People of the Mist (23 page)

 
          
Flying
Weir shook his head, his grimace that of a man who’d bitten into a moldy beach
plum.

 
          
After
all of Panther’s worry about meeting strangers, the notion of walking into a
battle left his stomach tied in an uncomfortable knot.

 
          
As
he walked toward the shouting warriors, he cast a quick glance at each of his
companions. High Fox still looked glum—as guilty as if caught in the act. Sun
Conch appeared calm and stoic, but then she still believed she’d surrendered
body and soul to a dangerous witch. She’d given herself up for dead days ago.

 
          
Panther
squinted at the line of warriors. The closest man had stopped to call High
Fox’s name to his companions. Sun Conch shouted, “I have brought The Panther to
look into the charges made against High Fox! He will speak for my friend!”

 
          
The
nearest warriors melted away like snow from a fire, and Panther could see the
rising panic in their eyes. At that moment, had the command but been given,
they’d gladly have turned on him, skewering him with arrows until his flesh
resembled a porcupine’s.

 
          
Panther
stalked forward and glared to the right and left. By Okeus’ bloody balls, if
they thought him a witch, he’d use the belief against them.

 
          
“What
goes on here?” he demanded angrily. “Who is responsible for this mess?”

 
          
Warriors
wheeled like a covey of quail to form up behind a tall man, his left forearm
bound with a bloody strip of hide.

 
          
“Who
are you?” Panther demanded, catching a glimpse of other warriors up in the
trees. “And who are those people over there?”

 
          
The
leader, his face ashen, whether from the wound or Panther’s appearance,
swallowed hard. “I am Black Spike, Weroance of
Three
Myrtle
Village
. Those dogs hiding in the trees are Flat
Pearl warriors belonging to the Weroansqua Hunting Hawk.”

 
          
Panther
stared at the trees, and shouted, “Who is in charge of the Flat Pearl war
party?”

 
          
A
short, burly man with shoulders like a ledge stepped out from behind a huge
oak. He carried a thick-wristed bow, with an arrow nocked. His bandy legs might
have been carved from stumps.

 
          
“You
speak to Nine Killer, War Chief of
Flat
Pearl
Village
. What is your purpose here, witch?”

 
          
“Surly
sort, isn’t he?” Panther asked his companions.

 
          
Sun
Conch came forward to stand beside him. “He’s the most respected war leader
among the Independent villages.”

 
          
“Huh!
He looks trapped, if you ask me.” Panther raised his voice. “What is happening
here?”

 
          
Black
Spike took an uncertain step. “The raiders came in the night to take High Fox
by force. We were warned that they were coming. Last night, in the darkness,
two of my warriors, Big Noise and Wind, swam around behind them and pushed
their canoes away. We surrounded them and waited for morning. When Nine Killer
would not surrender, we decided to attack.”

 
          
Panther
turned. “You, Nine Killer, step out here!”

 
          
The
squat warrior stood fast. “Why should I trust myself to you, night traveler?”

 
          
“Because
I’m here to sort this matter out. And, from what I can see, you and your
warriors are about to be killed at best, or captured, studded with slivers of
pitch pine and set afire. Now, do you want to take a chance that I can save
your life, and those of your men, or do you want me to sing an incantation that
makes Black Spike’s warriors invincible?”

 
          
“Save
their lives?” Black Spike cried. “Impossible! We’re going to kill them right
here and now!”

 
          
Panther
spun on his heel, glaring into Black Spike’s eyes until they dropped. “Perhaps
I will fester that wounded arm of yours. I think I could swell it up like a
putrid corpse’. The fever will burn your sense away while pus drips like
rainwater. Why, you’d rave yourself to death in three days.”

 
          
Black
Spike wavered, worked his mouth, and nodded. “We will listen to your words,
Elder.”

 
          
“Fine,
that’s sense, for once.” Panther indicated the warriors crowding behind Black
Spike. “The rest of you, go away. Leave your Weroance here. He will be safe.”
Panther faced Nine Killer. “Come forward, War Chief. We will talk.”

 
          
“I
don’t trust you!”

 
          
Panther
pointed at the retreating Three Myrtle warriors. “Would you rather trust them?
I’m here to determine the truth of the accusations against High Fox. If you
have no interest in making that determination, Nine Killer, I might just as
well let Black Spike kill you, and go back to my island.”

 
          
Nine
Killer hesitated, then handed his bow to a warrior who stepped out from the
trees. The War Chief walked warily forward.

 
          
Panther
waited, arms crossed, foot tapping the damp grass. When Nine Killer was within
five paces he stopped, and his hands tightened into fists. The action made the
thick muscle of his forearms swell and writhe. He shot a piercing glance first
at High Fox, then Black Spike, skimmed over Sun Conch, and finally turned on
Panther. “So, you’re the famous night traveler? I’ve never seen a witch
before.”

 
          
“Hah!”
Panther snorted. “That’s what gullible fools claim. Myself, in all my years,
I’ve never really believed in witches. Men and women with Power, yes. But witches,
War Chief”—Panther tapped the side of his head—“it’s all in here. A creation of
the imagination.”

 
          
Panther
cast a glance at Black Spike, who scowled angrily at Nine Killer. The Weroance
had his wounded arm tucked to his chest. He looked pale, all color drained from
his face, as if the slightest breeze would knock him over.

 
          
“Imagination?”
Nine Killer asked skeptically.

 
          
“Imagination
carries its own Power, War Chief. A Power more intimidating than the combined
forces of all your warriors with their bows and war clubs.”

 
          
“This
is empty talk. What are you here for, witch? What is your purpose with this
deceitful dog?” Black Spike asked, his hot glare pinning Nine Killer.

 
          
Panther
reached out and pulled the nervous High Fox forward. “This young warrior has
been accused of murder. Young Red Knot is dead, as I understand it. Sun Conch
came to me, told me that the Independent villages were about to come apart like
an unfired pot in a rainstorm. And now, when I arrive here, I find that her
words carried a great deal of truth. As I remember, Three Myrtle and Flat Pearl
were the heart of the alliance that kept the Independent villages out of the
Mamanatowick’s grasp.”

 
          
“Why
do you care, witch?” Nine Killer crossed his arms.

 
          
“About
the fate of the Independent villages?” Panther shrugged. “I don’t. If the
Mamanatowick captures all of you, it won’t affect me. The sun will continue to
rise, travel across the sky, and set in the west. The snows will come, followed
by planting. Summer will nourish the plants and trees, and harvest will follow.
The leaves will turn and fall and winter will come again. People will continue
to be born, grow, live, and die.”

 
          
“But
not our clans,” Black Spike added. “And if you don’t care about that, what is
your purpose here?”

 
          
Panther
indicated Sun Conch. “This girl, Sun Conch, believes that High Fox didn’t kill
Red Knot. Maybe I’m here because of her.” Then he paused and smiled. “Or, maybe
I’m here because I’m curious. Who did kill Red Knot?”

 
          
“And
if it was High Fox?” Nine Killer demanded. “What then, witch?”

 
          
Panther
narrowed his eyes to slits and turned to the shivering High Fox. The youth had
come forward to stand just behind Sun Conch’s shoulder, his handsome face
strained. “Oh, if I find that he killed Red Knot-and lied to me about it—he’ll
wish he’d let you catch him in the very beginning, War Chief.”

 
          
Nine
Killer had camped his warriors in the little grove of trees that once had been
his death trap. Gray scudding clouds could be seen through the stark branches
overhead. Disgruntled, he frowned at the fire. The aroma of boiling corn,
acorn, and fish stew rose from the cooking pots his warriors now watched over.
In all of his life, he’d never undergone such rapid reversals of fate. That
morning, he should have pulled off his most daring and audacious raid ever,
only to be tricked, trapped, and confounded at every turn. Then, just as his
enemy had massed to deal him a complete defeat, the witch, Panther, arrived to
save him from disaster.

 
          
And
now, here I sit, happily alive, but no closer to the solution of my dilemma, or
escape from this impossible quagmire.

 
          
Two
hands of time before, their canoes had been returned to them by sullen Three
Myrtle warriors. So, not only had they survived at Panther’s whim, but they
could now extricate themselves from this stewing disaster.

 
          
A
truly wise man would have packed up and run while the running was good.

 
          
Nine
Killer scratched his ear and grimaced. He’d always believed himself to be a
reasonably bright fellow. But no matter what the urgings of his heart, stubborn
will kept him here, waiting to see just what would come of The Panther’s
arrival at Three Myrtle Village.

 
          
He
plucked up a twig and used it to tap the damp soil. He’d been unhappy about
every twist and turn in this Red Knot affair. As things progressed, the
situation became ever more clouded. “War Chief?” Flying Weir called,
interrupting Nine Killer’s thoughts. His lieutenant pointed out at the dusk.

 
          
Through
the trees, Nine Killer could see The Panther walking toward them across the
clearing that lay between the trees and the Three Myrtle Village. Young Sun
Conch followed behind him, wary. She’d pulled her feathered cape back and
hooked it over the war club tied to her belt. Her right hand rested on the handle.
The weapon looked too big for such a small girl. Through the thin fabric of her
red dress, Nine Killer could see her barely budded breasts. Did the girl
seriously consider herself to be a warrior? In any other circumstances, Nine
Killer would have laughed at the idea.

 
          
Nine
Killer dropped his stick, stood, wiped his hands, and said, “Let them come, but
Flying Weir, keep an eye on them. I want to know immediately if you see
anything suspicious.”

 
          
“Yes,
War Chief.” Flying Weir didn’t seem reassured.

 
          
The
Panther entered the trees and walked directly to Nine Killer’s fire, nodding an
absent greeting. Without ceremony, he seated himself before the fire and
extended his bony hands to the warmth. The old man’s skin looked like
desiccated leather, dark, callused, and wrinkled.

 
          
Sun
Conch stood behind him, the nostrils of her beak nose flaring. The Panther
might act unconcerned, but Sun Conch remained on her feet and concentrated on
the Flat Pearl warriors who glared at her from all sides. A brave girl, especially
for one so skinny.

 
          
“It’s
going to be a cold night,” The Panther said by way of greeting. “But actually a
bit warm for the season. Could be worse, you know. I’ve seen snow hip deep to
an elk this close to solstice.”

 
          
“I’ve
heard of such winters,” Nine Killer replied. He crouched down and picked up his
stick again, rolling it in his fingers, waiting.

 
          
The
Panther rubbed his hands together, mused at the flames, and asked, “Have you
ever watched the mist blow in from the ocean?”

 
          
Nine
Killer lifted a skeptical eyebrow. “I have.”

 
          
“This
Red Knot problem, I think it’s like a thick mist blew in. No one can see
clearly. The girl is dead, and now people are blindly trying to see her death
as they wish.”

 
          
“You
think so, eh?”

 
          
The
Panther smiled. “Why else would two villages who have been friends for years be
tearing at each other’s throats?”

 
          
Nine
Killer said nothing, his hackles rising.

 
          
“Ah,”
The Panther said knowingly. “From your expression I am supposed to think you
wanted to die this morning?”

 
          
“Don’t
be silly.”

 
          
The
Panther studied him, seeming to see right through Nine Killer’s skin and into
his soul. Then the old man said, “Let’s you and I be honest with each other. Of
all the challenges men accept, honesty is the hardest to meet. So, tell me, War
Chief, just this once, for this little moment, could you be honest?”

 
          
Nine
Killer cocked his head. “Why should I be?”

 
          
“Why
should you not? Or, is it because you know who killed Red Knot—and it isn’t
High Fox? Hmm.”

 
          
“Absolutely
not! That’s… that’s …” Nine Killer’s protests died as he looked into the old
man’s unfailing gaze. In that instant, a grudging respect was born. “Very well.
You may indeed be a witch, for you see a man’s soul, don’t you?”

 
          
The
Panther shrugged. “Oh, I know you, Nine Killer. You gave yourself away when you
didn’t leave the moment your canoes were returned. Were you the killer, you
would have left faster than a frightened duck—knowing full well you couldn’t
capture High Fox. The same if you were protecting the killer.”

 
          
Nine
Killer considered, hearing the sense of the words. “Maybe I’m just a smarter
kind of killer. Maybe that’s what I wanted you to think.”

 
          
“Why?”
The Panther steepled his hands. “What does it matter what I think?”

 
          
“It
doesn’t, I…” Nine Killer stopped. “You’re very clever, witch.”

 
          
“So,
can we be honest, you and me? Your answer will depend on whether you really
want to know what happened to Red Knot.” “I could tell you I was being honest,
and lie anyway.”

 
          
“You
could. But, will you?”

 
          
Nine
Killer chuckled and used his stick to tap the dirt. “Very well, witch, for this
one moment, I will be honest with you.”

 
          
“Then,
if we are being honest, it bothers me when I’m called a witch. I’ve known a
few, and I’m nothing like them. To be a night traveler, one must pay a terrible
price. In the first place, I’m not prepared to give up that much of myself. In
the second, I don’t want the things most witches want. The possession of men’s
souls is a depressing and truly horrifying proposition.” “It is?”

 
          
“Tell
me, War Chief, why would anyone with sense want to bottle a man’s soul up in
ajar someplace? What if it got loose, got mixed up with your own? I can’t speak
for you, but I’m perplexed enough with my own soul without having it attacked
and confused by someone else’s.”

 
          
Despite
himself, Nine Killer cracked a smile. “I’d never thought of it that way.”

 
          
“No,
I suppose you didn’t. Most people don’t.” He paused. “Do you really think High
Fox killed this girl?”

 
          
Nine
Killer shrugged. “He was up on the ridge. She was running off to meet him. Who
should I think killed her?”

 
          
Panther’s
attention had remained on the fire, but he said, “I don’t hear conviction in
your voice, War Chief.”

 
          
“Just
how much do you know about what happened that morning?”

 
          
“I’ll
tell you everything High Fox told me.” The Panther went on to relate High Fox’s
story, ending with, “And, truthfully, I’m not sure he-didn’t kill her.”

 
          
At
that, Sun Conch shot a terrified glance at The Panther. As if the old man had
eyes in the back of his head, he said, “I came here for Sun Conch, to find out
the truth of what happened. I will follow that quest wherever it leads. For the
moment, I will take High Fox’s word that he didn’t kill the girl. I even half
believe him.”

 
          
“He
ran,” Nine Killer pointed out.

 
          
“He’s
little more than a boy, Blackened or not. He panicked and lost all of his
sense. He was already in enough trouble just asking the girl to run away with
him. Like quicksand, he’d sunk up to his waist. When he found the girl’s body,
I’think he was in over his head. Too much mud in his eyes to see clearly.”

 
          
Nine
Killer shifted uncomfortably. “Something hasn’t been right about this from the
beginning.” He went on to relate the events of the morning Red Knot had
disappeared: the decision to search; Copper Thunder’s apparent nonchalance;
Quick Fawn’s discovery of Winged Blackbird; and the subsequent ambush of Corn
Hunter’s warriors.

 
          
“Flat
Willow
, a young hunter, found the body and
reported it. We went up, looked around, found where the girl had been killed.
She had a necklace in her hand. One made of drilled shark teeth, pearls, and …”

           
Sun Conch sucked in a deep breath.

 
          
“Yes,
girl?” Nine Killer asked.

 
          
“Nothing,
I—just a chill as the night settles.” She pulled the front of her cape tighter,
but her face had gone slack, her eyes huge.

 
          
Nine
Killer continued: “Perhaps it’s just that I don’t like Copper Thunder, but I
would have expected him to act differently about the murder of a woman promised
to him. Hunting Hawk is playing her own deep game. She, too, didn’t seem
terribly distressed. Shell Comb, on the other hand, she’s always been a
firebrand, and she was ready to order an attack on Corn Hunter, convinced that
Winged Blackbird’s warriors had killed the girl.”

 
          
“Copper
Thunder didn’t counsel war?”

 
          
“No.
He’s like a jumping spider, waiting, watching from his crack in the bark. He’ll
make no move until his prey is in range, and vulnerable.”

 
          
“As
the sun rises in the east…” The Panther sighed and rotated a shoulder, as if
his bones ached.

 
          
“You
were saying?”

 
          
“Oh,
nothing.” The Panther waved it away. “All those Comings of the Leaves out on my
island, I’d come to wonder why I’d left the world behind. Now, I remember. It
was people. The world never changes.”

 
          
“We
are the way we are, Elder. Descended from Okeus, living in the world he helped
to mold.”

 
          
“And
for that I shall never forgive him.” The Panther chuckled hoarsely. “So, you
smell a pack rat in the nut cache, do you, War Chief? Well, I think someone is
calling in the mist, seeking to keep us all from seeing.” He scratched under
his arm, firelight gleaming in his old eyes. “Who would gain the most from her
death?”

 
          
“The
Mamanatowick. He’d have severed any potential alliance with Copper Thunder—and
thrown the Independent villages into confusion in the process. But High Fox had
reasons too, he was losing the woman he loved. Maybe even Copper Thunder—he
might be playing a game we don’t understand.”

 
          
“Rat
Willow
,” Sun Conch whispered in a low voice.

 
          
The
Panther turned. “Flat
Willow
? The hunter who found her body?”