He held himself aloof, disdainful of our conversation, but several times I saw his eyes straying to the buckskin on which Ni'kwana had drawn his map. I moved it closer to me. He saw the move and his eyes flared with anger.
He was taller than I by several inches, a lithe young man of uncommon strength. He could prove a dangerous antagonist.
Ni'kwana spoke of the prophecy. 'We have seen no such men since the Warriors of Fire,' he explained, 'but each wind brings whispers to make us wonder. Is it true, then? Are the Warriors of Fire returning?'
The Natchee Indians were one of the few who had any tradition of De Soto, with his muskets and cannon, and it was his men who were known as the Warriors of Fire.
'He will not come again, but there will be others,' I admitted. 'You would do well to beware.'
'Our neighbors, too, grow in strength,' Ni'kwana said, 'and as they grow stronger they become more arrogant. The Creek were once our friends but I fear they are no longer. They look with envy on our fields and our stored grain.'
He was silent then, thinking as he stared into the fire. Finally he said, 'I fear for our people and our way of life. Strange men come and go and the tribes are restless. Our people are uneasy in the night and the young men are restless, their eyes always looking to the horizon. You come from another world. Tell me ... what is happening?'
'There is but one thing we know, Ni'kwana, and that is that nothing forever remains the same. Always there is change. Your people have remained long undisturbed by outside influences. This may seem good, but it can be bad also, for growth comes from change. A people grows or it dies.
'Over there,' I gestured toward the east, 'are people without land. Others have land but wish for more. Now this land has been discovered by them and they will come seeking.'
'Westward there are vast lands and no people. Will they not go there?'
'I wish it might be so, but those who come will not go further than what they can see. They will buy some land but will take more. They do not believe this is wrong, for they, too, believe they are The People, and it has been the way of the world for men, animals, and plants to move in wherever there is opportunity and where they can survive.
'In the land where my father dwelt there were a people called Picts, then Celts moved in, and after them, Romans. When the Romans moved out the Angles, Saxons, and Danes moved in, each new people taking the land and pushing the others out or making slaves of them. Then the Normans came and dispossessed all the others, and their king took all the land for his own, giving it to those who served him best.'
'It does not seem just.'
'It never does to those whose land is taken.' I paused and then asked, 'And your people, Ni'kwana? Did they always live where they now are?'
His eyes met mine and after a moment a faint smile came to his lips. 'We, too, came from elsewhere. It is not remembered whence. Some say we came from the south, some from the east.'
'It could be both. You may have come from the south, settled for a while, and then moved westward.'
'It could be so.'
We talked long into the night, and the fire burned low. The others slept. 'This woman we are to seek? She has a name?'
'She is called Itchakomi Ishaia. We know her as Itchakomi, or even as Komi.'
'Is it not unusual to send a woman on such a quest?'
'She is a Sun, a daughter of the Great Sun. Only he, she, or I could decide our future. Only she is young enough or strong enough to travel so far.'
'And you, Ni'kwana? Are you a Sun?'
'I am.' He looked into my eyes again. 'I am also Ni'kwana, master of mysteries.'
What we Sacketts knew of the Natchee Indians had been little enough and that mostly at secondhand, from tales told by the Cherokee, Choctaw, or Creek. These tales might or might not be true. The master of mysteries was akin to a high priest, but something more, also.
Ni'kwana then asked, 'You, it is said, are a medicine man?'
This was believed of me by the Cherokee, for twice they had come to me when illnesses among them did not yield to their own practice. My father's friend Sakim had taught me much, and I had learned much from medicine men of the tribes who were friendly to me, yet Sakim had taught me much else besides, and some word had gotten about of my Gift.
'So it is said.'
'It is also said that you, among your people, are also a master of mysteries.'
'I am no master, Ni'kwana. I am one who lives to learn. I go west because there are lands there I do not know, and perhaps to find a home for myself.'
'Perhaps your home will be ours, also.'
'If the Ni'kwana is there, then I could learn from him?'
'Ah ... The way is long, and my muscles tire. I do not know, Ju-bal, I do not know. But,' he added, 'you could be one of us. I think your ways are like our ways.' He smiled wryly. 'At least, the ways of some of us.
'It is wise,' he spoke suddenly, sharply, 'not to trust too much. We Natchee do not all believe alike. There are factions.'
'Kapata? You said he was not of your blood?'
'His mother was a Karankawa, from the coast far to the south. Kapata has much of her ways and her beliefs, and they were a wild, fierce people. His mother, it is said, was a fierce woman, and the Karankawa were eaters of men.'
'This I have heard.'
Rising from beside the fire I said, 'Tomorrow I must go. And you, Ni'kwana? Do you return to your village now?'
'I have been too long away, and the Great Sun will need me. He grows old, and he is not well. You will find Itchakomi?'
'I will try.'
With my blanket I went alone to a place beside a rock, and there I slept. When dawn came Ni'kwana still sat beside the fire as he had when I left him. Whether he had moved or slept I did not know, but Keokotah was ready and waiting, impatient to be away from these people he neither knew nor trusted.
We ate lightly, but as we moved to go, Kapata was waiting. 'She is my woman,' he said, glaring.
'Convince her, not me,' I said, and moved to pass him.
He reached for my shoulder but my knife was drawn. 'Touch me,' I said, 'and they will be calling you Kapata the One Handed.'
For a moment I believed he would attack, but my knife was inches from his belly, so he held his hand. It was well he did so, for I am a man of peace and would not have liked to send him crippled into the time after this.
We walked away then and left them staring, some with hope, some with hatred. For myself, although I liked Ni'kwana, I was pleased to be on my way. Keokotah, even more eager to be away, took the lead and soon broke into a trot. I followed, running easily and liking the path as it wound through the greenwood.
When we came to where the path divided, I took the easternmost. Keokotah hesitated. 'The other is closer to the Great River,' he said.
'I have reason. We will take the right-hand path.'
He shrugged and motioned to indicate I should lead, which I did. We were nearing a river now and also the place where my canoe was hidden. The river we would follow also led toward Hiwasee, where there were Cherokees. It had been the home of other Indians before them and was a well-known place. So far as I knew none of these Cherokees had known us, but as I was beginning to learn, my father was known to them, and I myself, in a lesser way.
My canoe remained where it had been hidden, and Keokotah was much pleased. Birchbark canoes were not common. The Iroquois, for example, used only clumsy dugout canoes and were not skilled in working with birchbark. Mine was light and graceful, an easy canoe to be carried across portages by one man, but preferably two.
Beautiful was the morning when we went out upon the river, with the sunlight gathering diamonds from the ripples, and overhead a few idle clouds loitering over the blue meadows of the sky. We simply allowed the current
