Chapter Twelve

 

 

After an amazing evening at the waterfall, we went home to our tree and looked over our loot. Several of the items were things that I intended to take to the Indian tribe to trade. They made wonderful blankets and shoes, fresh ground cornmeal, and had plenty of buffalo meat to spare. I was sure that they'd be interested in bartering for the knives, iron tools, and gold we'd stolen. The metal could be melted down and made into jewelry; another art they excelled in.

But there were a few things we'd taken for ourselves. Drakon, as I mentioned, took quite a few cooking supplies and he bustled about the kitchen putting them away. Straton sharpened the blades, casting satisfied smiles my way in between draws of the whetstone. Akylas was carving a piece of wood using some of the tools we'd taken, humming to himself. Praxis was polishing a gold statue of Aphrodite, which he said looked just like me. I didn't agree–the artist had obviously never met my mother. But Erastos simply lounged across my lap, playing with the ends of my hair.

“The fools,” he whispered to me. “Playing with toys instead of you.”

“Are you playing with me?” I asked him.

“In only the most affectionate way,” he drawled, his hand slipping beneath the hem of my skirt.

“Hey now”–I batted his hand away–“I need time to recover.”

“Hardly,” he scoffed. “You're a goddess, remember?”

“Leave her be, Erastos,” Straton growled. “We have exhausted our Pan.”

“Our Pan,” Drakon repeated as he came out of the kitchen. “She finally knows how appropriate her name is.”

“You're our everything,” Erastos purred, confirming Drakon's confession, and nestled closer. “Life is complete.”

“I'm glad you're all happy.” I chuckled.

“I hear a 'but' coming,” Praxis said. “And I don't mean Straton.”

“Funny,” Straton said in a dry tone, but his lips twitched.

“But, I'd like to take some things over to the Indian tribe to trade,” I said. “Who wants to join me?”

They all stood.

We packed up the items to trade, then made the trek out to the Indian village. I had once tried to explain to the men that the Indians weren't barbarians, as they had originally called the tribe. I went on to tell them that there were several tribes, each with their own name, but an explorer mistakenly labeled them all as Indians once, because he thought they were living on the continent of India. The continent wasn't India and was later named America, so the proper name for them collectively is Native American.

The warriors hadn't understood anything past “Indians,” so that's what we called them.

The Indians saw us coming and met us at the entrance to their village; a clearing filled with teepees and cooking fires. We were greeted warmly and taken to the chief. The chief's daughter, Tigerlily, sat beside him on a brightly colored blanket before their fire. Stew bubbled in a pot on the fire, and it mixed with the scent of tobacco smoke.

The chief handed his pipe to Straton with a smile, and Straton accepted with a grateful nod. This was their ceremony that was performed every time we visited. It was like an unspoken agreement to remain friends. After Straton had taken a puff and passed the pipe back, the Chief spoke.

“Welcome, Pandora and Guardians of Hope,” he said. “What has brought you to our village this night?”

“We've just performed a successful raid on Kadmos's ship,” I said. “We've taken many useful things and have brought them here to see if you'd like to trade with us.”

“Ah, you have stolen from the thief.” The chief chuckled. “Fitting, I suppose.”

“They are just sad and lonely men,” Tigerlily said.

“Tigerlily!” The chief looked sternly at his daughter. “You have not visited their village, have you?”

“No, Father,” she said demurely, but I caught the barest glimmer of rebellion in her eyes.

Uh-oh.

The chief didn't see it, though, and he smiled in satisfaction. “Good. Stay away from those pale men; they are full of hatred.”

“And yet we sit with these pale men,” Tigerlily murmured.

“Because they escaped the evil,” the chief said to his daughter, “and that is why we can be friends with them.”

Tigerlily looked down at her hands.

“Now, what have you brought us?” The chief asked me.

We emptied the bags and began the haggling process. But as the men went over the qualities of the items, I watched the Indian princess. She looked sad and unsettled. I knew that look; I'd worn it myself until very recently.

Tigerlily was in love with a pirate.