A Place Called Home

by Elizabeth Grayson

  Livi nodded, feeling overwhelmed.

  "And this is my daughter, Bright Bird." She Who Heals indicated a woman seated off to one side nursing a child. "She will answer your questions and do her best to make you comfortable."

  Livi ducked her head in acknowledgment. "Thank you for your hospitality," she said, then turned to Reid.

  "When will I be able to see my son?"

  She Who Heals glanced sharply at Reid.

  In response to his aunt's wordless reproach, he led Livi back into the courtyard and around the corner of the house. They stopped only when they were beyond the eyes of the women working in the yard.

  "You aren't going to be able to see Little David until all of this is settled, " he told her sternly. "My actions—and yours—are suspect when it comes to the baby. You have to trust me to do whatever I need to do to get him back."

  "But if he's close..." Livi pleaded, tears thick at the back of her throat. "All I want is to hold him for a little while."

  "That's just not possible." Reid's quiet words belied the intensity in his eyes. "You've got to let me handle this the Creek way, without interference."

  "But you didn't tell me I'd be shunted away—"

  "God damn it, Livi!"

  He radiated tension and all at once she sensed how close to the surface the frenzy lay in him.

  Dear God, he's afraid!

  What was it about being here that could frighten a man like Reid? Was it what he'd have to do to get David back? Or was he afraid of something else—something deeper, something inside himself?

  Knowing that he'd been denying his own fears sent Livi's own anxiety spiraling.

  "I want to see my son!"

  The cry came from the depths of her heart. From the unbearable pain that came from knowing what it was to lose a child. She had lived for years with those hollow places inside her. She had been haunted by ghosts of the bright young lives that might have been. Livi surely couldn't survive the loss of the very last of David's children.

  Reid must have sensed how close she was to coming apart because he dragged her into his arms.

  "Livi. Oh, God, Livi," he whispered. "Don't you think I'd take you to him if I could?"

  Livi muffled her weeping against his shirtfront.

  "Getting Little David back depends on what happens tonight and tomorrow. I can't do what I need to do if I'm wondering where you are and what you're about."

  He crushed her close and closer. "I swear to you, Livi," he whispered, "I'm not trying to shut you out. Believe me when I tell you that you have no place in this."

  Once her tears had abated, he carefully set her away from him. There was something in the way he withdrew that made Livi think he hadn't wanted to touch her, that she was unacceptable here, almost unclean.

  "Will you promise to stay with Bright Bird and She Who Heals?" She could hear the desperation in his voice. "Will you do as they say?"

  Livi stared up at him, not knowing if she could give him her word. Or keep it once she had.

  "Will you promise, Livi? Please?"

  Not trusting her voice, Livi nodded.

  He ushered her back to the door of the house where Bright Bird was waiting. Livi watched as he gathered up her horse's reins and mounted up.

  As he rode away she suddenly saw how exhausted and vulnerable and alone he was here. He was a singular warrior poised to fight a nation of Creeks. Yet how could one man hope to win against such odds?

  * * *

  Reid was surprised he remembered it all so well. He hadn't expected the sounds of dogs barking, of children playing, of women pounding corn to reverberate in his head the way they did. He never imagined that the smell of curing skins and mingled herbs could conjure images from long ago. They made him remember the years he'd spent here—the warmth of being accepted by his clan, the solemnity and the celebration of the Green Corn Busk, the kindnesses Soaring Eagle had shown him.

  The sights and smells and sounds also made him remember the helpless anger and grinding responsibility Reid had felt when his uncle was killed. Still, if the reason for his return had been different, Reid might have been able to put all that behind him. As it was, he had Livi and Little David, the sacred disks and Red Hand's threats to consider—fears that turned him cold inside.

  Guiding his horse and Livi's through the Bird clan's block of houses, Reid turned in to another cluster of buildings nearer to the center of town. The old man sitting in the fading sun enjoying his pipe didn't seem surprised to see him. But then, that had always been Blue Feather's gift.

  "Good day to you, potca," Reid dismounted and greeted his grandmother's only surviving brother.

  Blue Feather exhaled a stream of pipe smoke. "So you have come, Ravens Flight. I thought you would. I knew in time you would bring the disks to those who prize them most."

  Reid didn't bother to deny that the disks were tucked into the bottom of his saddlebags, beneath his Creek clothing and the gifts he had brought. Blue Feather saw into a man's soul as if it had no more substance than a shadow.

  "If you knew that, then you also know why I have come."

  The old man had changed very little during the over the years. Blue Feather was a little more wizened and his hair was now completely white. Yet his dark eyes were just as alive with knowledge of men and their secrets as always.

  "You came to return the disks and to try to save the boy Red Hand claims is your son."

  "He is the son of my heart," Reid corrected Blue Feather, knowing the old man would understand the distinction. "And will the Council accept an exchange of the disks for the child?"

  Blue Feather shrugged. "Since the death of the Great Warrior Emistesigo last fall, Red Hand has been crying for a sacrifice to change our fate in battle. It will be hard to make the Council listen to an offer of exchange when Red Hand's voice is so loud in their ears."

  A frisson of cold shot through him. "Are you saying that he would rather sacrifice the child than recover the disks?"

  "There are other ways to get the disks."

  Reid heard the old man's warning of treachery. He might hold the plates until his last breath, but a man had only one life to give up for those he had sworn to protect.

  "How did the Council know I had the disks?" Reid asked after a moment.

  "Some said when The Hair Buyer was captured at Vincennes you were there and took the disks away. I tried to tell the council that you took them to keep them safe and would return them when the time was right. But when the hawk-faced English captain came to show us one of the plates and threatened to give it to the Shawnee, it seemed wise for us to find you."

  "And the council sent Red Hand."

  "Red Hand was eager to go."

  Reid scowled. Red Hand had hated him for as long as Reid could remember. The animosity between them had burst into flame when Heart of the Wolf, Red Hand's younger brother, had died in a mock battle with Reid.

  If Red Hand had had his way then Reid, not Soaring Eagle, would have been killed to avenge that death. But no matter how Red Hand had argued, he had not prevailed against the elders of his own clan. Killing Soaring Eagle would diminish the Bird clan's power, the elders said. And the Panther clan was shrewd and well versed in politics.

  Reid knew Red Hand still hated him and meant to make him pay for what had happened long ago.

  "Can I convince the Council to exchange the disks for the child?" he asked again.

  Blue Feather dumped the ashes from his pipe and rose with some difficulty from his bench.

  "You must prepare, osuswa," the old man advised, "if you are to plead your case before the Council tomorrow. You must purify yourself. You must come with me tonight to smoke in the hot house with the rest of the old men. They are wise, and will put more store in regaining the sacred plates than in offering a child to the Master of Breath."

  Reid wanted to ask if among the old men there were voices strong and numerous enough to sway the Council, but he could not bring himself to do it. Besides Blue Feather h
ad made it clear he would not answer.

  "I thank you for your help, potca," he said instead.

  "You are my sister's grandson. You are a son to me. Of course I will help." The old man paused as if there were something else he meant to ask. "And what of the woman you brought with you to the village?"

  Reid had learned not to question how Blue Feather knew what he did. Perhaps word had spread of his arrival with Livi in tow. Perhaps Blue Feather had seen their coming in a vision.

  "I left the boy's mother with She Who Heals. To approach the Council, I must lie separate from her and purify myself, as you well know."

  The old man nodded. "It is good that you remember your duties, osuswa. Prepare yourself," he said, and led the way into his tiny lodge. "There is much to do."

  While the rest of the village families came together in the dusk, Reid made his way to the bathing place, a deep, protected bend in the creek to the south of the village. Reid had accepted that he must be pure in order to approach the Council. He had deliberately withdrawn from Livi and had taken no food since the evening before. Now he would bathe and dress himself as a warrior, a distinction he had earned in battle with the Cherokee all those years ago.

  Though his skin stung from the cold as Reid waded into the creek, the chill seemed to sharpen his perceptions. It was clear Red Hand wanted blood. From what Blue Feather had told him, the War Chief had already stated his case for sacrificing the child. Red Hand claimed that by offering up Little David he would change the Creeks' fortunes—fortunes lost primarily through the misalliance with the British in the war against the colonists.

  To save Livi's son, Reid would have to convince the Council that returning his returning the sacred disks was enough to restore the Creek's good fortune. He would need to make them believe that sacrificing the child wasn't necessary now that the disks were being returned.

  Because he'd chosen to deny his heritage, Reid had made himself an outsider among his grandmother's people. That alone might shade the council's decision in Red Hand's favor. Reid's only hope was that he could be eloquent enough to persuade the Council to overrule one of the tribe's most powerful leaders.

  Everything Reid was, wanted, or hoped for lay in his ability to make that happen. But he also believed the Creek's best future lay in recovering the sacred disks and breaking their ties to the English. In speaking out he might determine not just Livi and Little David's future, but the fate of the tribe.

  The responsibility of that weighed on him.

  Once he emerged from the stream, he dressed himself wrapping the full, flowing breechclout and fastened it at his waist with a beaded braid of deerskin. He settled a buckskin mantle around himself and tied it across his shoulders. He wound a wide woven band around his head and secured it with a clasp, then stepped into his elk-skin moccasins. When he was ready, Reid returned to Blue Feather's lodge.

  Together he and the old man made their way past the square where the Council would meet the next day, to the town house at the far end of the chunky yard. The big round building with its conical roof was the Council's cold-weather home and a gathering place for men who wished to spend the evening smoking their pipes and discussing tribal affairs.

  They entered by way of a short, curved passage and were immediately enveloped by heat and smoke. Both swirled upward from the small fire that lay on the hearth at the center of the building. A dozen or more men looked up from their pipes to watch as Reid and Blue Feather made their way down the steps.

  Rank and clan and veneration dictated whose seats were closest to the fire, and Blue Feather's place was right up front. He indicated that Reid should join him on the wide, woven bench and nodded to the other men gathered there.

  "My grandson, Ravens Flight," the old man said by way of renewing acquaintances.

  Around him, Reid recognized men he'd admired as a boy—brave warriors, skillful hunters, the chief's wisest advisors. As they sat in the thin, orange firelight, he could see that their bodies were marked by scars, by age and tattoos awarded for their bravery. For their service to the tribe.

  Reid nodded, acknowledging that his own body bore marks of a life well-lived. The snake tattoo wound up his arm. He bore a faded scar a few inches below his shoulder blade. There was a pucker from a ball he'd taken in the thigh and the still-red knife slash he'd received defending Livi's cabin. The fresh bandage wrapped around his arm where Livi grazed him gave proof of recent daring. He wore as proudly as the rest the lines he'd cut as he'd mourned for David.

  The men who'd gathered here knew exactly why he'd come, exactly what he hoped to gain. That realization made his heart beat faster.

  Beside him Blue Feather went through the motions of packing and lighting his pipe with a coal from the fire. He drew on it twice and passed it to Reid.

  Reid remembered the ritual well. He lifted the stem skyward to the Master of Breath, west for the thunder, north for the buffalo, east for the elk, south for the Spirit of the Sun. He tipped the pipe downward, acknowledging the Mother of All Life, then put the pipe to his mouth and drew in deeply.

  The smoke from the pungent mixture of tobacco and herbs raked down his throat. With great effort he swallowed a cough and exhaled the stream of smoke. It had been years since Reid had smoked with the men of the tribe, and as they shared the pipe, he became aware of an odd lassitude creeping through him.

  Finally one of the men from the Wind clan cleared his throat. "We were speaking of the sacred disks, the disks that The Hair Buyer had stolen from us. We were wondering where the disks might be today."

  It was an invitation for Reid to speak, but before he could, Blue Feather answered.

  "I sense that the sacred disks are close at hand. I sense their presence here." He touched the center of his chest with his closed fist. "I believe they will come to us when we are ready to receive them."

  "But how must we prepare for that?" one of the old warriors asked.

  "I believe we must purify ourselves," a third man answered. "I think we must sacrifice the child that Red Hand has offered to the Council to ensure the return of the sacred disks."

  Some of the men murmured in agreement.

  "Only in the most dire of times has the Master of Breath asked us to sacrifice the lives of children," Blue Feather spoke up and passed the pipe. "What I believe He requires is that we gratefully accept the return of the disks."

  "But how are we to ensure that?" the first man asked.

  "What I believe," Reid put in exhaling a plume of smoke, "is that you should seek the favor of the man who possesses the sacred plates."

  "We should go to the hawk-faced English captain?" another man asked. "He is a hard man and demands that we continue to ally ourselves with the British in return for the disks."

  A tall man spoke up. "I think we should refuse to seek the favor of a man who would give our sacred disks to the Shawnee. The alliance with the British has brought nothing but despair to our people."

  "I believe that the hawk-face no longer holds the disks," Blue Feather observed quietly.

  The men's voices rose in speculation.

  "I have heard that the hawk-faced captain is dead," Reid offered, cutting through the turmoil.

  One by one, the men turned to look at him.

  "Did you kill him, Ravens Flight?"

  "No."

  "Who did?"

  Reid knew there were many in the camp who agreed with continuing the alliance with the British, with continuing to make war on the settlers. To ensure Livi's safety and the power the disks held for these people, Reid said no more.

  "What is important," the old warrior offered, "is to discover whose favor must we seek."

  "And what price this man wants for the disks' return?"

  "I believe the one who took the disks from The Hair Buyer wishes them to be returned to the Creek nation," Reid offered after a moment. "And for prosperity to return to the tribe."

  The men turned in his direction, their expressions speculative, hopeful, hostile. />
  "And what does this man want in return?"

  Reid had thought long and hard about what he would ask for Livi—and for himself. "That price is the return of the child Red Hand took from his family." It was a great deal to ask, as the Creeks often kept and adopted their captives. "And I would ask for the man who returns the sacred plates to be accepted and honored by the tribe."

  The men conferred among themselves, some agreeing out of hand. Some speculated about the power of the disks, held so long by men who did not understand their significance. A few questioned whether the return of the disks would accomplish more than a sacrifice to the Master of Breath.

  The first man spoke again. "Even if we here agree, we are but a few voices in a Council of many."

  "Then it seems wise to express our beliefs to others in our clans, to use our wisdom to guide the Council," Blue Feather offered sagely.

  The men continued talking among themselves, discussing the possibilities, the ways this crisis could be resolved. As always they sought consensus; it was the Creek way.

  "You have done well, osuswa," Blue Feather whispered as he passed the pipe once more.

  Reid drew the smoke deep into his lungs and settled back on the bench knowing he had done what he could. Tomorrow he must find a way to make the Council listen to him and decide this matter in his favor.

  As the old men talked Reid's mind clouded with the effects of the strong tobacco and pungent herbs. His eyes drifted closed. His limbs fell lax.

  Yet even in sleep the fear of what was to come lay within him.

  Chapter 24

  He stood alone on the crest of the ridge. Alone where he'd gone to mourn for David. Alone where he'd watched the moon set on a world in which his brother lived no more. He looked out across the swaying trees and endless skies, on lingering sunsets and glowing dawns, and felt the soul-deep sear of agonizing grief.

  Around him the wind picked up, tearing at the buckskin mantle across his shoulders, flattening his breechclout against his thighs. It swirled around him, lifting his hair, cooling his heated skin. Dispersing the loss and the sadness as if they were morning mist.