by D Krauss
*
Wahunsonacock sat, narrow eyed, while the Communer of Spirits, face blackened with charcoal and outlined in red ochre, a call to the Dark Ones, stalked the floor. The Communer gibbered at Opotenaiok, who was on his haunches, stoic, eyes closed, mouth set, the bow of a great feat laid across his knees. Great feat? Wahunsonacock set his lips grimly. That remained to be seen.
"Do warriors see God?" The Communer sneered at Opotenaiok and the lesser priests murmured because no, warriors didn't, only Seers did and Opotenaiok was no Seer. The Communer made his point—Opotenaiok consorted with devils. That was not a great feat. That was dangerous.
"I did not say he was God," Opotenaiok spoke quietly against the priests' hissing, "I said he was a man of white skin and white hair, with a strange wolf roped to him, and he appeared from out of a mist on a ridge of the Plentiful Woods, maybe thirteen paces above me. I knew he was not God. But he looked at me with great contempt and I knew he was a great danger. I shot him." At that last, Opotenaiok's eyes snapped open and his war spirit blazed out, striking the Communer, who missed a step in his warding and tumbled back, wary.
"Enough." Wahunsonacock gestured and the priests ceased their screams and the warriors, who had yelled and moved to Opotenaiok's side, faded back. The Communer regained balance and stared at Opotenaiok, his hatred evident. Wahunsonacock shook his head. This was getting out of hand.
"Opotenaiok, First Hunter," Wahunsonacock used the honorific to placate the warriors, "no white man, no wolf, no body, was found." That placated the Communer.
"You would not." Back to the stoicism, the blank look. "Chief of all the Powhatan, the same mist that dropped the white man took the body and the wolf away."
"It was a demon!" The Communer could not restrain himself. "You have brought them down on us!"
Uproar, fueled by Opotenaiok's sudden leap to his feet, baring a stone knife. He would kill a Communer here, in the safety of the lodge? Wahunsonacock's eyes widened. Is this the touch of a demon?
"Enough!" He roared this time, using the power of his voice, and Opotenaiok held the knife out for a moment and then sheathed it. Wahunsonacock glared the Communer back against the wall and Opotenaiok back to his knees. He stood, making himself tall, letting the magic work its influence. "I do not know what our brother saw or what he fought, but no man here can doubt his truth." Murmurs of agreement. "He has proven himself too many times for that."
He turned to the dissatisfied priests. "But we must be careful of the Other World and the dark spirits there. That one of the People slew one of the Dark makes those woods angry."
He paused, looking grave, letting them behold the majesty of decision. "This is my ruling. Let Opotenaiok be free of the demon's taint, never to be so considered. Instead, let us celebrate him, for he has performed a great feat. Let songs be sung of it."
"And let," he thundered, quelling the shouts of triumph from the warriors and cries of rage from the priests, "the Plentiful Woods be taboo. Let our people know that a Pale Spirit walks there with his ravening beast, and that he is the Herald of the Dark."
There was a shocked silence as the implications became clear. Opotenaiok escaped burning at the priests' hands. Indeed, he was now favored. The priests would have to spend several sunsets placating the spirits to make up for that, always a costly and exhausting business. But the Taxunent were now denied their best hunting ground. When Opotenaiok brought back that bit of unwelcome news, they'd probably strip his First Hunter rights.
On one side, you gain much. On the other, you lose much.
And as they realized the balance of it, the priests and warriors let out shouts of approval. The Communer and Opotenaiok quietly accepted the congratulations and songs of their supporters, even as they glanced murder at each other. That would be a future battle. Wahunsonacock supposed he would end up killing one or the other.
He sat still as the warriors retold the deed and the priests fixed the poem. He would have preferred to go to his palace and excite his wives, but this was now a thing of state. He stifled a yawn.
"A worthy decision, Chief of all the Powhatan," a voice whispered in his ear.
Wahunsonacock nodded slightly to the gray man who stood to his right, partly hidden by shadow. "It preserves some peace, Onxe."
"Yes," the wise one waited a heartbeat, "and what of the white man?"
"You do not believe he was a demon?"
"No more than you, my chief."
Wahunsonacock chuckled. "You read me too well, Onxe. Not one of the black robes, either."
"No, my chief."
"But a wizard, a white wizard, and a powerful one to walk our woods with so much impunity."
"Indeed, Chief, as if our lands were his," Onxe said, gently.
"My very thought." He paused. "If we credit the stories of the Croatan," and here Oxne chuckled appreciatively, "then the white men will come back from the sea. And if they are already sending their wizards to scout our land…" He left the thought out there.
"And they are powerful men. Their weapons, their armour, it will be difficult defeating them," Oxne said.
"We may have to find another way."
Wahunsonacock would have continued, outlining his idea of attacking the defiant Chesapeakes, who had taken in some of the last white men from Roanoke, but there was a disturbance. Shouts of anger and surprise came from the far end of the hall and followed a whirling flurry of dust and smoke. A small figure ran between the legs of angry warriors who grabbed at it but missed. Wahunsonacock peered through the smoke and then let out an exasperated breath.
"Matoaka!" he called out, "come here!"
The little figure dodged a few of the more agile warriors and leaped into his lap, squirming, her lively eyes dancing with devilment. He signaled the priests down and sighed. How many pelts would this violation cost him? He should beat her, he should, but when he looked at her, his heart melted. "Pocahontas," he said too gently. His favorite, obvious to all.
She looked at him defiantly. "I am not a troublemaker!" she declared, "Girls should be in here, too!" The priests within earshot gasped. Wahunsonacock shook his head. There go another three pelts.
"So," he said to her, "you want to help with the affairs of state, do you?" and tickled her until she shrieked. He noted that the priests frowned deeper, but the warriors secretly smiled.
An idea, a small one, just a wren's feather, brushed his mind. He looked at his daughter, so smart, so brave, able to wind men around her fingers. He felt the structure of a plan take shape. He glanced at Oxne, who read his look and raised his brows, anticipating.
Perhaps there was another way.
