People of the Mist (25 page)

 
          
Black
Spike shifted uncomfortably. “Well, if it was her wish, then Sun Conch is your
responsibility. Now, what are you doing here, Elder?”

 
          
“I
have come regarding Red “Knot’s death.”

 
          
“My
son didn’t do it.” Black Spike clenched his good fist. Panther clasped his
hands together and propped his chin on his knuckles. “If he didn’t commit this
act, then we must determine who did.”

 
          
“We
don’t need your help,” Black Spike said. “We didn’t need your help this
afternoon, either. If anything, your arrival here today was less than happy.
Tonight we would be celebrating our victory over our enemies. We had everything
under control until you—”

 
          
“Ah,
your ‘enemies.” Yes, I see. Correct me if I’m wrong, but aren’t some of those
warriors your friends? Didn’t you and Nine Killer share raids, stand shoulder
to shoulder in defense of your territory? Are you sure none of your relatives
are within the Flat Pearl ranks camped beside the inlet?” Panther nodded
seriously. “Indeed, everything is under control. So much so that you were about
to murder your own kin.”

 
          
“Things
change!” Black Spike glared.

 
          
“Does
that mean you must rush headlong through life like a pilot whale onto a beach?”
Panther made an appeasing gesture. “Weroance, I am here to find out what
happened. I will do that. But you must make a choice. Will you help me, or seek
to hinder me? If you wish to hinder me, I might be tempted to wonder why. And
if I wonder long enough, I might be tempted to consider you an enemy. Look at
me, Black Spike. Do you wish to antagonize The Panther?”

 
          
Black
Spike met Panther’s gaze for the briefest moment, then looked away. “Only a
fool would cross a night traveler.”

 
          
“Especially
a fool with a wounded arm,” Panther agreed. “You never know what might creep
into the wound. In fact, from the way it’s already swollen, I would suggest
that you take a bone awl and drain it. After that, I’d use a tobacco-leaf
poultice to suck out the poison.” Black Spike seemed to deflate. “I’m sorry,
Elder. Perhaps it’s the wound that’s affecting my judgment. I meant no
offense.”

 
          
Panther
measured the fear in the man’s eyes and gave him a benevolent smile. “There, we
understand each other. Now, tell me truthfully, what do you know about this
affair?” Black Spike rubbed his face, glanced uneasily at High Fox, and
shrugged. “I know that my son didn’t kill Red Knot. He’s not a killer, Elder.”

 
          
“I
see, and why is that?”

 
          
“Okeus
alone knows why, but the boy has trouble killing a deer!” Black Spike cried.
“He’s … well, a bumbling incompetent! There’s nothing of his mother or me in
him! It’s as if…” Black Spike fidgeted with his good hand. “As if he was born
of…”

 
          
“Yes?”

 
          
“Nothing.
I was just upset. No, I’m always upset with him. High Fox has never done
anything right! He couldn’t even find the right woman to fall in love with.”

 
          
High
Fox hung his head, looking as crestfallen as a half-drowned puppy, and Panther
heard Sun Conch take a step toward the boy.

 
          
“Sun
Conch.” Panther lifted his hand. “Be still.”

 
          
She
hesitated, shifted anxiously, and finally said, “Yes, Elder.”

 
          
“My
fault,” Black Spike whispered. “It’s all my fault.”

 
          
“And
where is the boy’s mother?” Panther asked, curious at the lack of women.

 
          
“His
mother is … dead,” Black Spike said, his eyes focused on the fire.

 
          
“And
you didn’t send the boy back to his clan? To his mother’s people?”

 
          
“No.”
Black Spike’gave him a nervous glance. “High Fox’s mother was of the Sun Shell
Clan. Her family was from
Duck
Creek
Village
. I am of the Bloodroot Clan. I asked the
Sun Shell Clan for the privilege of raising my son. As Weroance, I was
perfectly suited to give him everything he needed.”

 
          
“I
see.” Panther pulled at his chin. “And when did his mother die?”

 
          
“A
long time ago. Just after his birth.”

 
          
“And
you never remarried?” “No. I had my son. My heart… well, it never had a place
for another woman.”

 
          
“Grief
is a powerful emotion.” Panther gave High Fox a sidelong glance. He had his
father’s handsome features. Those broad shoulders, the thick muscles in the
arms.

 
          
Those
sensitive brown eyes might well be able to melt any woman’s heart.

 
          
“As
Weroance, I find it unusual that you didn’t already have a second wife.”

 
          
“I…
I wasn’t Weroance then. My brother, Monster Bone, was. Elder, High Fox was born
while my wife and I were traveling, trading with the Susquehannocks up north.
Something about the birth, well, I don’t know. She bled … and bled. She never
recovered.” He glanced away uncomfortably.

 
          
“It
must have been a difficult journey,” Panther observed gently. “Yes.” Black
Spike’s gaze was vacant. “Okeus was against me. Only a day before my return, my
brother, Monster Bone, was killed. His house caught fire in the middle of the
night. Probably a spark in the thatch. He died in his bed. I came home to …
emptiness. But for my son.”

 
          
Panther
glanced up at the thatch roof, soot-blackened and vulnerable. With any warning,
the occupants could escape, since the house normally burned from the top down.
On occasion, however, if the wind were right and the people sleeping deeply,
families had been known to burn to death, many never even waking.

 
          
“So,
you inherited from your older brother? That’s how you became Weroance?”

 
          
“Yes,
Elder.” Black Spike steepled his fingers, smiling wistfully. “I have done my
best for my people—even if it meant never remarrying.”

 
          
“I
want you to do even more for your people.” Black Spike looked up in surprise.
“I want you to provide a feast for the Flat Pearl warriors.”

 
          
“A
feast? For those—”

 
          
“You
will do it.”

 
          
“How
dare you come in here and—”

 
          
“Think
well, Weroance.” Panther smiled. “Or would you have me march out into the
village and tell your people of the vision I’ve had? Empty houses, fallow
fields returning to forest, the palisade in ruins. Weeds growing in the plaza.
And where children play today, only the wailing ghosts walk, unburied and
forgotten by their few enslaved descendants. Where once the proud Greenstone,
Bloodroot, and Sun Shell clans passed, only the Mamanatowick’s padding warriors
stalk.”

 
          
Black
Spike’s face slackened. “Is this the future you see, Elder?” “One of them.
There are many futures. I can also see one where the name of Black Spike is
hailed as the man who saved the Independent villages from war and devastation
through his mercy and wisdom. In that future, you feed your enemies, and
forgive them for making a terrible—but understandable—mistake.”

 
          
“And
then you will discover the real killer of Red Knot?” Black Spike asked. “You
are offering us this as a way out?”

 
          
“I
am.”

 
          
“Even
if I agree, Nine Killer is another matter.”

 
          
“My
impression of Nine Killer is that he is a most thoughtful and intelligent man.
Like you, he is looking for a way out.”

 
          
“Nine
Killer is only a War Chief, a tool, Elder. He is here following orders. In the
end, you must deal with Hunting Hawk. She sent Nine Killer here, and she has
made up her mind that High Fox killed her granddaughter. Do you seriously
believe she will agree to peace?”

 
          
“I
will handle Hunting Hawk when the time comes.” Panther shrugged. “As to what
she agrees to, that is her decision. Like you, I can offer her an alternative.
She can accept or decline my aid as her conscience wills.”

 
          
“And
if she throws you out of Flat Pearl Village?”

 
          
Panther
frowned. “Not even Hunting Hawk would dare to throw me out.”

 
          
Black
Spike sighed, spread his arms wide in acceptance, and said, “Very well, Elder.
Tomorrow, we will hold a feast for Nine Killer and his Flat Pearl warriors.” He
paused, nursing his wounded arm to his chest again. “And I will forgive them,
and try to make peace with Nine Killer.”

 
          
“Good.”
Panther clapped his hands. “Now, let me see that arm. I myself will lance’ it
and attend to the healing.”

 
          
As
he worked on the Weroance’s swollen arm, he could feel the old slave woman’s
eyes upon him, her gaze gnawing at his soul like a rodent’s teeth. _

 
          
I
do not speak of this with joy. No one has ever known where I am when my eyes
seem far away. No one ever will know how much time I have spent wandering that
empty space inside me. Pacing the walls of reaching arms, examining the
trembling of the locked hands.

 
          
Space
kept no matter the cost.

 
          
For
her.

 
          
Are
not all our lives molded around the empty spaces of arms left open for those
we’ve lost?

 
          
Tender
and tingling. Spaces brimming with warmth and laughter.

 
          
But
the cost.

 
          
Blessed
ancestors, the cost.

 
          
For
five tens and three Comings of the Leaves, I wandered that space, and did not
see him. The monster kept his gleaming eyes closed. His colors were mine. His
pulse like an echo of my own.

 
          
Until
one day, seven moons past, when I tried to unlock my hands. At last, I felt
ready to let her go. I had kept her prisoner for so long my heartache had gone
numb.

 
          
I
tried to open my hands. I really did. But my fingers had frozen. Truly. I would
not lie about this. I struggled, and screamed.

 
          
And
he opened his eyes.

 
          
He
must have lain in the walls from the beginning, watching and waiting.

 
          
When
finally he moved, it was ever so subtly, a waver of the walls as his coils
tightened around me like a huge fist.

 
          
Now…

 
          
All
day. Every day. I sit afraid to move, staring into those savage glittering
eyes.

 
          
Thinking.

 
          
There
are many stories told around winter campfires, of heroes who slay monsters.
Many end the same. When the hero thrusts his lance into the monster’s heart, it
falls to the ground, and begins a beautiful writhing Dance. In the throes, it
transforms itself into a shining winged god, scoops the hero onto its back, and
carries him into the heavens where the hero takes his place with the other
gods.

 
          
And
I wonder.

 
          
Is
that what my monster is waiting for?

 
          
To
see me, just once, brave?