People of the Weeping Eye (North America's Forgotten Past) by W. Michael Gear, Kathleen O'Neal Gear Page B

if someone had cored a hole into his heart and let its contents leak out. His face sagged with a weary resignation. A fine beaverhide cape hung from his shoulders, and a medicine bag made from a raccoon hide was suspended on the knotted cord belt at his waist. His finely woven hunting shirt dropped to below his knees. Flower patterns made from small colored wooden beads had been sewn onto his sleeves, the breast, and the hem of the garment.
    The old man glanced suspiciously at the hostile warriors who clustered around Fast Palm. Many of them glared menacingly in their direction. “How did you stop them?”
    “With a breath across my palm. He’ll be all right … provided he doesn’t irritate me again.”
    The old man narrowed his eyes, studying Old White. “Are you truly the Seeker?”
    “I am called that.”
    “I am Skaup, of the Wide Thistle Clan. I sit on the Council here, and am a respected elder among my people. If you are who you say you are, I am honored to meet you.” The old man reached up and rubbed his chin, the action pulling his wrinkles back and forth. “But what would a man like you want with my crazy daughter?”
    Old White studied him thoughtfully. “ Your daughter? Has she always troubled you?”
    “As a little girl she was precious, a delightful darling of a child. She was smart, happy, with laughter like a bubbling brook. No child ever brought a father more joy.” His smile failed. “The voices began whispering to
her just before her first woman’s moon. Soon after that, her mother was killed in a raid. Since then, she’s grown progressively worse.” He sighed, and half turned to face the menacing A’khota warriors. “There has been talk among my own people that I should just walk up behind her … put her out of her misery.” A pause. “But I still see my little girl.”
    “A family must take responsibility for its own.”
    “I know. But I am weak when it comes to her.” The old man shot Old White a sidelong glance. “When Fast Palm came here, demanding that I turn her over, I thought perhaps, just maybe, he would turn around and leave when I refused.”
    “Apparently he is motivated.” Old White indicated the smoldering section of palisade off to his left. The wood had been considerably weakened.
    Hopelessness and fatigue dulled the old man’s eyes. “My people have been blaming me and my daughter for this attack. It’s my fault. Two Petals brought this down on us.” He made a face before adding, “Fast Palm’s chief must really be witched. I’m afraid she did it to him. She thought he was an arrogant mallard when he came through here. He thought her simple. Sought to lay with her. When he tried to force her, she threw up all over him. Afterward she said some things. It sounded like nonsense. Things about his belly slowly filling with pleasure, about how he would swallow most gleefully. Last I heard, the man’s gut was a burning agony, and he was throwing up all the time.”
    “Do you really not understand what she is saying?”
    He made a puzzled face. “Something is turned around in her souls. She just can’t get anything right. I know she’s not stupid. Tell her to enter and she goes away. Tell her to leave and she sits right down on the spot. It’s a soul possession of some sort. You wouldn’t believe the things I’ve tried: burning her with sticks until she screams; beating her with clubs; piercing her flesh with thorns; anything to drive the demons from her souls.”
    Gods, could she really be a Contrary? “I need her help.”
    “I don’t understand. How could my spirit-haunted daughter be of help to you, of all people?”
    “I have crossed half of our world to find her, Skaup. Power has led me to her. I wish to ask her to accompany me.”
    The old man made a face. “She is like a black oak in a lightning storm. She’ll draw trouble to you. And whatever your mission here, people will be skeptical of you as long as she’s with you. I can’t make sense