Calling Crow Nation (The Southeast Series Book 3)

by Paul Clayton

  Edward shrugged. “To do things which good Christians are forbidden to do. People have disappeared, their bodies found later.”

  “How do you know it is Amorgh doing these things?” asked Calling Crow.

  “He’s bloody capable of it. However, I will let you form your own opinion of him. And you will, quickly,” said Edward.

  “I will not be here long enough to do that.”

  Edward’s face was sad as he laughed. “There is no escape from here.”

  Calling Crow looked at Edward. “I will find a way out. How long have you been in this place?”

  “Three years.”

  “Why?” said Calling Crow.

  “I owe the owners money.”

  “But you are not chained,” said Calling Crow. “Why don’t you leave?”

  “There are other kinds of chains which can hold one just as tightly as iron.”

  Calling Crow frowned in confusion.

  “There is something else,” said Edward. “Because of what goes on here, very few people know about this place and it is a good place to hide.”

  “Ah,” said Calling Crow, “so you are hiding.”

  “Like you,” said Edward, “I don’t hold to the same beliefs as them.”

  “You are not a Christian?” said Calling Crow.

  Edward shook his head.

  “They found some things in my house and--

  Footsteps echoed around the stone wall.

  Edward stood up suddenly. “Enough about all that,” he said. “There is no time.” He indicated the man-sized iron pots. “We call those ‘the stews.’“ He took another bite of the cheese, watching Calling Crow’s face intently. “Baths, I suppose I should say. That’s where the ladies of this place entertain the paying customers.”

  Calling Crow looked at Edward in confusion. “Do you mean they dance for them while they bathe?”

  Edward looked at Calling Crow piercingly, then shrugged. “No, the men and women bathe together and the women give themselves carnally to the men for gold.”

  “Ah,” said Calling Crow, “gold! That explains it.” He looked back at the baths for a moment. He knew that the Spanish, too, had such places. It was a very sad and shameful business. He looked at Edward. “Where are these women? Where do they come from?”

  “They live at the very top of the house and they come from all over the world. They are slaves like us.”

  Calling Crow’s face grew dark. “I am not a slave.”

  Edward smiled his sad smile. He sat and broke off a piece of cheese, then held it out to Calling Crow. “Of course not. Have more cheese, for you will need your strength.”

  Calling Crow’s nostrils flared at the sour smell of the cheese, but again his deep hunger overcame his distaste. He ate all the cheese on the plate. “What is it I must do here, Edward? What work?”

  Edward pointed to some wood stacked against the wall. “You’re to help me carry. We burn a lot of wood to heat the water. You will carry much water too. We make sure the stew pots are hot. That is our job. And then we clean up. The women here make sure the customers get hot. That is their job. And then they clean up, clean out their purses, the customers’ that is.” Edward laughed at his joke and picked up the remaining piece of bread.

  Chapter 28

  Female laughter and the bull bellow of male voices echoed off the hard stone walls of the bath chamber. The scent of washballs was thick in the steamy air. Imported from Venice, they were made of pressed herbs, oil and rosewater, and the brothel used them liberally. The torch and candlelight blurred in Calling Crow’s eyes. He had been three nights in this place now, and he moved slowly as he carried two oaken buckets of boiling water, taking care not to be tripped by his ankle chains. When he was not thinking of escape, or wondering where Samuel was, or how Red Feather was, or what was happening in his village, Calling Crow’s head seemed to be asleep and the sights and sounds of this place a blur as he went about his drudgery.

  There was food-- bread and cheese, a soupy gruel, but Calling Crow felt constantly weak, like an animal that was having its blood slowly drained. Several times Amorgh had beaten Calling Crow, and he hardly had the strength to raise his hands to protect his face from the blows. He knew that the reason for this was that his medicine pouch was back at Collier’s fair. Without medicine, a brave was weak. No power. The only thing that seemed to rally Calling Crow’s spirit was Edward’s singing and harp music. When Calling Crow heard it reverberating off the steamy walls, it was like a candle in the darkness.

  Calling Crow ignored the couple in the bath as he poured the hot water to the side. He went on to the next cube. This couple sat naked on the wooden seats as they talked. Calling Crow was embarrassed for them, and avoided looking at them. He quickly poured, then moved away. He returned to the boiling caldron to refill his buckets. Amorgh came halfway down the stairs, whip in hand, watching over the chamber. Calling Crow went back to the baths. He poured out the contents of one bucket against the rim of a bath, ignoring the sounds of passion the couple made. He went on to the next cube.

  An old man dressed in a white gown sat on the bench. A woman stood naked in the bath, the water up to her waist. Calling Crow did not look at her, but he knew she was very beautiful. He kept his eyes down as he tilted the bucket.

  “Stop,” said the woman.

  Calling Crow still did not look at her.

  “Pour over here-- closer to me.” There was amusement in her voice. “I want to feel the warmth.”

  Calling Crow turned and leaned over the tub.

  “Pour closer.”

  Calling Crow looked at her and his every sense came awake. Her eyes were blue as a summer sky, her lips red and warm, her body voluptuous. She was so beautiful that, for a brief instant, he forgot where he was. She smiled at him and he moved away.

  The men were all gone, the women retired upstairs. Calling Crow headed back toward his cell. He passed the stairs that led up to the front door. Edward was off somewhere making things ready for the next day. Calling Crow decided to go up and look around. Halfway up he heard the jingle of metal keys. He froze for a moment, then continued climbing upward. Amorgh’s little helper was putting a key into the lock. Calling Crow came up behind him, but the man happened to look around at that very moment. He let out a scream and Amorgh rushed in from another room. Amorgh pushed Calling Crow backward. Calling Crow’s chains put him off balance and he fell backward. The little man kneed him in the groin. Amorgh and the little man pulled and pushed Calling Crow down the stairs and locked him in his cell. A moment later he heard Amorgh yelling at Edward. Then it grew quiet and Calling Crow passed out.

  The next night Calling Crow went about his tasks as usual. Edward said nothing of what had happened the night before and spoke with Calling Crow only as the need arose. When they finished their work, Calling Crow asked Edward if he could go look out onto the garden. Edward nodded, putting a warning into his look.

  Calling Crow walked through the kitchen, past the huge, grease-blackened timbers. The cook had long gone to bed, but the bricks of the big walk-in fireplace still radiated much heat. Calling Crow went to the door with the iron grate at the top, which led to the garden. It was locked as it always was. He looked out. The square of the walled garden was black now. Calling Crow thought grimly that even if he could get out there, the smooth stone walls rose straight up to well over the height of two men stacked one atop the other. They looked impossible to scale. And the great house was all locked up and only Amorgh had the keys. There seemed to be no other way out.

  Calling Crow prayed to his spirit guide. He must find a way out and return to Collier’s fair. Then he could reclaim the medicine pouch that Sees Far had given him. With its power, he would free Red Feather and together they would find their way to Samuel’s house and collect the shooting sticks for his people. Calling Crow was suddenly overcome by the immensity of his task, the hopelessness of it. He stood and stared out between the bars for a long time. Cold winter day dawned on
the garden as the deep green of the grass became visible, its color infusing Calling Crow once again with life, life that had been wrung out of him over the course of his nights in the gray steam. Aieyee! It might be impossible, but he could do it with the power of his medicine pouch. He must retrieve it!

  Chapter 29

  Swordbrought crouched down at the entrance to the cave as Crying Wolf slept farther back. As Swordbrought looked out into the night’s blackness, his thoughts, too, were black. For the past two days they had been able to elude their pursuers, but it had been very difficult. These strange men used dogs in their attempts to hunt Swordbrought and Crying Wolf. Swordbrought had never heard of this being done before, but it was very effective, and they had been forced to walk through streams to cover their scent track. Who were these men, he wondered. His father had told him of how the Spanish had used their killing dogs to hunt down escaped slaves, but these were not white men. Except for the crudeness of their clothing, they looked like him and his people.

  Crying Wolf moaned. Swordbrought did not think his wound was life-threatening, but he knew it must be very painful. Crying Wolf found it very difficult to move. Swordbrought thought that once the rest of the arrow was removed, the wound would heal quickly. But who would remove it? Swordbrought realized that he might soon have to abandon Crying Wolf. His mission was more important.

  How much farther along the broad trail was the village of Cussitaw? he wondered. For a moment, Swordbrought thought that perhaps he had been traveling in the wrong direction for the last few days. He thought back to his meeting with Sees Far and Two Clouds. No, he was going exactly as they had instructed him. Crying Wolf coughed softly and Swordbrought turned to look at him. When would they find Cussitaw Town?

  For a long while Swordbrought’s ears did not pick up any sounds of their pursuers searching in the forest. They must be sleeping. Swordbrought looked out into the quiet blackness and thought of his father so far away in the Englishmen’s lands. To Swordbrought, it was the same as going to the netherworld atop the clouds or the one below Mother Earth. He prayed to their guardian spirits. Only they could guide his father home safely.

  Swordbrought crawled back to Crying Wolf and woke him. Looping the strap of the medicine pipe bundle over his shoulder, Swordbrought helped Crying Wolf to his knees. Without saying a word, they crawled to the front of the cave and went out into the cool night. Swordbrought felt a grudging admiration for the older brave. Despite his earlier treachery, the man could endure much pain and never cried out.

  Swordbrought made no sound as they worked their way back to the main trail, but Crying Wolf’s movements were clumsy and noisy. Swordbrought knew that if their pursuers were awake, they would hear them. They reached the main trail and hurried along, Crying Wolf limping badly. Swordbrought picked their way by the occasional glimpses of the starry night sky visible through the thinner canopy of leaves over the trail. Crying Wolf seemed to rally a bit and they made good time along the broad trail. Patches of purple sky appeared between the leaves overhead as dawn approached. Swordbrought and Crying Wolf increased their pace, taking advantage of the greater visibility. Up above, the winged ones welcomed the dawn with whistles, clicks and shrieks. The sky slowly changed to dark blue and it was then that they heard the shouts of their pursuers in their strange language and the barking of their dogs. Swordbrought and Crying Wolf paused as Swordbrought turned round to look back. The noise was growing louder; they were gaining.

  Crying Wolf sat down on the dirt of the trail. “Swordbrought, give me your bow and go on. I can kill two or three of them before they even know I’m here.”

  Swordbrought shook his head. “Get on your feet. We must get off the trail.”

  Their progress impeded by the uneven terrain and the bushes and vines, Swordbrought and Crying Wolf moved slower, parallel to the trail. The shouting grew louder; their pursuers were no more than a hundred paces away now. Crying Wolf stopped, his teeth clenched in pain. He leaned against a sapling, bending it over with his weight.

  “Little man, go on alone now. I cannot take another step.”

  Swordbrought looked around nervously. The sound of the others had died; they were listening for Swordbrought and Crying Wolf now. Swordbrought took the medicine bundle from around his neck. He set it down next to Crying Wolf. Nocking an arrow in his bow, he whispered, “I will return.”

  Swordbrought worked his way back to the broad trail. The forest was unnaturally quiet. He hid himself behind a mass of red maple leaves and waited. A few moments later he saw two men creeping up the trail. Like the others, these two wore only breechclouts, despite the coolness of the weather. They did not have bows, and instead, carried long blowguns. Their large, ugly war clubs hung at their sides, ready for close-in fighting. Swordbrought waited till they were within range and released his first arrow. It pierced the lead man’s neck and his hands went to his throat as he gagged and fell to the forest floor. The second man looked around in fear. By the time he spotted Swordbrought, Swordbrought had already released his arrow. The man’s reactions were quick and he almost managed to jump out of the way, but the arrow pierced his side. Screaming to alert the others, he fell to his knees.

  Swordbrought hurried back to where he had left Crying Wolf. He saw one of the strange wild men leaning over a bush as if to see what was on the other side. Swordbrought raced forward and saw that the man was already dead, his head bloodied. Crying Wolf looked up at Swordbrought in exhaustion. Not far away one of their pursuers howled like a wolf and another answered. Their dogs barked excitedly. They were attempting to encircle them!

  “Leave me, little man,” said Crying Wolf.

  “No.” Swordbrought took the medicine pipe bundle and knelt to help Crying Wolf to his feet. They made their way back out onto the broad trail. The howls increased in number as Swordbrought and Crying Wolf hurried along. Crying Wolf coughed hoarsely, fighting for breath. Swordbrought looked behind and spotted one of the wild men. He stood in full view on the broad trail as he called to his fellows, but he held back. Soon it would be over.

  Swordbrought and Crying Wolf followed the trail around a turn, the shouting wild men not far behind. A tall palisade came into view. Swordbrought wondered if it was the home of the strange-sounding men who were chasing them, or if it was Cussitaw Town. He prayed to his spirit guide that it was the Muskogee town, for there was no turning back now.

  Crying Wolf gripped Swordbrought’s shoulder tightly and grunted in pain. He fell to his knees. Swordbrought looked back down the trail. The others would be upon them at any moment.

  “Crying Wolf,” said Swordbrought. “The town is just ahead. We can get help.”

  Crying Wolf said nothing; his head hanging limp. At that moment their pursuers came into view. There were eight or nine of them now, armed with blowguns and clubs. Their small dogs yapped and jumped excitedly at their heels. The men stopped in confusion upon seeing their prey ahead. Swordbrought nocked an arrow into his bow and quickly released it. The arrow went high and then the mob of men and dogs were racing down on them. Swordbrought spun around as he attempted to fend them off. One of the small dogs bit his leg and he whirled about and struck it. It yelped in pain and leapt away. A man struck Crying Wolf on the back of the head and he collapsed on the trail. Swordbrought’s axe clipped one man’s face and he danced away with a howl of pain, blood streaming from his nose. The dogs jumped and tore at Swordbrought as he whirled to face his attackers. A shrill, warbling war cry erupted from up the trail and five men came running toward them. Swordbrought could tell by the familiar patterns woven into their sashes and breechclouts that they were Muskogee. Soon they were in the fray, swinging their axes in fury. One wild man was knocked backward by the force of a Muskogee blow and the others began running away. After they disappeared around the bend in the trail, an older Muskogee man stepped before Swordbrought. He was shorter than Swordbrought, with a broad, powerful body that looked to have been hacked out of a tree trunk with an axe.

 
“Who were they?” said Swordbrought, looking down at the dead man.

  “They call themselves the children of the sun,” said the man. “They are Yuchi. Very bad.”

  Swordbrought touched the medicine pipe bundle hanging at his side. “I am Swordbrought, from the Coosa Town of Aguacay.” He looked down at Crying Wolf’s inert form. “That is Crying Wolf. We come in peace.”

  The man nodded. “I am called Fox-Disappears. Let us get your companion inside the village to be cared for. We will talk in there.”

  Crying Wolf had long since lapsed into unconsciousness when they lay him on the skin pallet in the medicine man’s hut. Without the flint-hard force of his mind to contain them, Crying Wolf’s moans of pain escaped as the medicine man manipulated and removed what was left of the arrow. Swordbrought watched with Fox-Disappears as the medicine man began singing his prayer over Crying Wolf’s now-quiet form. An old woman carried a wooden dish in and began applying a poultice to the wound. Fox-Disappears motioned to Swordbrought to go outside with him.

  Swordbrought followed the squat, muscled man as he walked briskly toward the village’s chokafa. Off in the fields, some of the people of the town irrigated their corn. A woman flung a gourd full of water downward toward the furrows and Swordbrought saw the sun catch and sparkle in the rippling wet curve. Two old men and a naked little girl walked past Swordbrought and Fox-Disappears under the cool shade of the tall oaks that lined the main street of the village. Swordbrought saw no other people. Perhaps they were all at a ball game with a neighboring village, he thought. If that was the case, they would arrive back before nightfall.

  Swordbrought stooped slightly as he followed Fox-Disappears through the entryway of the chokafa. Swordbrought seated himself cross-legged on a reed mat across from the village’s three venerable old men. Fox-Disappears sat beside him.

  The bigger of the three, known as Tall Man, sat in the middle. Despite his fleshy, hanging jowls, Tall Man still had a warrior’s face. “Fox-Disappears said that your village is threatened by the Timucua people and Spanish Slavers, and that you need our warriors to help you.”