AS WE WAITED, FALL—LIKE A HARBINGER OF THE WORLD’S IMPENDING death—came to Mabila. Great vees of geese, herons, loons, and ducks winged overhead on their way south. Each morning the sun edged its way farther down the horizon. A chill crisped the mornings, and the first fruits of the harvest found their way to the warriors’ camps.
Rather than dwell on the coming cold, darkness, and storm, Dancing Snake made sure our days were fully occupied. We taught warriors where to aim in order to make a killing or wounding shot on an armored soldado.
Every night, by the light of crackling fires, we told our stories. We lectured on Napetuca and what went wrong there. They heard of the battles around Apalachee and how to successfully ambush cabayos.
Each time before we were introduced the young men grinned and elbowed each other, joking about Pearl Hand’s beauty and whispering rude things into their friends’ ears.
But when Dancing Snake fixed the miscreants with his single eye and introduced Pearl Hand as a nicoquadca, they lifted their eyebrows. After Pearl Hand began to speak, telling them of how many Kristianos she’d killed, they sat up respectfully.
Runners came each day, and we learned that Tuskaloosa had met de Soto in Caxa town. Together they were proceeding to Atahachi. Apparently Tuskaloosa relished his role: De Soto had given him a cabayo to ride. Nevertheless, the monster’s capitanes rode in advance to scout the trail.
“Does that mean he doesn’t trust Tuskaloosa?” Blood Thorn wondered one night.
“Or else they know we are here.” Pearl Hand—sitting on the bench—propped her chin on one hand.
“Give the high minko time,” I told them. “Even if they are suspicious, Tuskaloosa’s not in chains yet.”
“But surely they are suspicious,” Blood Thorn said insistently. “They can’t help but notice that the women and children aren’t in the towns they pass through.”
“Patience,” I told him. “So far there has been no trouble. Tuskaloosa planned for this. No women means no chance for angry relatives sneaking up to shoot arrows at wandering soldados.”
“He’s right,” Pearl Hand added. “The important thing is that de Soto’s belly is full, his packs are being carried, and he’s got Tuskaloosa at his side being a good little minko.”
“You call him little?” I arched an eyebrow.
“All right, so he’s a big little minko.”
“And”—I made a face—“the Adelantado has given him a cabayo to ride?” I tried to form an image of the giant Tuskaloosa on a Kristiano cabayo. “Never, dear wife, has the mighty Adelantado given a chief a cabayo of his own. That tells me that Tuskaloosa is playing his game well.”
The next day word came: De Soto was in Atahachi. The monster was only days away.
The runner arrived by swift canoe, trotting overland with great haste.
The hollow sound of the conch horn called all deputies to the palace. We arrived ahead of most, and Dancing Snake motioned for us to come up onto the veranda.
When the others had assembled, the thlakko asked, “What news?”
“Possible trouble,” the runner told us. “The Piachi minko placed a formation of his warriors before the town. Tuskaloosa ordered him to desist, and he did. But the damage is done.
“Then, to make matters worse, two of the Kristianos wandered away into the forest to pick chestnuts. Apparently a party of passing Coosa—headed here—ambushed them. Both Kristianos were killed, ihola’ka taken, and their bodies mutilated.”
“And the high minko? Is he all right?”
“He is,” the runner said. “The Kristianos were enraged. They demanded the guilty warriors be turned over to them. The high minko remained calm, saying he didn’t have them but would dispatch warriors to chase them down. They are to be delivered here, to Mabila. If they are not, the Adelantado promises to burn the high minko alive in the plaza.”
Growls went up from the warriors.
“Enough,” Dancing Snake said. “What else?”
“The Kristianos have ordered the high minko to provide them with women. They are growing more suspicious with each town they pass, finding no women or children. The high minko informs them that here, at Mabila, women will be provided to lie with the Kristianos.”
“Oh, yes.” Dancing Snake chuckled. Accented by the missing eye, his smile was nothing nice.
“The high minko orders that you find twenty slave women, bring them here, and have them ready to dance upon the Kristianos’ arrival at Mabila. There must be music, an almost festive atmosphere. Can you do this?”
“You!” Dancing Snake indicated one of the deputies with his chin. “Find the women. See to locating a drummer and men who can play the flute. That is your responsibility.”
“Yes, Thlakko.” The deputy pivoted on his heel and raced off across the plaza.
The crippled thlakko turned back to the runner. “When are they expected to arrive?”
“The morning after tomorrow. And there is one other thing: Upon their arrival, the Mabila minko is expected to greet the Kristianos outside the gate. Men are to be dressed in feathers and good clothing. The reception is to look authentic, festive. This is to allay the Adelantado’s fears and to mask the presence of any warriors foolish enough to show themselves.”
“It will be done,” the Mabila minko agreed. He was a middle-aged man, lacking in charisma and imagination but awed by the knowledge that a great battle was going to be fought in his town.
“Anything else?” Dancing Snake asked.
The runner smiled wearily. “Only that Power bless us.”
That day was frenetic, squads of warriors being moved into specific houses, weapon stocks checked, and shooting angles inspected.
Anything loose, like baskets, large pots, pestles, and mortars, was removed to leave the paths and passages clear of things Kristianos could hide behind. Latrine screens and flimsy ramadas were torn down. Tours were made by the newest warriors so they knew their way around the labyrinth of houses.
Pearl Hand oiled her crossbow and carefully sharpened the metal tips of her weapons. Blood Thorn and I polished our swords. Locked in our heads was the knowledge that we would finally strike a blow for all of the dead, mutilated, raped, and murdered souls. Here, at Mabila, the decisive battle for our world would be fought.
All that day, the sepaya seemed to burn from an energy all its own.
De Soto comes!
The monster had left Piachi and was marching overland toward Mabila. The good news was that Tuskaloosa still hadn’t been chained and, from the scouts’ observations, was being carried by his litter bearers. Evidently, after Piachi, the Adelantado had taken away his cabayo. Given what I knew about the beasts—which was nothing good—I wasn’t sure if this was a blessing or not.
We spent the day making sure that all was prepared. That afternoon the conch horn sounded, and all deputies assembled at the palace. Darting Snake and the Mabila minko stood atop the low palace veranda. The little thlakko called for attention, his leg hanging impotently.
“This is the plan,” he shouted. “Look behind you down the plaza. At the far end is the gate through which the high minko will lead the Kristianos. He and the Mabila minko will bring them here, to where you are standing. After greetings, they will probably dismount and relax. Food will be brought. Those of you chosen for the honor will be here, lining the plaza sides, your weapons just out of sight. You job is to keep any Kristianos from wandering away from the plaza and looking into the houses. Stand in a line, shoulder to shoulder, smiling the entire time. Bring some kind of gift with you. A feather, a pot, I don’t care what. When you are approached by a Kristiano seeking to pass, hand this to him and smile, as if giving him a present.
“We will continue this for as long as we can, keeping up the illusion that all is peace. At some point—as we all know—one of the Kristianos will figure it out. When that occurs, you will run for your weapons and attack.”
People shifted, glancing at each other, some winking, others grinning, still others becoming uneasy.
Darting Snake gestured with his arm. “This is the major killing ground. Here, in the plaza. Your first targets are the leaders and—remember this—the cabayos.”
Warriors nodded.
Darting Snake made a gesture. “When the fighting begins, the gates must be closed! Immediately. This is delegated to Wild Cat Mankiller of the Albaamaha. The gates must be guarded to the last man to trap the Kristianos inside.
“Meanwhile, the rest of you will be facing hardened, armored warriors. Expect them to push you back. When they do, fall back among the houses. Let them chase you through the narrow passages where warriors can shoot them through the house loopholes at close range. They should become disoriented, confused in the maze.
“Others of you have been given the job of securing the walls, manning the shooting towers. Your job is to ensure that the soldados outside do not come to the rescue of those we have trapped.”
He resettled himself on the crutches. “When the Adelantado and his capitanes are killed, their bodies will be carried to the walls and thrown over. This is to dishearten the Kristianos outside, break their spirit.”
Nods of assent passed among the warriors.
Finally, Darting Snake shouted, “Many of us will die. Those who do will be honored among their ancestors, granted passage to the Land of the Dead. Your descendants will sing your praises.”
Shouts of “ahoo”s and “hau”s were called out.
“Does everyone understand?”
More “ahoo”s and “hau”s answered.
“All right.” Darting Snake slumped on his crutches. “Go, and make your medicine, prepare yourselves.”
The assembled warriors slowly trickled away. I could see Tastanaki leading his Coosa toward the temple, where huge pots of black drink had been boiled.
“What do you think?” Blood Thorn asked.
It was Pearl Hand who said, “It will be paid for in blood, but by this time tomorrow, de Soto’s fate will be sealed.”
“Providing nothing goes wrong,” I muttered.
We had a private supper that night, me, Pearl Hand, and Blood Thorn. We carried our food to the banks of the barrow-pit pond and watched nighthawks give way to bats as the sun set in the southwest. What began as a brassy yellow sky darkened to orange, backlighting scattered clouds, then turned to a radiant crimson before fading to a deep purple.
Insects clicked and chattered in the grass around us, and far off, an owl hooted from the trees.
We shared pit-roasted venison, corn cakes seasoned with raspberries, and dried plums. Finally we finished off with mint tea.
“It’s been a long trail,” Blood Thorn said as he sat cross-legged, staring out over the sky-silvered pond. “Though it is just over a year from the day the Kristianos marched into Ahocalaquen, it might have been another lifetime—one more dreamed than lived.”
I followed his gaze, seeing a small fish surface to send fading rings over the pond. Frogs croaked from the rushes that grew on the opposite side. The first stars had flickered into existence in the eastern sky.
“A dream life?” I mused, trying to think back to who I had been before de Soto. “Yes. One lived in another world.”
Pearl Hand looked off to the east, flicking her long hair back with one hand, the gesture refreshingly feminine and vulnerable. “And to think he’s just over there, camped but a short run away.”
“Which means he’ll be here early tomorrow.” I started to reach for my pipe where it lay in my belt, but we had no fire to light it.
Blood Thorn said, “The scouts will tell us when he’s on the road.” He paused thoughtfully. “Even if we trap him in the plaza, it won’t be as easy as Darting Snake thinks. These warriors have never fought Kristianos.”
Pearl Hand and I both nodded, sharing the skepticism in his voice.
“What do you think?” Blood Thorn asked. “Even if everything works just the way Darting Snake has planned, what are our chances?”
Pearl Hand took my right hand and held it tight. “We’ve seen them fight their way out of ambushes time after time. Were this ambush sprung on anyone but Kristianos, it would be a massacre.”
I sighed. “Somehow, they always have a trick, some advantage to fall back upon. I wonder what it will be tomorrow?”
We pondered that in silence, watching the stars emerge, some obscured by patches of cloud. Cool air had begun to descend, and the songs of warriors could be heard on the still night air as they sang to Power to bless them with skill and courage. How many of those voices would be silenced by this time tomorrow?
Later we picked our way back in the dark, seeing to the dogs and finding our beds. Pearl Hand looked around the crowded house. Warriors shifted uneasily in their blankets where they lay on sleeping benches and every open spot of floor.
Bending close, she whispered, “Let’s take our blankets. Go somewhere we can be alone.”
I gave her a smile, and moments later we’d rolled our bedding and walked quietly through the town and out the gate.
That night we shared each other over and over, sometimes with a passionate desperation that left us panting and exhausted, other times with a soft and gentle caring that implied we had all of eternity before us.
With Pearl Hand locked in my arms, I finally surrendered to sleep—only to enter a world of dreams filled with fires and death and the endless screams of dying men.