Read Online People of the Mist by W. Michael Gear - Free Book Online Page B

She
froze when two tens of warriors filed past on the slope below her, bows strung,
arrows nocked. The faintest whisper of moccasins sounded on the damp leaves.
Dark eyes gleamed warily as they scanned the forest around them. Each face was
painted in red and black, the colors of war and death.
                 She
knew them by their hairstyle—the right side of the head shaved bald, a long,
braided roach falling down the back from the center scalp lock and a war fetish
pinned into the tightly wrapped bun on the right. These men belonged to the
Mamanatowick, Water Snake.
                 But
what were they doing here, sneaking through Flat Pearl lands?
                 Quick
Fawn tried to swallow down a fear-choked throat. Her heart hammered hard, fit
to burst her chest. Every nerve screamed at her to run, but panic had frozen
her to the old oak.
                 One
of the warriors seemed to look right at her. The world swayed as Quick Fawn’s
guts went runny.
                 And
at that instant, a rabbit burst from beneath her, frightened by the closeness
of the men, and streaked away, its fluffy white tail bobbing with each leap.
Distracted, the warrior watched the rabbit go, his pace unbroken.
                 She
remained there, gasping for breath after they’d passed, then slid off the
fallen oak. Her wobbling legs would have failed her but for locking her knees.
                 “I
have to warn the village!”
                 Quick
Fawn had earned her name because she was the fastest girl in Flat Pearl. Now
she lived up to her reputation, hair streaming out behind her as she streaked
away, arms pumping, bare feet pattering.
                 Nine
Killer juggled his thoughts as a magician did green walnuts. That ability had
saved more than one war party from disaster. He could take up a problem, give
it a moment’s thought, and toss it up again as he entertained yet another
thought, eventually recapturing the first in an uninterrupted flow.
                 Ideas
raced through his head as he trotted up the ridge trail ahead of four warriors.
Life in Flat Pearl Village reminded him of dancing on a spiderweb. One
had to move one’s feet quickly, lest they become stuck. Balance was a
precarious thing at best. Even flailing around could leave one entwined for
whatever spider lurked in the shadows.
                 Fortunately
for Flat Pearl, and Greenstone Clan, Hunting Hawk had always been a nimble
dancer. Her keen mind had kept the territory between Oyster Inlet and Duck
Creek autonomous. That the Independent villages often accomplished their goals
through manipulation, military prowess, and intimidation was of no concern to
anyone: the final arbiter was survival.
                 But
now the Independent villages lay like an un cracked nut between three stones.
To the south, the Ma manatowick, Water Snake, brooded and schemed, forever
seeking to extend his influence over the Independent villages, while in the
north, across the Fish River, the Tayac, Stone Frog, had strengthened what had
been a weak coalition of Conoy villages into a strong confederacy.
                 In
the west, Copper Thunder was the new element. Less than ten Comings of the
Leaves ago, he had arrived in the upriver villages to the west. His mother, a
woman of the Pipestone Clan, had married a Trader, and followed him off to the
wealthy chieftainships inland. Copper Thunder had been born there, raised on
the great rivers; and he told stories of fabulous cities, and stupendous temple
buildings atop man-made mountains that gleamed under the sun.
                 Such
stories stretched Nine Killer’s credulity, but so many of the Traders insisted
that such marvelous chieftainships existed that a kernel of truth must lie
within.
                 Copper
Thunder had returned to his mother’s people as a young man—and such a man: