Free People of the Mist by W. Michael Gear Page A

young girl came dashing
down the trail, her long black hair streaming out behind. For the briefest of
moments, Nine Killer thought she was Red Knot, then recognized his niece, Quick
Fawn.
                 “Warriors!”
the girl cried. “Warriors, Uncle! Almost two tens of them!” She pulled to a
stop before him, bent double and gasping for breath. “By the … old oak. They
passed … bows ready… faces painted. Coming this way!”
                 “Whose
warriors?” Nine Killer put a gentle hand on his niece’s head. “Did you
recognize them?”
                 “The
… the Mamanatowick’s!”
                 Nine
Killer turned to his warriors. “Water Snake’s warriors are on the west side of
the ridge. If this is a raid, they’ll stick to the bottom of the slope, just up
from the trails along the beach. Stone Cob, break left, warn the others. Flying
Weir, assemble your men. Let’s lay a trap for these cunning infiltrators, and
see what comes of it.”
                 At
his signal, the two warriors charged off through the trees toward the other
parties of searchers. The two remaining warriors quickly strung their bows,
plucked arrows, and looked to him for orders.
                 “Stay
with me, niece. We’ll climb down the slope. I think I know where they’ll pass.”
He dropped to a knee and looked the gasping Quick Fawn in me eye. “Was Red Knot
with you?”
                 “No.”
Quick Fawn panted. “Is something wrong?”
                 “She’s
missing. And now you tell me the Mamanatowick’s warriors are out there.”
                 “But
she should be long …” She tossed tangled black locks back as she straightened,
sudden worry shining in her eyes. “I… yes, I see, Uncle.”
                 “One
thing at a time, girl.” Nine Killer gave her a reassuring smile. “We’ll deal
with the warriors, and then we’ll find her.” He patted her on the back. “Go
now. Warn the village. Two tens of warriors is hardly a threat, but they could
cause mischief.”
                 Winged
Blackbird hurried forward, balancing speed against silence. His line of
warriors followed behind him.
                 He
didn’t particularly like this situation, sneaking down the narrow neck of land
controlled by Flat Pearl Village’s renowned warriors, but being War Chief to
Corn Hunter, Weroance of White Stake Village, carried risk along with status.
Winged Blackbird had trained all of his life for this, and now, in his second
year as War Chief, he knew just how tenuous his position was.
                 His
only hope was stealth. They had to get in fast, accomplish their task, and get
out before that cunning Nine Killer figured out just how weak they were.
                 Only
three days past, he’d been sitting before the fire in his family long house in
White Stake Village. His wife, Sees-Through-Shell, had been relating the gossip
as Winged Blackbird knotted a new fishing net from cordage. Then Corn Hunter’s
runner had arrived.
                 Winged
Blackbird had taken a moment to don his best shell necklace and tie on his
stuffed blackbird. He wore the bird on the shaved right side of his head, just
above the ear. Then he picked up his war club and went to see the Weroance.
                 Corn
Hunter had been surrounded by his priests, some of the clan leaders, and a
stringy, tattooed fellow: a Trader by the name of Barnacle. Winged Blackbird
knew of him, a shiftless sort, and not well liked. From the stories told, he
must have had no less than four or five different mothers—for no other
explanation could account for his various claims of clan affiliation. In all
the years that Barnacle had been plying the waters of Salt Water Bay, no clan
had ever claimed him, and, it was said, those who had investigated his lineage
had never found anyone who knew