People of the Mist Read Online Free PDF Page A

as a blanket-wrapped
figure stepped from the deep morning shadows behind a walnut tree. “What are
you doing here? You’re supposed to be in your…”
                 The
blanketed assailant moved with uncanny speed. Red Knot glimpsed the war club,
heard it whistle as it sliced the air…. The loud crack of breaking bone echoed
across the quiet misty hills.
     

Two
     
                 Shell
Comb, first daughter of Hunting Hawk, hesitated as she looked out from the
shadowed doorway of the House of the Dead. She took a moment to steady herself.
                 Today
she began life again. She had been cleansed, purged of the mistakes of the past
and the price they’d exacted from her soul. She could start over, live as a
Weroansqua’s daughter should. She had proven to herself that she was worthy of
the awesome responsibility of authority. Still, as she watched the clearing
beyond the doorway, she nervously smoothed her hands on her deer hide skirt.
                 Several
people moved in the plaza, attending to various tasks. Rosebud’s daughter,
White Otter, carried a water jug toward the gate. Old Blue Moon urinated on the
back of his house, too blind to find his way outside the palisade. Shell Comb
started when she saw the Great Tayac, Copper Thunder, slip in through the
opening in the palisade, glance furtively around, and stride arrogantly toward
Hunting Hawk’s Great House.
                 Shell
Comb coughed and rubbed her sore windpipe.
                 Where
has he been? And to what purpose? The Great Tayac had no allies here, and
wouldn’t have until properly married into the Greenstone Clan. How long had he
been gone from the village? A cold shiver raced down her back. Well, if his
absence meant trouble, she would know soon enough.
                 She
needed all her wits with one cycle of her life finished, and another beginning.
This time, she would be smarter, wiser. The final stitch had been sewn into a
bag too long open. Why, then, did her heart leap and her muscles tremble?
                 She
made sure no one looked in her direction, then stepped out to meet this new
day. With steely control, she forced herself to walk across the plaza toward
the Great House. The Guardians, upright posts carved into the likenesses of
human and animal faces, watched her pass the smoking fire pit in the plaza’s
center. The ground here was hard-packed from the dancers the night before.
                 Old
man Mockingbird tottered toward her, blinking in the half-light. He heard her
cough, and tilted his head to squint at her. “Best tend to that, girl,” he
warned. “Shouldn’t be out in this cold.”
                 “Thank
you, Elder.” And Shell Comb hurried past.
                 Hunting
Hawk’s Great House nestled beneath the spreading branches of three mulberry
trees: a sign of her status. The house had been constructed of two rows of
black locust interspersed with cut red cedar saplings, their butts set into the
ground. The limber tops had been bent over and lashed together to create an
inverted U. Cross braces of red maple gave the framework strength, bound
together with pliable yellow pine roots, and the whole house had been covered
with sheets of bark. The interior was six paces wide and nearly forty in
length. Woven matting divided the Great House into three separate rooms.
                 Shell
Comb ducked through the low doorway and made her way across the mat-covered
floor. Bedsteads, made of poles laced with a wicker of saplings and bark, lined
the walls. Mats had been laid over the wicker, and then layers of deer hide
added to form snug beds. As she passed, people rolled up their bedding and
placed the matting and hides to the side to create sitting room.
                 No
one so much as glanced at her. But surely they should have viewed her
differently, or at least sensed the change