People of the Mist Read Online Free PDF

in her life. Today, as never before,
she had proven herself worthy to be her mother’s daughter. Any question of her
ability to take over this building, and control of clan business, was now behind
her. In the presence of the blessed ancestors, she had atoned for her lack of
judgment. Black Spike might never have been. Life had come full circle. Balance
had been restored.
                 The
Great House, like all those in the lineage holding, belonged to old Hunting
Hawk. Upon her death, since she had no brother to inherit, the lineage
holdings-houses, land, fishing and hunting grounds, shell beds, slaves, and
property—would pass to Shell Comb.
                 She
looked around at the wealth that would be hers. Large baskets were hung from
the walls, brimming with corn, dried squash, acorns, hickory nuts, chinquapins,
chestnuts, and beans. The tightly tied bundles of hemp stacked to one side
waited for women to process the silky fibers into cordage or soft fabrics. Flat Pearl Village controlled rich resources, and its people
rarely went hungry.
                 Copper
Thunder sat beside the central fire, watching Shell Comb with oddly luminous
eyes. She glanced at the big, round-bottomed ceramic pot that rested over the
glowing coals. It held a steaming stew of corn, oysters, squash, and diced
fish. As second in line to Hunting Hawk, her first concern was to insure the
well-being of her family’s guests.
                 This
morning, Shell Comb would have gladly sidestepped that duty. She wanted nothing
more than to be alone, to have the time to think and reflect. But as she looked
around, she did not see her mother. Hunting Hawk was gone, and with such an
important guest seated before her fire! Shell Comb marched forward. Facing
these people, especially this powerful’ man, would be an ordeal, but it
couldn’t be helped.
                 She
tried to keep her hand from trembling as she stirred the fire. Fatigue weighted
her bones. Would it betray her? How long had it been since she’d had a full
night’s sleep? From the onset of Red Knot’s first cramps, Shell Comb had
attended to the girl, sending messengers, supervising meals, coordinating the
arrival of the guests, orchestrating the dances, and struggling to behave as a
Weroansqua’ sdaughter should. Her own competence surprised her, hinting at
reserves she had never known.
                 Responsibility—as
befitted the future Weroansqua of Flat Pearl Village—bore a terrible price. Why
hadn’t she understood before? She glanced down at her right hand, worked the
muscles, and made a tight fist. What incredible power she would wield.
                 Shell
Comb remained a beautiful woman despite the thirty-two Comings of the Leaves
she had survived, and the six children she had passed from her womb. Some said
her large dark eyes could snare a man’s soul and bend it to her will. The story
had always amused her. She recognized her vanity, moderated it when necessary,
and surrendered to it when circumstances permitted. And she had surrendered
much too often. But when Ohona and Okeus had battled for the world after the
Creation, they’d insured that, hadn’t they?
                 Trace
your ancestry back, and there you “II find Okeus, staring at you with that
malicious smile on his face. Face it, Shell Comb, your seed sprang from his
loins. No matter how many generations removed, you are still his daughter.
                 She
loosened her feather mantle from around her shoulders and let it slide down
around the curve of her hips as the fire’s heat reached her. The chill was
finally leaving her bones—as the sadness and confusion eventually might.
                 Of
her six children the third had died at birth; five, two girls and three boys,
had lived to be named. Her oldest son, White Bone, had drowned in his sixteenth
summer when he was caught on open water by a