Path of the Spirit Runner

Etowah

Etowah~

Tobias Buchanan

Etowah, Este

The deep bass of drumbeats rumbled through Tobias’ chest and quickened his pulse.

Ba-boom-boom-ba-boom. Ba-boom-boom-ba-boom.

Even before he cleared the pines, the drums began announcing his arrival. The cadence named him friend, not foe. No matter how many times he approached the largest town in the Este Nation, the wary rogue in him tensed until the drums confirmed he was still welcome.

Etowah stretched for miles along the gentle Oakmulgee River’s banks. Long ago, Lamochatee’s ancestors had taken a liking to the site and decided to stay. They dug a channel in an arc east of the river, carving out forty acres of high ground and settling on the moated half-moon of fertile land. Palisade walls outlined the town in double rows of spiked timbers punctuated by tall, square towers.

From those towers, the drums boomed, and archers watched his approach.

For centuries, it had been Este custom for a town to divide once its population neared a thousand. Willing families left the mother town to clear and build on new land miles away. But decades of prosperity and ingenuity had allowed Etowah’s numbers to swell far beyond what the land could have supported before. Over ten thousand people called Etowah home.

Etowah’s gates swung open, and a band of scouts rode out, shouting in rhythm with the drums. They wore longshirts over breechcloths, and buckskin leggings fitted from bucs to knees. Indigo tattoos circled their thighs in geometric bands. Silver flashed from fingers and ears, armbands and pendants. Red was everyone’s favorite color.

Their horses splashed across the shallow ford, passing the well-placed boulders dotting the sandy shoals. With rakes and spades, caretakers kept the shoals broad enough for two horses abreast but deep enough for a canoe to skim across. Coaxing nature into filling a need took more cleverness than bridge building, to Tobias’ way of thinking.

Tobias waited on the riverbank as Southern Hawk Trading Company’s men and mules filed from the woods behind him. He tugged off his gloves and raised a bare hand in greeting. The lead scout offered an answering hand and circled his horse without a word. When he started back across the ford, Tobias took the cue to follow.

“I guess this means Malatchee isn’t still sulking over the last ball game,” Tobias said over his shoulder. “He came close to losing that one.”

“Etowah never came close to losing,” said Lamochatee. “We let you have a few goals to make the game worth watching, eh?”

Tobias laughed as he rode through the gates. He’d been away from the castles and mountains of Aleron for so long he sometimes wondered if he remembered that life at all. At some point over the years, his visits to Etowah had started to feel like coming home. He recognized familiar faces in the crowd gathering to watch the pack train’s arrival and nodded to old friends as he followed his escort.

The houses nestled inside Etowah’s walls were built big to fit big, extended families. Hundreds more homes stretched out past the moat, beyond the original town’s walls. The Este liked more elbow room from their neighbors and more artistry in their architecture, but otherwise, their homes were much like those lining the streets of Innish trade towns up and down the coast. Waterwheels splashed, and windwheels spun beside orchards of chestnut, pecan, and persimmon trees.

Near the town’s center, flat-topped earthen mounds rose above the common ground. The mound nearest the gate stood ten feet high and had timber steps set in its four sloping sides. Not a single building marred its rectangular expanse of grass and clay. Tall poles planted at either end boasted brightly colored banners up and down their height.

The Este gathered on the plaza mound for ceremonies and festivals. It also served as the ball field, where all matters of any significance were settled.

A twin mound rose perpendicular to the plaza, with smaller mounds stacked atop its elevated plateau. The shaman’s house topped the shortest of those. The guesthouse of the heniha, town counselor and arbiter, sat on the next highest. Between them, on the tallest mound in Etowah, was the home of Malatchee Mico, the Mico of Micos, the Chief of Chiefs, of the confederacy known as the Este Nation.

“Andy, take lead,” said Tobias.

Andy Quinn clicked his horse to a trot and pulled up beside him. Andy was another Hawk the sea had stolen from Aleron. He’d been with Tobias since year one of Southern Hawk Trading Company. A sandy-haired fellow of average height and build, with the sort of looks most people couldn’t recall an hour after meeting him, Andy blended into a crowd. A useful trait, it had kept them both alive on more than a few occasions.

“Unload at the warehouse. Have Lefty send a runner upstream to Tallassee and Chula. Tell them they can send six mules each to restock their stores,” he rattled off instructions knowing Andy would see every detail done. “I want a barge leaving for Kahatchi in the morning with whatever staples they need. They can send mules back for whatever else they want, but I expect them to split what they take with the Chalahume store.”

“Got it, boss.”

“And find us a practice field. Damn it, I’m tired of losing.”

Andy grinned. He captained the twenty guards Tobias had brought with him from Buchanwick. It was twice as many as they needed to protect the pack train. But when he came to Etowah, he had to bring enough men to play a decent game.

Hawks never could pass up a competition.

“I’ll find us a spot,” said Andy. “Somewhere they can’t see how much we’ve been practicing.”

“Practice all you want,” said Lamochatee. “Etowah has not lost in so long, no one can even remember.”

Tobias left his horse with Ducky, and Lamochatee walked through town beside him. Children and dogs darted across their path. Clutches of old women chattered and pointed. Tobias savored the aromas of cornbread, sweetgrass, and hickory smoke.

They crossed the plaza and started their climb up the mico’s mound. Paying Etowah’s mico the respect of first greeting was a protocol Tobias knew not to delay. Never mind the drums had already announced his arrival to everyone within miles. Malatchee would sit up there and wait until Tobias made the climb.

Etowah expected it of them both.

The ritual of first greeting let Malatchee extend guest rights to Tobias and his men. He’d like to get that out of the way, considering how many he brought with him this trip. He counted on them to do what he hired them to do, but trailhands were a rough breed and not always on their best behavior in town.

Lamochatee reached for the front door of the stately brick home. It swung open before his hand touched the knob.

“Took your time getting here,” Malatchee snapped in Innish. “You’re getting slower.”

“You’re getting more cantankerous,” said Tobias. “Noya told you to stay put until I got up here, didn’t she?”

“Noya is a horsefly buzzing around my head.” Malatchee swatted at the air. He laughed and clasped Tobias’ arm.

Malatchee was a man built for standing his ground. His countenance could’ve been chiseled from a block of hickory. Square jaw, aquiline profile, and black brows too uncompromising to arch. His penetrating stare kept you wondering whether he was listening to what you had to say or deciding whether to go for your throat.

“Lamochatee snuck out to meet me,” said Tobias. “The boy’s growing like a weed.”

“He’s a strong one, eh?” Malatchee tousled the boy’s hair.

Tobias followed him to the room used for the business that came with being mico. The waxed plank floors, paned glass windows, and grooved pine paneling painted muted tones of mossy green, buttery yellow, and dark red would be elegant on either side of the Atlassia.

“I see no one’s managed to kill you yet.” Malatchee poured him a crystal cup of aurello.

“A Hawk on the hunt is a tough target to hit.” Tobias sipped the aged whiskey he knew to be of the most exceptional quality. It came from a Black Hawk barrel he sold Malatchee last year.

“You owe me word of my nephews. And you owe the Este gold.”

Malatchee was wearing a wrap of brushed Talluan cotton so fine it draped like silk. A gorget of silver crescents hung from his neck. A scalloped silver band anyone in Innis would call a crown rested on his head. His silver earrings, rings, and armbands were as abundant as everyone’s in Etowah.

But beyond what Malatchee wore, he gave away. It was a mindset Tobias had trouble understanding at first. The Este put no importance on material wealth. Greed was crass. One’s worth and influence were measured by what one gifted others. The gold Tobias brought would not stay in Malatchee’s pockets.

“I brought the Wind Clan’s profits,” said Tobias. “Southern Hawk Trading fared well this year. You’ll be glad you took Murdoch’s offer of shares in the company.”

“Murdoch brought Ahyota’s sons to meet me. That was my condition. They are coming to know their uncle. They are learning what it means to be Este.”

“Redan finishes at university this year. Bryen wants to be a pirate.” Tobias patted the satchel on his hip. “I brought letters.”

“Good. I have someone to help me translate their Estean. Tybetha is back.” Malatchee watched him for a reaction.

“Decided to return from her spirit journey?” Tobias said indifferently. “Guess she found whatever she went looking for.”

“Or she came to terms with what made her leave.”

“Either way, it’s not my concern.” Tobias refused to be drawn into talk of Malatchee’s wandering shaman.

“Go see her. It’s been two years.”

“Leave it be.”

“Your choice.” Malatchee shrugged.

“Lamochatee, do not try to hide from me.” Noya’s scolding drew nearer. “I saw you climbing the steps.”

“Caw, you are caught, son.” Malatchee grinned. “Next time, keep running and let White Hawk climb alone.”

Noya stalked in with her hands on her hips. She spared Tobias a nod.

“Welcome back, White Hawk. Thank you for fetching my son.”

“I fetched him.” Lamochatee hopped off his father’s desk.

“He tells it true, Noya,” said Tobias. “Lamochatee found me wandering the woods and scouted the way out.”

Noya was having none of it. “All morning, Holahto looked for you. Your uncle has bigger fish to catch than one little minnow slipping away from his lessons.”

“His lessons are boring,” the boy muttered.

“Find your uncle and apologize. Holahto decides whether you join the feast tonight.”

Lamochatee gave his father a pleading look.

Malatchee held up his hands. “Holahto decides.”

The boy grumbled under his breath but ducked from the room under Noya’s disapproval. When he was well away, Noya sighed.

“The curse of Panther Clan. We are born stubborn.” She held out her arms to Tobias. “It is good to see you again.”

“You are lovelier than ever, Noya.” He hugged her.

“You lie like an Este who wants something,” she said, blunt as ever.

Malatchee’s wife was a pretty woman whose body had plumped after bearing him seven children, and she was pleasant company when she wasn’t busy scolding one of their brood.

“A trader always wants something,” Malatchee snorted. He rested his fists on the desk and said the words Tobias came to hear. “Captain Tobias Buchanan, White Hawk of Hawk Clan, you and your men are welcome at our fires. Do no harm, and no harm will come to you.”

“We are guests of Etowah,” Tobias offered the most powerful man in Tallu the dutiful response. “We will do no harm.”

Chapter 3