People of the Mist by W. Michael Gear

out from the crowd. “Are you talking about my
son!”
                 Flat
Willow flashed the Three Myrtle Weroance a sidelong look. “As you say … your
son.”
                 Black
Spike started forward, and was barely restrained by a kinsman’s hand.
                 “Easy,
Black Spike,” Hunting Hawk said. “We’ll get” to the bottom of this. No
accusations have been made.” She stepped forward, placing a hand on Flat
Willow’s shoulder. “Slow down, boy. Take your time. Relax now, and tell it
slowly.”
                 Hunting
Hawk watched the young man lick his lips and lock his legs; worried eyes met
her stare. With deliberate concentration, he told of his morning hunt, of the
spooked deer, and High Fox charging down the trail. He related High Fox’s odd
words. Then he told how he had finally given up finding his lost arrow, and
backtracked High Fox to the ridgetop.
                 “But
I don’t think High Fox killed her!” Flat Willow shot a measuring look at Black
Spike. “He wouldn’t! He loved her!”
                 A
gasp came from the crowd. Shell Comb had fire dancing in her eyes. Black Spike
broke free of the restraining hand and took a step forward, shoulders bunched,
veins standing out on his arms. “What are you saying, hunter?”
                 Copper
Thunder stood with his muscular arms crossed, a neutral expression on his face,
but those crafty black eyes betrayed the thoughts racing within his skull.
                 “It
was the White Stake raiders!” Shell Comb stepped to place herself between Flat
Willow and Black Spike. “The lying vermin stopped the marriage, all right. They
killed her—and then sought to appear here and misdirect us! We can’t let this
pass! The sooner we strike, the better. Before they prepare!”
                 Copper
Thunder’s eyebrow rose in the faintest surprise.
                 Hunting
Hawk hitched around on her walking stick. “And your thoughts on this, Great
Tayac?”
                 Copper
Thunder gave Shell Comb a flat stare and said, “For the moment, I’ll reserve my
judgment. We’ve seen at least two sides to this trouble. I wonder how many more
will turn up now that the anthill has been kicked.”
                 Black
Spike stepped forward, a fist clenched. “And what of my son?”
                 “We
don’t know yet.” Hunting Hawk studied his strained face. He looked terrified,
and angry.
                 Turning
back to Red Knot’s swaying body, Hunting Hawk asked, “How did she die?”
                 “A
blow to the head, Weroansqua.” Nine Killer bent down to pull the blood-clotted
hair back from the side of the girl’s head. “She was struck here, the blow
powerful enough to crush the skull. If you feel, the bone broke inward, into
her brain. She must have died instantly.” “Was anything found near her?”
                 Nine
Killer held up a necklace from which dangled a shark’s tooth, pearls, and shell
beads. “This, Weroansqua. Flat Willow says he found it in her right hand.”
                 Black
Spike made a strangled sound, and turned rapidly away, calling out, “I’ve had
enough of this! My people and I are leaving!” Eyes glittering, he pointed at
Hunting Hawk. “If you wish more of me, or my people, Weroansqua, you come with
your warriors to get it!”
                 Hunting
Hawk watched him stalk away, gesturing angrily at the rest of his people, and a
sick sensation deadened her heart. Three Myrtle had been her staunches! ally
over the years. Granted, High Fox was Black Spike’s son, but how could a simple
shark’s tooth drive such a wedge between them?
                 She
took a. step, ready to hobble after him, but Shell Comb’s hand caught her by
the shoulder. “Let him go, Mother. This is a shock, that’s all. Let