smoke Shield.”
“You didn’t see her with Black Tooth at Cahokia.”
“Could we be so lucky with Smoke Shield?”
“We can hope.”
“I still think we should go up there.”
“If she’s up there, it’s because she wants to be,” Old White countered. “She’s seen it all. Trust her.”
“All right,” Trader muttered. “I’ll go. Alone.”
Old White screwed his face into disgust. “Now, that’s just—”
“Anyone there?” a woman’s voice called at their door.
Swimmer barked happily, his tail wagging.
“A moment!” Trader called. He lowered his bowl and walked over to unlace the ties.
Heron Wing, followed by a slim man, ducked past the flap. Trader took long enough to glance out at the houses around him, seeing ripped thatch and naked ramadas. Then he retied the flap and turned.
“Dark in here,” Heron Wing said wearily. Her hair was in disarray despite having been pinned back into a severe bun. Her cloak was speckled with bits of matting and other debris. She wore a plain brown dress, belted at the waist.
The man who accompanied her was a little older than she, with pleasant features. He was staring at Trader, a slight smile on his lips. He wore a white knee-length shirt. Pouches were tied to a rope belt. A large gorget and strings of white shell beads hung at his throat. The cougar-hide cape had been thrown back on his shoulders. Gleaming black hair was pulled in a bun held in place by a long copper pin. His face had been tattooed in dotted lines.
It took a moment, then Trader smiled. “Pale Cat?”
“Green Snake?”
They clasped each other, a warm joy in Trader’s heart as he held the man at arm’s length. “You look good, old friend.”
“As do you.”
“What are you doing here?”
Pale Cat gave him a sober look. “The southern palisade just blew over. People are swarming over it like ants. That is, when they’re not dodging flying baskets and ramada roofs. My sister thought it was a perfect opportunity to meet with you.”
“We have stew. Hot and bubbling,” Old White said.
“Thank you, but I must fast on the equinox.” The man reached down, taking Old White’s hand. “I am Pale Cat, Hopaye to the Hickory Moiety of the Panther Clan.”
“I am Old White, known as the Seeker.” He made a sour face. “Well, Hopaye, I hope it wasn’t your greeting ceremony this morning that set Mother Sun off.” He gestured around at the creaking walls.
Pale Cat raised his arms, and let them fall. “I leave it to others to call the winds. If Power is annoyed, I’m sure Smoke Shield is at the bottom of it. But half of the southern palisade falling flat? It may be an even stronger sign that Power is displeased.”
“Oh, yes,” Old White agreed.
“We need to talk,” Heron Wing said, seating herself. She flashed a look at Trader—one that communicated more than just greeting. He caught himself before smiling back.
She said, “I have told Pale Cat some of the things you have told me.”
“How do I know we can trust him?” Old White asked.
“You may trust him.” Trader seated himself, trying not to edge too close to Heron Wing. Gods, if he could so much as hold her hand, it would be a gift. “If he is even half the man I knew, we are safe.”
Pale Cat smiled wearily. “I would hope that I am. But we may not have much time. If the wind stops, well, I’m not sure I want to be seen leaving here.”
Heron Wing shrugged. “Everyone will want to see the palisade. Some of the houses to the south may have been crushed. Who knows what the extent of the damage might be?” She got straight to the point. “Have you found the Contrary?”
“No.” Trader gave Old White a narrow look. “And we’ve heard nothing. Have you?”
Heron Wing shook her head. “Neither of us have. And believe me, Pale Cat would be informed if anyone had a Contrary in their care.”
“Then she’s gone to Smoke Shield,” Old White said softly. “I would just like to know if she did it willingly.”
“A woman has been in the war chief’s room in the palace,” Pale Cat told them. “She arrived a couple of nights ago. The guards let her pass because she claimed to come at Smoke Shield’s request.”
Trader winced.
“We’ve had this conversation,” Old White reminded. To the others he said, “Trader doesn’t share my faith in the Contrary’s abilities.”
Trader took a deep breath to calm himself. “I just hope he doesn’t hurt her.”
Old White grunted. “Power protects its own.”
“Smoke Shield has little respect for Power,” Pale Cat told them darkly. “Unless it’s red and filled with pain.”
“He should learn humility,” Old White muttered. “A failing that no doubt can be laid at his uncle’s feet.”
Heron Wing clasped her hands. “Wide Leaf stopped by this morning. Something happened among the Albaamaha last night. She didn’t have many details, but the mikkos met.”
Trader glanced at Old White before saying, “For the moment, the Albaamaha are the least of your worries. The mikkos heard the entire story from Lotus Root, but they also heard from us and one of their Prophets.”
“They have a Prophet?” Pale Cat asked.
“A woman named Whippoorwill,” Old White told him.
“Ah, yes.” Pale Cat crossed his legs. “I have spoken with her in the past. What did she tell them?”
“That the Chikosi and Albaamaha cannot afford to fight.” Trader shot the Hopaye a measuring look. “She had a vision; in it, the Albaamaha and the Chikosi split sometime in the future.” He gestured around. “When this place is abandoned.”
“Abandoned?” Heron Wing asked, frowning.
Old White sipped his stew and said, “Matron, cities are born, grow, live, and die. Only the rivers are forever.”
Pale Cat nodded. “If that is the will of Power, so be it. What else was said?”
“If we can figure out a way to get them into the tchkofa”—
Old White stared thoughtfully into his bowl—“they will present their evidence against Smoke Shield in the Council.”
“In the Council?” Pale Cat and Heron Wing asked in unison.
Trader gave them a grim smile. “Assuming we can figure out a way to get ourselves into the Council, it should be a very interesting session.” His expression fell. “But we have a more pressing problem. Great Cougar is on his way here with a Chahta war party. A big one.”
“But the palisade just collapsed!” Pale Cat stiffened.
In a reasonable voice, Old White said, “That seems like as good a reason to broker a peace as any other I can come up with. Our problem is that we might not have a great deal of time.”
Pale Cat frowned. “Smoke Shield recalled most of the scouts. They should be here within a couple of days. He only left a scattering of them to watch for the Chahta. I have to warn him.”
“No,” Trader said sharply, “you do not!”
Pale Cat and Heron Wing stared incredulously at him.
“We don’t need a party of warriors rushing out to fight the Chaktaw,” Old White insisted. “That will only compound our problems.”
“But what about the farmsteads?” Heron Wing asked. “The Albaamaha will be defenseless.”
“That has been seen to,” Trader told her. “The mikkos sent runners out last night. The Albaamaha are being warned to withdraw, to take everything they need, and stay out of the way. By the time the Chahta charge down from the divide, they should find empty houses in their path.”
“You have done all this?” Pale Cat asked incredulously. “By yourselves?”
“Well,” Old White growled, “Smoke Shield sure wouldn’t have been any help.”
“But,” Heron Wing asked, “how can you make a peace with the Chahta? Not even the Council knows what you’ve done!”
Pale Cat had stiffened. “By what authority do you meddle in our affairs, Seeker?”
Old White gave him a hard look. “Hopaye, Power has sent me from one end of the world to the other. It called me here from the western deserts. It took me to the Contrary, and to Green Snake. Oh, I promise, when the time comes, you’ll get more explanation than you’ll want.”
“I give us the right,” Trader said softly. He raised his eyes to Pale Cat. “I am Chief Clan, from the high minko’s line. Smoke Shield must be stopped. Power has been abused. The Yuchi messenger, the murdered Albaamaha—that is only the beginning of it.”
“I side with them, Brother.” Heron Wing’s voice left no doubt.
Pale Cat turned veiled eyes on Heron Wing. “Sister, I would hope that the love you so poorly disguise when you look at Green Snake hasn’t tempered your wits.” He glanced up, studying both Old White and Trader. “I, too, serve Power. I also serve my people, and would not see them led into disaster.” He clapped his hands on his thighs. “So, if you have some plan to mollify Great Cougar, perhaps now is the time to convince me why I should trust you?”
Trader shrugged. “We have some ideas.”
“Such as?” Pale Cat asked coldly.
“Old Woman Fox gave us the idea, actually.” Old White took a moment to swallow the last of his stew. “According to her, you took the White Arrow Town war medicine. Is that correct?”
“It is,” Pale Cat said softly, “but that’s not something the warriors are going to let you just give back.”
Trader turned his gaze on Old White. “He’s got a point.”
Old White ran his finger around the inside of his bowl before he licked it clean. “After all we’ve been through, you’re worried about a bunch of possessive warriors?”
“I don’t believe I’m hearing this!” Heron Wing looked stunned. “If you take the White Arrow war medicine, the warriors will be enraged. Smoke Shield will be livid!”
“See!” Old White grinned happily. “There’s another benefit.”
Trader enjoyed their shocked expressions. “Power won’t let us down now.”
Pale Cat’s voice hardened. “Power, my friends, is leading you into a quick grave.”
Old White spread his hands. “Trust us, Hopaye. We still have a few tricks in our bag.”
“And you know Smoke Shield,” Heron Wing shot back. “He is as cunning as a weasel, and twice as dangerous. If he can twist the truth out of your Contrary, you’ll be dead before you can bring any of this to a satisfactory conclusion.”
“Oh, yes,” Trader agreed. “I’m sure that he’s planning on paying me back for that blow I gave him.”
Old White had fixed his gaze on Pale Cat. “Tell me, Hopaye, how many warriors sleep in the Men’s House these days?”