It Wakes in Me (11 page)

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Authors: Kathleen O'Neal Gear

BOOK: It Wakes in Me
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When everyone had a cup, a glowing pipe and bearskin pouch stuffed with tobacco were laid at Horned Owl’s feet.
“I pray my father’s soul is watching over us today,” Horned Owl said as he lifted the carved stone pipe for all to see, then touched it to his lips, and blew smoke, first to the east, then the other three cardinal directions.
Horned Owl passed the pipe to Strongheart, who smoked, and gave it to War Chief Grown Bear. The elders smoked next. Finally the pipe made its way through the warriors, and back to Horned Owl.
Strongheart sipped his Black Drink, and softly said, “May the Above Spirits watch over us and guide us to the right decisions. We ask these things in the names of our Ancestors.”
Every person tipped his cup and drank. Sora stared down into the black brew. Steam curled from the surface and scented
the air with the tangy fragrance of yaupon holly, from which sacred Black Drink was made. She knew little of the traditions of the Loon People, but among the Black Falcon Nation, yaupon was sacred. It had been the last drink to touch Black Falcon’s beak before he dove straight into Mother Sun’s heart, sacrificing himself to bring fire to the world so that humans might cook their food and keep warm during the winters. For that reason, light, warmth, and sacrifice were forever tied to yaupon. Black Drink cleansed selfish thoughts from the heart.
Before she sipped, she said a soft prayer, thanking Black Falcon for giving his life for human beings. The Black Drink tasted strong and bitter, just the way she preferred it; she took a long drink and clutched the conch shell in hard fists. In the next hand of time, her fate would be decided, one way or the other. They would probably kill her … and she knew it.
She lifted her cup and drained the bitter contents; then she squared her narrow shoulders and stared straight at the new chief of Eagle Flute Village.
Horned Owl’s eyes tightened beneath her commanding gaze, as though he could suddenly feel the weight of the entire Black Falcon Nation coming down upon him. Which it would if he condemned her to death. Her people would demand it.
Unless, of course, they, too, believed she had killed Chief Blue Blow.
She had no way of knowing what was being said about her in Blackbird Town. Did they believe her to be a murderer? According to the laws of her people, and apparently those of the Loon Nation, murder was punished by retaliation. It was the duty of the male blood relatives to kill either the murderer or some other member of the killer’s lineage—to make things straight. Her people would not object to her death if they believed that she had killed Blue Bow. Retaliation was the right of his people.
But there’s no proof! They would never condemn me without
—
Strongheart rose to his feet. His movements were so graceful the shell bells decorating the hem of his flaxen shirt barely clicked together, but the sound affected the crowd like a blast of lightning. They went ominously silent.
He extended a hand to Sora. “This woman, the former chieftess of the Black Falcon Nation, is accused of murdering our blessed chief, Blue Bow. It will be up to you today to decide if she is liable for the killing. If she is, then our chief ’s soul will not be able to rest until we avenge his death. If she is not liable, however, because she is sick, then we must do everything in our power to try to Heal her.” He lifted his hands and held them out to the people in a pleading gesture. “I know you. You are kind and good. I have faith that, after you’ve heard the tales of what happened, you will make the right decision.”
A low rumble of voices filled the dawn.
Horned Owl flung up an arm and called, “Let the Bears come!”
Two masked dancers emerged from inside the Chief’s House, followed by Flint and War Chief Grown Bear.
The dancers, who wore enormous bear masks similar to Horned Owl’s, pirouetted through the gathering shaking deer-hoof rattles and sniffing those present. They spent a good deal of time sniffing Feather Dancer, who looked like he longed to drive a lance through their hearts.
Flint stood tall and handsome, his perfectly chiseled face calm. Long black hair fell over the shoulders of his black cape like a silken wealth. He did not even grace her with a glance. He just braced his feet and folded his hands before him, as though waiting his turn to speak.
Was he afraid they’d kill her? Or afraid they wouldn’t?
He’d forfeited his entire world to bring her here. She couldn’t believe he’d done it just to gain the paltry wealth the Loon Nation had to offer. No, there was more to it.
In the dark place between her souls, she believed he still loved her and had brought her here for one purpose—to see if Strongheart could Heal her.
Unfortunately, the coldly logical part of her souls feared that Feather Dancer was right: Flint had betrayed her for his own gain.
But
what
?
Surely not the crude pottery, wooden seed-beads, and rancid fish oil produced by the Loon People?
Did the enormous war party that would soon be heading south for the jade have orders to deliver Flint more wealth than he’d ever imagined?
He is not above such temptations.
He’d been a low-status man before his marriage to her, the son of a common weaver. She remembered the awed expression on his face when he’d first gazed upon the extraordinary wealth she possessed. As the daughter of a chieftess, Sora had been showered with the rarest, most precious objects in the world. The second day after their Joining, Flint had knelt and sorted through the pots and baskets that lined every wall of the new house her people had built for them. He’d touched the pounded copper sheets, strings of thousands of pearls, and extraordinary fabrics as though touching the faces of the gods themselves.
It had surprised her to discover that he was, after all, exceedingly human.
When the Bear Dancers finally made their way back to Sora, they sniffed her thoroughly, tilting their enormous heads to look at her with glistening shell eyes while low growls came from their fanged muzzles. She sat perfectly still, allowing them to examine her. Since she did not know the legends that surrounded these Bear Dancers, she had no idea what their purpose was; it was better to say and do nothing, rather than risk violating some obscure Loon People rule.
One of the Bear Dancers abruptly threw his head back, revealing rows of sharp teeth, and leaped at Flint, roaring as though to tear his head off.
Surprised, Flint’s eyes went wide, but to his credit, he stood his ground and let the Bear Dancer sniff every part of him.
Next, the Dancers sniffed Grown Bear, who looked irritated by their attention. They went over him in remarkable detail, far more detail than they had Sora or Flint.
When the Bears finally Danced away into the forest, Strongheart said, “The Bears can sniff out no malice or deceit among the witnesses. Let us, then, hear their tales.”
Horned Owl called, “War Chief Grown Bear, come forward!”
Grown Bear walked to stand between Horned Owl and Strongheart, facing Sora. A burly man with short black hair, recently cut in mourning, his face captured her attention. One long scar slashed across his cheeks and nose, making it appear that his face had two halves. He wore a red-and-white shirt that hung to the middle of his muscular thighs. “I am here, my chief.”
“Tell us what happened the night you went to Blackbird Town.”
He glanced at Sora, and for one stunning moment, neither of them seemed to breathe.
Grown Bear looked away and said, “It was late. We’d been walking for two days straight. Chief Blue Bow had ordered us to march through the night in order to reach Blackbird Town as quickly as possible. All of my warriors were tired and looking forward to the sanctuary that had been promised to us by Matron Wink. Two hands of time past midnight, we were surprised to see War Chief Feather Dancer and Matron Wink’s son, Long Fin, step out of the forest. Feather Dancer said that, as a gesture of good faith, Matron Wink had sent them to escort us into Blackbird Town. He told us not to be afraid when his warriors came out of the forest. He—”
“How many warriors accompanied Feather Dancer and Long Fin?” Horned Owl asked, sounding slightly bored. But, of course, he must have heard this story many times by now.
Since Sora hadn’t, she listened intently.
Grown Bear replied, “I saw perhaps twenty.”
Strongheart said, “Please, go on. What happened after that?”
Grown Bear clenched his fists at his sides, as though expecting trouble. “Our chief told me he wished to speak with the matron’s son in private and that I was to keep my warriors twenty paces back.”
Suspicious mutters eddied through the crowd.
Grown Bear continued, “I told him I thought that was unwise, that the Black Falcon Nation might be plotting to kill us all, but the chief insisted, and I did as I was told.”
“Did my father walk away with Long Fin?” Horned Owl asked, and scanned the crowd, clearly trying to judge their mood.
“Yes. War Chief Feather Dancer followed three or four paces behind them.”
Horned Owl waved for the guards to bring Feather Dancer forward. They dragged him up, and gripped his muscular arms tightly to prevent him from using them.
“Is that true?” Horned Owl asked. “Did you follow only a few paces behind Long Fin and my father?”
Feather Dancer’s lacerated lips bled when he said, “I did.”
One of the elders, a sallow-faced old woman with white hair, leaned forward. “Grown Bear, could you hear what our chief said to young Long Fin?”
“I heard a few things, Elder Littlefield, but not many. I was too far behind.”
“And you, War Chief Feather Dancer, did you hear what they said?”
Feather Dancer took a deep breath and stared at the old
woman for several instants before he replied, “Very little, Elder. They were trying very hard to let no one overhear their words.”
Sora had known Feather Dancer for twenty-six winters. She thought he was lying … but why would he do that? He must think it protected her. Or perhaps it protected him.
The elders leaned their heads together and whispered for a time; then Littlefield said, “Grown Bear, tell us what you did hear.”
Grown Bear waved a hand. “Toward the end of his conversation with Long Fin, Chief Blue Bow cried out as though offended, and said, ’Explain? I mean your chieftess was supposed to meet with me fourteen days ago to negotiate the release of your hostages, but I never saw her.’” Grown Bear hesitated. “Then he said something about how Chieftess Sora’s war party camped outside Eagle Flute Village—as we all know it did—and she sent in a willing hostage, who told him that she promised to appear within five days, and if she didn’t, Blue Bow could kill the hostage. Naturally, when the sixth day arrived—”
“We killed him!” Horned Owl shouted. “His name was Walking Bird. He was a whimpering coward.”
Sora closed her eyes. Though a member of Water Hickory Clan, Walking Bird had been a good and loyal friend, dedicated to his people … .
I remember leaving camp with Walking Bird. He led the way. What happened after that? Where did I go?
Was she still suffering the effects of the Spirit Plant that Flint had forced her drink on the journey here?
“What else?” Littlefield demanded to know. “Could you hear anything else?”
Grown Bear shook his head. “No, their voices dropped too low again, but I later heard that this man’s wife-to-be, a woman named White Fawn”—he pointed at Flint—“was murdered during those five days.”
“I don’t care about Flint’s betrothed!” Horned Owl said. “Tell them about the lance that slit my father’s throat.”
The elders fixed their gazes on Grown Bear, and he drew himself up to his full height. “It was a chunkey lance, thrown from the dark forest.” He rubbed his fingers over his jugular vein. “It sliced through the big vein in our chief’s throat. There was no way to stop the blood. He died a short while later.”
“A chunkey lance?” Littlefield turned around to the crowd. “We have all heard that Chieftess Sora is an expert chunkey player. In fact, didn’t you watch her play in a chunkey game once?”
“Yes, Elder,” Grown Bear responded. “Only a half-moon ago. She is very good with the lance.”
Strongheart called, “So are many people in this village. Let us return to the death of our chief. Did you send your warriors into the forest to find the murderer?”
“Yes, Priest. Long Fin’s warriors and our warriors immediately ran into the trees to search for the chief ’s attacker. I told my warriors that I wanted the killer unharmed so that I might question him.”
“Because you feared the assassin had been hired by Matron Wink, isn’t that correct?”
Sora’s head jerked around, and she stared wide-eyed at Strongheart. Had someone told him that? Who? There were only two people here who might have had contact with Wink before Blue Bow was murdered. She and Flint. Her gaze slid back to Flint. He hadn’t moved. He stood like a statue.
“Yes,” Grown Bear said through a tight exhalation. “I had been worried about that all along.”

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