There was no problem finding the bee tree. They heard the faint, ominous buzzing, like a storm about to break. The opening for the nest was thirty feet up in a dead tree. The trunk shivered as Something Good and Eagle began chopping at it. They laughed as the cloud of bees came boiling out of the hole and swarmed around their heads. As they landed on Cynthia's arms and shoulders and face she panicked and slapped at them, trying not to cry as they stung her. Something Good and Eagle chopped methodically in the middle of the cloud of angry bees, until the huge tree creaked and toppled slowly, bouncing a little as it landed. Then all hell did indeed break loose, and the four of them retreated in wild disorder.
They ran for two miles and collapsed, exhausted and laughing, on the beds in the brush shelter. They were filthy and covered with scratches, their bodies glistening with sweat. Their hair was tangled with twigs and wood chips and dead bees. Something Good had a large bruise on her arm where she had fallen. Cynthia's eye was fast swelling shut, and Star Name's upper lip was puffy. Eagle pulled the big butcher knife from the sheath on his belt and beckoned Cynthia to him. She came reluctantly and knelt in front of him. He scraped at the bumps on her face and shoulders, cleaning off the dirt and sweat as well as digging out the stingers. Something Good did the same for Star Name. Then Eagle sat cross-legged in front of Something Good and took her small chin in his left hand. She flinched ever so slightly and looked fixedly at the ground while he removed the stings from her face and neck.
"Mea-dro, let's go." Star Name jumped up and raced for the edge of the sinkhole. She ran down the side, through the ferns, and scrambled up onto a large boulder, that had rolled partially into the pool. She dropped her breechclout and cannonballed off it, holding her nose. Cynthia followed her, gasping as the icy water hit her.
"You didn't tell me the water would be this cold."
"You didn't ask me." Star Name scudded the heel of her hand across the surface, sending a broad spray into Cynthia's face. They battled back and forth across the shallow part of the pond, then dove and swam underwater, racing to see who could go farthest and stay under the longest. Star Name won, but Cynthia was pressing her.
They swam to the far edge, skirting the crystal spring in the center. As they passed it they could feel the turbulence from it. But they knew better than to dive in and explore it. There were stories of children, and adults too, being sucked into springs like that and never being seen again. Sometimes entire trees washed out of them, carried by the underground stream.
They headed for the small waterfall that cascaded down from the steepest side of the hole, about eight feet up. It sprayed down over the rocks and ferns like a fountain in a garden. They lay under it, leaning their heads back like chicks to drink from it. Then they rested on their elbows in the shallows, letting the cold water wash the last of the dirt and sweat from them.
"What's the matter?" Cynthia could tell something was wrong. Star Name was more than just irritated that Eagle had come. She was worried. It wasn't a look Cynthia had seen on her face before, but she recognized it.
"Eagle shouldn't be here."
"Why not?"
There was a moment of silence. The why again. Star Name sat in the water and held up her right forefinger. "Something Good." Then she raised her left forefinger. "Eagle." She placed them far apart. "Toquet, all right." She brought them together until they were touching. With her right finger she made a sudden slicing motion across her nostril. "Something Good."
It took a few seconds for the connection to close in Cynthia's mind. Then she remembered the woman with the horribly disfigured nose. The one none of the other women spoke to much. Adultery. It was a word she knew. It was part of the Ten Commandments. And the woman in the village had had her nostrils sliced four or five times. Even the tip of her nose was missing. Had it been done for only one transgression, or once for each? She shook her head in amazement. An eye for an eye. But how could anyone do that to Something Good? Surely kindly Pahayuca wouldn't. Would he? She was a chief's wife. Surely she wouldn't do anything wrong.
Cynthia almost cried with relief when she saw Something Good appear over the rim of the bow and run down through the ferns. She pulled her dress over her head as she ran, and dove off the rock like a sleek brown otter, swimming toward them with powerful strokes. She lay her head back in the water to slick the tangles of her blue-black hair, and they made room for her between them. They began talking about the bee chase.
Eagle could sense the hostility. It wasn't hard to do. It radiated from the two girls like the heat from the fire between them. And it was difficult to be hostile during a dinner like the one they were eating. When their venison had roasted, each of them had loosened a peg holding the cord tight around a leg of the bulging deerskin hanging nearby. They let a stream of honey flow slowly over the meat, before retwisting the peg and shutting it off. With the meat they ate more of Something Good's delicious nut bread, spread with a paste of pounded plums.
It didn't matter to Eagle that the girls were angry with him. But he was naturally charming, and he turned it on them now. They were, after all, Something Good's friends, and whether they knew it or not, they were going to be his friends too. Cynthia refused to look at him or talk to him. She picked some bits of powdered bark and a few deer hairs out of the honey. Then she fished out a dead bee with her thumb and forefinger, holding it up and letting the honey drip off it before flicking it behind her. She concentrated on her food with a ferocious intensity. Next to her Star Name did the same.
They're like two soft, fierce panther kittens. Eagle tried not to let his amusement show. He would win them over because it made Something Good unhappy to have tension among them. And he knew he could win them over. They would know he was doing it, but they wouldn't be able to help themselves. Not any more than the panther kitten he had once raised could stop herself from batting at a wriggling thong, even when she saw Eagle's hand at the end of it. Women were the same at any age. Helpless against a sincerely charming man.
When they had finished eating and had wiped their hands on the thick piles of cedar needles around them, he reached into the pouch he carried at his waist. He pulled out a small bone disk, polished smooth by years of handling. He held his two fists out, palms down, in a gesture that triggered an immediate response in the girls. It was the old pea-under-the-shell trick. Button, button, who's got the button? Maybe it was the racial instincts of a predatory species. Into which hole did the rabbit run? In which pool are the fish biting? Without thinking, Cynthia reached out and pointed to Eagle's left hand. He grinned at her and turned the hand up, uncurling long thin fingers slowly to show her his empty palm.
"Let me do it. I can guess." Star Name hunched forward and watched closely, her forehead wrinkled into a scowl, while he waved his hands and passed them back and forth over each other to confuse her. He held them out again and let them both guess before he opened them. Cynthia guessed correctly, leaving Star Name with the empty palm.
"Give me another chance." Star Name knew she had it figured out.
"No. Not unless you make it worthwhile. What will you bet?" He was teasing, and Star Name rose to it.
"I'll bet you my part of the honey." She forgot that he couldn't very well ride into camp with honey. He wasn't supposed to be here. Cynthia was shocked though. Was Star Name really going to give away so easily what she had worked and suffered to get? Her small, full mouth was so swollen she could hardly talk, and she was covered with welts. "What will you bet?" Star Name was all business.
Eagle got up and walked over to his saddlebags. He brought back a large, thin disk cut from an oyster shell. He had traded with Big Bow for it, and the Kiowa had in turn liberated it from a dead Nermateka, a People Eater from the coast. It had a hole drilled near one edge so it could be worn as a necklace. He held it up by its thong and twirled it slowly. The fire shone through its translucent surface in muted yellows and oranges, but in the sunlight it would glow with opalescent color, pale pinks, delicate greens and blues and
purples. Something Good rummaged through her bundles and pulled out a pair of brass trader's tweezers. She passed them over for Star Name to inspect. There weren't many around, and they were a prize to have.
In her mind Cynthia searched through her scanty possessions for something to bet. Everything she had Star Name or Takes Down or Medicine Woman had given her, and she didn't want to bet someone's gift. She could bet her part of the honey, but that would deprive Takes Down and Sunrise. She had been counting on giving it to them in return for all they had done for her.
"Naduah is new. She doesn't have much. Let her play without betting," said Star Name.
"No one plays without betting. She can take care of the winner's horses for a month," replied Eagle.
"But I don't have any horses. What if she loses to me?" asked Star Name.
"She won't. Something Good and I will be on one team and you two can be on the other." Eagle pulled a log over and laid a stick across it. Then he picked up several twigs and began breaking them into smaller pieces. When he had twenty-one of them, he laid them out between the two teams. He passed Something Good the bone disk and began the gambling song in his clear tenor, beating out the rhythm on the log. Star Name and Cynthia kept time by pounding the ground in front of them. Something Good waved her hands, twining them to the beat. When the song ended she held them out to Cynthia. She guessed right, and a stick was slid over to her side of the fire. Then it was her turn.
She had picked up a little of the chant, but she didn't sing. She was concentrating too much on hiding the bone. She couldn't fool Eagle, though, and his team received a stick and the bone. Hours went by as the two piles of stick counters grew and dwindled. By midnight they were all yelling at each other and screaming with laughter. Fortunes had been won and lost again. And Cynthia and Star Name were to take care of Something Good's and Eagle's ponies.
Star Name was allowed to keep her honey. The victors would have returned it to her anyway as a gift. They both knew that her family needed it. Sunrise provided for Black Bird and Star Name and Upstream, but one man was hard put to feed six mouths. Something Good and Eagle sang the victory song while Cynthia and Star Name beat on the log.
Finally they all went to bed, Something Good lying between Cynthia and Star Name under the brush lean-to. From the other side of the fire, near the horses, Eagle could be heard singing his medicine song to himself before he went to sleep. His voice was hypnotic as it rose and fell for an hour. Cynthia fell asleep long before that, but Something Good lay awake staring up at the stars beyond the shelter's frayed eaves. When she had left on the hunt she had made it clear where she would be, and she had thought Eagle would follow her. He had been hanging around for days with that intensely wistful look on his face. Now he was here, after heading out in the opposite direction, then doubling back to meet her. And she didn't know what to do with him.
She resented the girls for being there, for the accusation in their silent concern. For their presence that formed a barrier between her and Eagle. But at least they wouldn't tell on her. They knew the consequences. That was evident. Her hand went to her nose, unconsciously feeling to make sure it was whole and unblemished. And another part of her was glad they were there. They kept her from having to make the decision to betray Pahayuca.
As she listened to their soft breathing, she forced herself to lie still, knowing that Eagle was so close and awake too. Fear and frustration and longing and guilt tugged at her. She wanted to get up and go to him. To kneel over him and run her hands down his hard, slender chest and into the curve of his waist, then down along his thighs. She wanted to see his face looking up at her, lit by the lantern of the stars. She wanted to stretch out against him and feel his arms around her. She wanted so desperately to touch him that she closed her fingers into tight fists, the nails digging into her palms.
Tears ran down her cheeks and into her ears. She rolled over and buried her face in the small robe she had folded to use as a pillow. Softly, she cried herself to sleep.
CHAPTER 9
The breeze off the river cooled the glistening bodies of Wanderer and Eagle as they sat in the thick grass. Their lathered ponies grazed nearby. Wanderer had won the race, of course, but Eagle expected that. He was only trying to shorten his friend's lead.
"Someday I'm going to steal a pony as good as Night."
"There aren't any ponies as good as that."
"There must be one somewhere, and I'm going to find him. It'll be worth a lot of trouble to beat you and take that smirk from your face."
"I don't smirk."
"Only after a race."
"Is that why you're always raiding for horses? You want to beat Night? If you really want him, I'll give him to you."
Eagle gave a small start and was silent. It was an offer such as no one ever made. Nor was one like it likely to be made again. A man cheerfully loaned his wife or risked his life for a brother or a friend. That was natural. He could always expect the favor in return. He shared his sacred pipe and on rare occasions might bestow one of his coups on a friend or son or nephew. He even gave away horses, but never his war pony. Not while he lived. Not a horse like Night.
"Night is yours, Tah-mah, Brother. To take him from you would be very bad medicine. But I'm honored. Anyway, he bites me. Even worse than that, he bites me in embarrassing places. I think he does it deliberately. I still have a scar on my buttocks from the last time."
"I'd tell him not to. He bites everyone. It's his way of keeping people from taking liberties with him."
"He doesn't bite you."
"Of course not. I'm his brother."
"Exactly." Eagle pitched a small clod of dry dirt at Wanderer. It crumbled as it hit him on the shoulder. Then Eagle stretched out in the cool grass, crushing it under his weight until the smell of its juices washed over him. He pulled a wide blade of it and made a small slit with his thumbnail. Cupping it between his thumbs, he blew. Night threw up his head and snorted at the high, piercing wail it made.
It was almost three weeks since Sunrise's feast celebrating the arrival of the yellow hair and her naming. There had been feasts and dances and nightly talks with the men of Pahayuca's band. They had moved camp every few days, and this was the first chance they'd had to be alone. Wanderer prepared himself for the talk he knew he had to have with Eagle. It was his real reason for coming out here. The race was an excuse. He only raced horses to win more horses, and Night's reputation was such that few people would bet against him anymore.
"Brother."
"Yes." Eagle rolled over on his stomach and propped his chin on his sinewy arms, pretending to study a parade of ants dismembering a grasshopper. From the corner of his eye he watched his beloved friend, the man he called brother, sitting straight against the deep blue sky. Here it was. A lecture from Wanderer. He should never have been so wise so young. It wasn't natural. There was time enough for wisdom when they were codgers, permeated with pipe smoke and chuckling about their misspent youth. If Wanderer wasn't careful he'd spend his youth so carefully he'd have no scandalous memories to amuse himself and his friends with when he was old.
"You know that Pahayuca is a relative of mine." Wanderer knew it would be best to translate the problem into one of honor, not courage. Eagle wasn't afraid of anyone. He'd take on Pahayuca with a grizzly thrown in for interest and fight until he was torn apart. But family honor, favors to a friend, those were something else again.
A flicker of pain passed over Eagle's proud face. It was gone before even Wanderer, who had been with him since childhood, could see it. Eagle sensed what he was about to be asked.
"Yes. I know that," he said.
"He seems to prize Something Good." Why was this so difficult? She was only a woman, after all.
"Of course he does. Pahayuca isn't stupid."
"No. He isn't. And to dishonor him would be to dishonor me."
"I know that also."
"Will you smoke with me, Brother?" The tension tautened between them like a rawhide tho
ng. They were bound to each other, yet wanted to be free of this conversation. Eagle sat up, hunched over, and fingered the gold, Mexican eagle coin hanging on a delicate chain against his thin chest. It was the only way he ever showed strain.
Wanderer remembered how he had gotten the coin. It had been on their first raid for horses, three years ago. They'd ridden south for days through the brittle hills and ridges bristling with cacti and clumps of agave that fanned like clusters of swords. As hot as it had been they'd had to wear their leggings to protect themselves from the thorny mesquite that grew barrel high on their ponies and carpeted the stony ground as thickly as buffalo fur. Even the sky had glowed a hot, shimmering white.
They'd penetrated far into Mexico and ridden through small fields of withered com, strangling in the baked soil. The white-plastered adobes, looking like frosted loaves of bread, glowed and pulsed in the sun's glare. The dirt grubbers rarely fought, but they did that time. They were a people born to be victims. To see them fighting with their shovels and hoes and sticks was like seeing rabbits challenging a pack of wolves.
Eagle had spotted the coin glinting on the rumpled white shirt of the first man he ever killed. Drunk with the ultimate power of life and death, he became careless. He jumped down from his horse to get it. Blind to the three men who ran toward him, he bent to pull the chain over the man's head as it flopped loosely on the neck. He was tugging it from around the ears when Wanderer rode into the fight. He shot two of the peasants, pinning them together with one arrow. Eagle killed the third with his knife. He took the two scalps skillfully, even though they were his first. He was a born warrior, Eagle was. Making a deft, circular cut around the hairline, he braced his foot on the man's shoulder and gave a quick jerk. With a loud sucking pop the hair came away in one piece, almost as neatly as if the victim had been alive.
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