Old White enjoyed the midmorning sun. He sat on the log before their house with his head tilted back to the warm rays. Beside him, Trader’s wet piece of hide made a soft rasping as he sanded his chunkey lance. People were busy picking up trash. Anything burnable went straight to the fire pits. Others walked past with baskets, seeking the owners. It wasn’t anything like the bedlam down by the collapsed palisade.
Old White had walked down just at dawn, surprised at how much of the tall wall had blown over. The downed portion was half the length of the plaza. Not only that, but the southern end of the city had collected most of the detritus: pieces of roof and loose belongings.
“How could Flying Hawk have let the palisade get that far out of repair?” he asked. “I tell you, fully half the logs were rotted off.”
Trader continued his sanding. “Maybe the time for palisades is over.”
“Indeed?”
“How often do large armies march grand distances cross-country? It made more sense when Cahokia could put a thousand warriors on the river. Marching that many down here—where the travel is overland—an army has to carry its provisions.”
“Would you mind trotting out and telling Great Cougar that he doesn’t know what he’s doing?”
“Someone will always be motivated, Trader.”
The sanding continued.
Old White watched a warrior appear from between the close-packed houses. He stopped, talking to Squash Blossom where she carefully burned a torn section of someone’s latrine matting that had ended up wrapped around her ramada pole. The woman smiled, gesturing toward her house. The warrior nodded and stepped inside, followed closely by Squash Blossom.
“Warrior just went into Squash Blossom’s.”
“Hmm. What do you think that means?” Trader continued his sanding.
“That someone has discovered the White Arrow war medicine is missing.”
“Stolen? The audacity of some people!” Trader ran the wet sand down the white wood shaft again. “This thing with Heron Wing and me . . . Tell me, do you think it’s an abuse of Power?”
“No.”
“Why not? She’s a married woman.”
“She was supposed to be married to you. The two of you love each other. What was the story you told? That Smoke Shield lied to get her? Said he’d coupled with her? That she thought it was you?”
“That’s right.”
“He used despicable means to obtain his ends. Which might be all right, but he has abused her the same way he has Power. You and I both know she would have kicked his sorry moccasins right out the door but for this silly divorce code the Chikosi have.”
“There’s that word again.”
“Something tells me they’re going to have to get used to it.” Old White reached down, picked up a pebble, and tossed it. Swimmer, who was supposed to have been asleep, immediately launched himself after the stone, unsure of which way it had gone. He bounced to a stop, ears pricked, looking this way and that.
“Here we go.” Old White watched the warrior emerge. Squash Blossom was still talking. She listened to something the warrior said; then she pointed right at their house. “I do believe the kind Squash Blossom just pointed that warrior in our direction.”
“You didn’t say anything bad about her cooking, did you?”
Old White watched the warrior approach and smiled up at him. “Greetings. Come to Trade?”
The warrior was a young man, his tattoos those of the Skunk Clan. A large white shell gorget engraved with an image of Flying Serpent hung on his chest. He had his hair pulled up in a bun; a new war club hung from the thick belt of his breechcloth. He might have passed nineteen summers, spare of body, with a slightly offset jaw. Stickball player, if Old White was any judge.
“Something was taken from the Men’s House last night. The woman back there said you are foreign Traders.”
“That we are. Down from the north.” Old White indicated the white shell gorget. “That’s a nice piece. Excellent craftsmanship. Would you part with it?”
He reached up reflexively, hand cradling the shell. “My brother made this for me. It was his gift when I was initiated to the Men’s House. It isn’t for Trade.”
“Come on inside,” Old White invited. “Let me show you our goods. I’ll bet you’d Trade that for a mica effigy. I have a nice falcon . . . comes straight from Cahokia.”
The suddenly nervous warrior followed Old White into the interior and stared around at the packs and benches. “Do you have a wooden box?”
“Lots of them. But you’re going to need more than just that gorget.” Old White bent to his packs, seeing the warrior drop to his knees, eyes on the wooden pack Old White carried. “That one’s mine. I’ve carried it across most of the country.”
“Wrong decorations.”
Old White slipped his fingers through the goods until he found the mica effigy of Falcon with its long, folded wings. The warrior took his time inspecting each of their wooden boxes. His gaze lingered on the Chaktaw box Old Woman Fox had given them to Trade for Morning Dew. He tilted it, finding no holes for shoulder straps.
I wonder what he’d say if he knew he was standing on top of the legendary Sky Hand war medicine box and a wealth of copper?
“Here.” Old White handed the piece over. “As you can see, it’s already drilled at the top, ready to be strung on whatever kind of cord you prefer.”
The warrior took the piece, turning it in his hands. He held it up to the light coming through the door and watched it flash. “This really came from Cahokia?”
“On the Power of Trade, it did.” Old White made a gesture. “A lot of pieces are being Traded around today that are supposed to have come from Cahokia, but that is the real thing. Here, let me show you this.”
He fished around for one of the remaining weasel hides. “Ever seen a white weasel before? They only turn that color up in the far north. Makes it harder for the hawks and owls to see them against the snow.”
“You would trade the mica for my gorget?”
“I would. That’s an extraordinary piece. I could get a bale of these weasel hides for that one gorget up north. Since the Trade has slowed, they don’t get as much shell up there.”
The warrior fingered the Falcon effigy, and Old White clearly read the desire in his eyes. Finally, the man shook his head. “I’m sorry. I cannot. My brother made this. It was a special gift.”
“I understand completely.” Old White clapped his hands to his thighs and stood. “But, perhaps you might know where another gorget—just as large and well made—might be? I don’t have to Trade you out of your brother’s gift. But another, equally fine, would do.”
The warrior smiled. “I may see you later.”
“We’ll be here. It is our hope to spend some time in Sky Hand City.” Old White smiled. “It gives people time to bring us the best.”
He followed the warrior out into the sunlight. “Now, about this missing box: If we see it, how do we recognize it?”
“Do you know Chahta designs?”
“We do. Like you saw inside.”
“This one is a war medicine box, with straps. The engraving is very fine, with pearls and shell inlay. It has Falcon on it, and the triangles with lines that the Chahta like so much.”
Old White nodded. “You know, it wouldn’t be the first time someone tried to Trade a stolen object. If anyone brings such a thing to us, one of us will stall him while the other slips away to the Men’s House with the news.”
The warrior gave him a suspicious sidelong glance. “Why would you do that? The box would bring you a fortune among the Chahta.”
Old White gave him a fatherly stare. “Warrior, you saw that staff in there?”
“The Trader’s staff?”
“That’s right. We are here under the Power of Trade. Do you know what would happen to us if we abused it?”
“No.”
“Like as not, we’d get out on the river and Horned Serpent would capsize us. Traders don’t abuse Power.” He paused. “Not and get away with it.”
The warrior nodded, and then he smiled. “I understand.” He touched his gorget. “I do want that mica piece. I’ll be back.”
Old White sighed as the young man walked to the next house, calling out to the occupants. He seated himself, rearranged his legs, and found Swimmer waiting for him with a partially chewed stick in his mouth. Old White reached down and tossed it as Squash Blossom came over, a contrite look on her face.
“Isn’t this a better day?” she said by way of greeting. “That wind was terrible.”
“It was indeed.” Trader smiled up as he continued to sand his lance.
She shifted from foot to foot. “I didn’t mean to get you into any trouble.”
“No trouble,” Old White said amiably. “You did us a service. That nice young man is going to Trade us a fine shell gorget next time he comes.”
She glanced off toward the east. “So, someone took the White Arrow war medicine.” She shook her head. “So many things don’t make sense anymore.”
“How’s that?” Trader asked.
“If it had to do with the White Arrow raid, something always goes wrong. That’s what people are saying. First the captives were mysteriously killed, and now the war medicine just vanishes. You know what the rumor is?”
“No.” Trader squinted up into the sun.
“That it flew out of the Men’s House in the middle of the night. My cousin, he’s a warrior; he was there last night. That room was full of men. Many of them maintained some sort of vigil all night. Warriors do that. It courts Power. No one saw that medicine box vanish.”
“Maybe something really was wrong with that raid,” Old White said evenly. “Maybe whoever led it had the Power wrong.”
“That would be Smoke Shield.” She shook her head. “If Power’s wrong, he’s at the bottom of it.” Then a horrified look crossed her face, as if she’d said too much. “I’ve work to do,” she called with forced joviality and headed quickly home.
Old White considered that as he reached for his pipe where it lay in his pouch. “That brother of yours seems to be . . .”
“Elder?” a cautious voice called.
Old White turned to see Stone peering around the corner of the house. “Stone? What are you doing over here?”
The little boy slipped around the corner of the house, eyes lighting when Swimmer trotted over with his stick. He bent down, running his fingers through Swimmer’s furry mane. “Mother sent me. She wants the Seeker to come. By himself.”
Old White glanced at Trader, who gave him a nod. “All right.” He rose, then considered. “Maybe a wise man would take a Trade pack with him?”
“And you’re always wise.” Trader gave Stone a wink.
“Can Swimmer come?” the little boy asked.
“Maybe another time,” Trader told him. “We’re in the middle of a stick game.”
Old White grabbed a sack of fine milky gray chert blanks that had come from the legendary quarries south of Cahokia and gestured to the little boy. “After you.”
They had walked out to the plaza before Old White asked, “Did your mother say what this was about?”
“She’s upset.”
“Did she say why?”
“I think it’s because of Violet Bead. My father beat her this morning. He cut her nose and ears off.” Stone looked up, wide-eyed. “He almost killed a Crawfish Clan man who was at Violet Bead’s house. He hit him in the head with a stone.”
“I see.” Old White hurried along.
Violet Bead’s house had a forlorn look, and it took a moment for Old White to realize why. All the personal effects: the mortar, the bowls, jars, and other items that normally lay close at hand, were missing.
He followed Stone to Heron Wing’s door, and the boy ran inside, calling, “Mother? I’ve brought the Seeker.”
Heron Wing stepped to the door, and Old White raised a questioning white brow. “What happened to your face?”
She gave him a frightened look, glancing this way and that before stepping out. “Stone? Could you run down and ask Uncle Pale Cat if he needs help mixing the salves?”
Stone looked uncertainly up at his mother, worry evident in his face. “Father won’t kill the Seeker, will he?”
“No,” she chided. “It’s not like that. Go on. The Seeker’s just here to Trade.”
They watched as a reluctant Stone turned and started off, but he paused often and long to cast anxious glances over his shoulder.
“Do you want to start at the beginning while I show you these chert blades?” He pulled some of the blanks from the sack.
“You saved my life this morning, and Green Snake’s, too. I wasn’t home for a finger’s time before Smoke Shield burst in. He did this to me.” She indicated the swelling bruise on her face. “He said the Prophet told him the medicine box was here, and that his wife was betraying him. He . . . gods, what he did to Violet Bead . . .” She struggled for control.
Old White sighed. “So he’s got the box?”
The look she gave him told him just how close her souls were to shattering. “No. The box was gone when I arrived.” She swallowed hard. “And so is Morning Dew.”
Gods! Is everything a mess? Flying Hawk sat on his tripod in the great room. The place was packed. Before him, an angry delegation of Crawfish Clan men, led by Chief Wooden Cougar, stood with hard expressions, their arms crossed. Blood Skull stood to the side, hands on his hips, a thunderous anger in his eyes. Amber Bead stood in the rear, waiting to deliver his report on the meeting with the Albaamaha mikkos. Decisions had to be made about the palisade. Then, moments ago, Two Poisons had stomped in, expression like crowded storm clouds.
“One thing at a time,” Flying Hawk said, raising his hands.
“Smoke Shield nearly killed one of my clansmen!” Wooden Cougar said through clenched teeth. “The man’s face is smashed! Your nephew knocked one of his eyes out of the socket!”
In the back, Two Poisons huffed his displeasure.
“Quiet!” Flying Hawk ordered, lifting his mace. If only he could wade into the middle of them, smacking this way and that. All of the frustrations of the last moon were boiling within. “Breath Giver help me. What’s happening to us?”
“It’s Smoke Shield,” Blood Skull said from the side. “His souls are out of control! First he starts trouble with the Albaamaha; then he conjures some Chahta raid, disrupting all the plans. For all we know, he is behind the theft of the White Arrow medicine box. Perhaps this trouble with Violet Bead is his way of covering it.”
“My clansman may not live!” Wooden Cougar roared. His kinsmen grunted in assent.
“I said, one thing at a time!” Flying Hawk struggled to control himself. The old familiar anger was brewing, replacing the sense of defeat that had so long dogged his souls. “First, the Crawfish man. What’s his name?”
“Two Beavers.”
“He was caught with Violet Bead. There is no disagreement about that.”
Wooden Cougar ground his jaws, then reluctantly shook his head. “No. But Smoke Shield’s reaction was uncalled-for. The woman has a well-known reputation for dallying with men.”
“As if her husband doesn’t?” Two Poisons called from the rear.
“Silence!” Flying Hawk pointed with his mace. “Deer Clan shall have its time to speak.”
Two Poisons muttered something under his breath and exhaled furiously.
Flying Hawk struggled to calm himself. “This is a case of adultery. Plain and simple. Smoke Shield acted within his rights as a—” He pointed his mace, forestalling Wooden Cougar’s outburst. “Don’t interrupt me! This Two Beavers isn’t dead. We’re not talking about murder here.”
“Yet,” Wooden Cougar interjected. “The Hopaye is working on Two Beavers as we speak. The man hasn’t regained consciousness.”
“If he dies, we will revisit this,” Flying Hawk amended. “But until that time, he was caught in Violet Bead’s bed.”
“That is the woman’s fault!” Wooden Cougar cried. “She enticed him.”
“And she’s paid the price. Smoke Shield cut off her nose and ears.” Flying Hawk watched Two Poisons fume in the back. “That is our law! Smoke Shield was right; the woman and Two Beavers were wrong. I don’t want to hear more of this. If I do, the warriors will be sent to restore peace between your two clans. That’s the end of it.” He glared at Wooden Cougar. “I mean it. You—and Two Poisons—are dismissed!”
He watched as the Crawfish and Deer Clan delegations pushed their way to the doorway and stepped out. He could hear angry words in the courtyard beyond.
He sighed. In a couple of days, after people stewed for a while, some sort of restitution would have to be made.
Blood Skull muttered, “That’s what happens when a man doesn’t take his domestic duties seriously.”
Flying Hawk shot him a warning glare, then asked, “What of the White Arrow medicine box? Has it been found?”
“No, High Minko.” Blood Skull took a hard breath that swelled his muscular chest. “Warriors are searching the city as we speak. But with the palisade down, the thief could have walked right over the top of it. It wasn’t like when we had gates where warriors would have seen everyone passing.”
Flying Hawk shook his head. “I don’t understand. The Men’s House was full of warriors, wasn’t it?”
Blood Skull shrugged. “Many claim they were awake all night, seeking Power for the coming fight.”
“Come closer. The rest of you, please stand back. I would speak to Blood Skull in private.”
He watched the room rearrange itself, the others crowding into the back. Amber Bead did his best to maintain his distance from the Sky Hand around him.
Blood Skull leaned close. “Yes, High Minko?”
“Did you do as I asked?”
“Yes, High Minko.” Blood Skull’s voice dropped to a whisper. “In your name I ordered most of the warriors north, as you directed. When the Yuchi try to infiltrate, they’ll find a screen of scouts watching every trail.” He hesitated. “Also according to your order, I told them that this was at the war chief’s command. You have told Smoke Shield, haven’t you?”
Flying Hawk sighed; the sense of defeat was welling again. “There are complications.”
Blood Skull’s penetrating stare fixed on him. “High Minko, the war chief will find out.”
“I am hoping he won’t until the Council is called tomorrow morning. You have told the tishu minko?”
“Seven Dead knows, and understands. He will back you, as will I.”
“The collapse of the palisade along with the theft of the medicine box may buy us some time. And, as you have just heard, the war chief has other problems.” With any luck Smoke Shield would be pestered all day by Crawfish Clan men demanding satisfaction for the beating of Two Beavers.
“This once,” Blood Skull said, “I hope you are right.” He hesitated again. “I have another report.”
“And that is?”
“The Albaamaha, High Minko, they are moving. It seems that the farmsteads have been abandoned to the west. Half the Albaamaha are heading north, the other half to the south. I’ve had the same report from several bands of warriors traveling here. Do you know anything about this?”
Flying Hawk straightened, calling, “Amber Bead? Could you approach?”
The old Albaamo mikko stepped forward, bowing and touching his forehead in respect. “Yes, High Minko?”
“Blood Skull tells me that Albaamaha families have been seen moving north and south, west of the river. Do you know anything about this?”
Amber Bead looked oddly nervous. “Yes, High Minko. Those moving north are preparing to carry the food you need for the new town. Others are headed south in anticipation of logging activities. The mikkos are fully aware of the number of logs that will need to be cut to repair the palisade.”
Flying Hawk sighed with relief. “A single ray of sunshine in a day filled with storm. For that, I bless you, Councilor.” He shook his head. “Imagine that. I am surrounded by nothing but trouble and confusion among the Sky Hand, and it is the Albaamaha to whom I can offer thanks for a job well done.”
Some masked irony gleamed behind the old Albaamo’s eyes. “Perhaps it was my desire to go fishing in your pond, High Minko.”
“Quite so. And we shall do that. I promise.” Flying Hawk tapped his fingers on his stone mace. “I send my compliments to your wise mikkos. At least we have solved the Albaamaha problems.”
“Oh, indeed we have,” Amber Bead replied, his head lowered.
“Thank you, my friend. I shall see you tomorrow at the Council. You may go.”
He watched the old man turn and walk softly from the room.
Blood Skull had a curious look on his face as he watched the man leave.
“Yes, Warrior?”
“Oh, nothing,” the man mused.
From the corner of his eye, Flying Hawk thought he saw movement, as if a dark, winged shadow flitted across the wall. When he looked, only the masks hanging from their hooks stared back.
“Nothing, Blood Skull? Then why do I sense that we are balancing on the edge of catastrophe?”