The sun was a white-hot ember high overhead as Calling Crow of the Muskogee people ran through the rippling heat rising from the scrub grass field. His hunger thrashed and clawed inside his belly. He ignored it, but he knew it would kill him if he did not eat soon. He was too weak. His ankle turned on a rock and he fell. Head hanging, he gasped hot, thick air into his lungs. Not far away, the ever-present sighs and rumblings of the sea called to him, telling him to give up his foolish struggle and sleep. Its voice was insistent and soothing at the same time, and his head drooped closer to Mother Earth and her final embrace.

A sharp cry startled him and his head jerked up. Two seagulls looked down and laughed at him as they glided by.

"He's giving up," one seemed to cry, "giving up!"

"No!" shouted Calling Crow. "Never! I will find them." Calling Crow stared at the receding black shapes. He would find his woman, Juana and their child or he would die trying. But first he must eat.

He sensed a change. The tepid wind had reversed direction and now blew off the land. He got slowly to his feet and looked at the forest across the field. He had seen much evidence of the people who lived in that forest and the great swamp beyond. If he were captured, they would kill him. It was crazy to continue to invade their territory, but this morning he had put his last arrow into a big buck deer. Now, with this wind he could close in for the kill.

As he walked toward the forest, he sang a prayer.

I call on the Wolf, Four legged brother, Give me your power, Swift and sure!

"Brother Deer," Calling Crow said hoarsely, "only one of us will survive this day."

He moved into a copse of trees and came out onto one of the wide trails of the people who lived in this place. The deer crashed through the copse on the other side, heading for the great swamp. He quickly and silently crossed the trail and re-entered the forest, following the deer. When it paused, he knelt quietly. Again, his hunger and weakness washed over him in waves. A tiny sound in the clump of grass near his feet tickled his ears. He patted the sandy soil with his fingers till a tiny whiskered snout poked out of the grass. His arm a blur, Calling Crow snatched the fat mouse and gave it a single, hard shake, breaking its neck. His finger bled from the small bite it had taken, and he rubbed the finger on his thigh, then sliced the little creature's underside open. He brought it up to his mouth and tore at the wet meat. It only amounted to a few small bites, but he thanked the spirit of the creature as its life flowed into his chest and limbs. Another mouse shot out of the clump of grass and Calling Crow flattened it against the sand. He snapped its neck and tucked it neatly under the skin waist string of his breechclout.

With a racket, the wounded buck began moving off through a thicket ahead. Calling Crow followed it, coming out of the spindly trees at the edge of the great swamp. The waters were perfectly still and covered with a brilliant green, floating moss. Long tufts of lighter green moss hung from the trees. It looked as if many young women had pulled off their skirts and hung them from the tree limbs to swim. Even the thick hot air was tinged green, and full of the scent of decaying leaves and water lilies. It was a beautiful place, thought Calling Crow, but he could not pause to enjoy it, for it was also a dangerous place. He stared across the open space at the lance the people who lived in this place had planted in the earth as a warning. He must get the buck and leave quickly. But first he needed a drink.

Calling Crow stared carefully at the surface of the water for a few moments. He knelt at the water's edge and skimmed away the skin of floating moss, creating a round hole where he could drink. Tiny fish flashed silvery light before disappearing into the darkness. An emaciated face stared up at him, dark sunken eyes, cracked and bleeding lips, the face of a dying man. Frowning, he put his lips to the water and drank.

The buck began to move and he got to his feet. He spotted it ahead. The arrow hung down and a smear of blood matted the deer's side. The animal staggered, but held its antlers high and proud like a chief's headdress.

That pleased Calling Crow, for it truly was a buck worthy of a chief. He lifted off the mottled blue-black iron ax that hung around his neck and gripped it firmly. Keeping the barely-moving breeze against his cheek, he moved into position. He must get close enough to deliver a killing blow. He was so weak there would not be a second chance.

A shadow passed over his heart. Something was coming. He waited a moment and felt a presence. There was another hunter about! He slowly searched the swamp around him but saw nothing. It must be his hunger, he thought. It was making him crazy. He turned back to the deer. It moved closer to the placid surface of the swamp to drink.

Calling Crow crept closer. The buck looked over nervously and Calling Crow knelt out of sight. He lowered the heavy iron ax and waited. The buck gazed at the flat surface of the water, hesitating. A dragonfly buzzed by loudly. Calling Crow turned. Again he felt the presence of the other hunter. Closer now, much closer. His every sense told him that this was so, but still he saw nothing.

Calling Crow looked back at the buck as it lowered its proud head to drink. He must move now. Raising the ax high, he got to his feet and ran out. The flat surface of the swamp erupted as an ugly brown shape shot out. The big alligator's jaws fully enclosed the body of the buck, leaving only the antlered head and hind legs showing. The buck's powerful hind legs kicked the air uselessly as the alligator backed quickly into the dark water. The sound of a great thrashing echoed beneath the overhanging trees.

Calling Crow ran to the place where the deer had stood. His arrow had fallen out and lay on the ground. He looked out over the black water. The buck's head broke the surface briefly and the water churned as the alligator shook its prey.

"Mine!" Calling Crow shouted. "He was mine!"

As if in answer, the alligator disappeared and the swamp forest grew deathly quiet. Calling Crow looked at his feet. Only the alligator's track and a few quickly fading spots of water on the mud testified to what had happened. Calling Crow's anger faded after a moment. This creature's swiftness and hunting skill had been given him by the Great Spirit. Despite Calling Crow's terrible loss, and what it might mean for him, he could not be bitter. He looked into the water. "Enjoy your meal, friend," he thought, "for today you are the better hunter and deserve to eat."

Calling Crow picked up his arrow. His hip felt afire from his many days of walking. He must search for a medicine tree. He turned tiredly and headed back toward the beach and the cooler air coming off the sea.

Later, as the light of day bled away, Calling Crow found a copse of myrtle trees near the beach in which to hide and sleep. Sitting against a tree, he took the mouse from his waist string and sliced its belly open. He chewed mechanically, staring into the sky. The breeze was much stronger here, cooling him and enabling him to breathe easier. Soon the sky was indigo and the surf a song of lament. The cries of the gulls gave voice to his pain as the face of the women he loved floated before his eyes. The last time he had seen Juana, her belly was ripe to bursting with their child. That was fourteen moons ago. For the last ten of those moons he had struggled southward to find her. An evil Spanish priest had returned her to the cursed Spanish island of Hispaniola. Afterward, Calling Crow had returned to his home village. Then, strangely, hundreds of his villagers developed a fever and began to die. Calling Crow did not know why he himself was spared the sickness -- it was more a curse than not to have died of it -- but the very braves he had played with as children, and who had chosen him as their Cacique, or chief, blamed him for bringing it. They chased him from his home.

After that, only the memory of Juana and the child that must now be feeding at her breast gave him the will to continue. The pain they'd suffered as Spanish slaves had been like a fiery Spanish forge, strengthening their love. Back then he would look at her and see some good in the bad, crazy world of the Spanish. He thought of the time he had first met her, after the horse and rider had raced past them, scattering the people. She had fallen against him. As her eyes found his, the heat and dust of the noisy street fell away and there was only he and she on the earth. She smiled at him as he steadied her and in that instant he knew they were a match.

Calling Crow smelled something on the breeze. In the growing dark he left the copse. Over the past five moons, he had passed one village after another filled with people dead of the Spanish disease, and many more ghosts. For that reason, he did not like to move about in the dark. Tonight however, his hunger was making him crazy and he didn't care.

He left the crashing surf behind as he moved inland. Under the soft light of the bitten moon, with the rhythmic chatter of frogs and crickets in his ears, he spotted the regularly spaced silhouettes of huts in the distance - a village. He crept closer. No dogs barked at his approach; no one cried out in their sleep. Only the wind moved here, clacking the palmetto fronds of the thatched roof overhangs. He crept into a long house. Many dead people, probably victims of Spanish fever, lay about on the sleeping shelves. Where a shaft of moonlight shone through he saw the hollow cheeks and blackened eye sockets of a dead woman, her arms wrapped around the dried-up remains of her baby. He hesitated for a moment, almost running back outside. Then he spotted a basket of maize in a corner. He crept to it and knelt down to eat. As Calling Crow scooped a handful of the dry meal from the basket it seemed as if the eyes of a dead brave nearby were watching him. Then he thought he heard the man's voice. It was the tall trees outside bending in the wind, Calling Crow told himself. Despite his fear, Calling Crow shoved the dry grain into his mouth. He ate hurriedly, choking. Too frightened to stay any longer, he crept outside and went back to his sleeping place by the sea.

Calling Crow scooped some grasses together and formed a sleeping pallet. The moment his head touched the earth, he entered the dream world. Soon his hunger took him back to the hut of the dead. He went to the basket of maize and ate some more.

Someone cried out, "thief!" and Calling Crow choked on the maize, coughing painfully. A deep moan filled the hut. All of the dead had silently gotten out of their sleeping shelves and now surrounded him. He couldn't escape! The women moaned sorrowfully as they stared at him.

A brave that had lain nearby approached. His bones showed through in places and maggots wriggled and crawled on his wet skin. He gripped a war club with a skeletal hand. "Why have you come here?" he said.

"I want maize."

"So you take ours?" he said angrily.

Several people echoed his indignation.

"But I am dying!" said Calling Crow.

The people laughed disdainfully.

The brave scowled. "Many have died since the invaders have come, and many more will die."

Another dead brave pushed forward. He carried a lance painted red for war. "Why should you live?" he demanded, pointing the lance at Calling Crow.

"Yes, why should you live?" others shouted, edging forward angrily.

Calling Crow remained on his knees as he shouted up at them. "I am searching for my woman and our child! I must find them."

The woman with the baby pushed forward. She shoved the dried-up child toward him. Its blackened, leathery arms and legs writhed in pain as it cried shrilly. "We are many women," she said, her face a mask of grief and rage, "all dead! And all our babies are dead!"

"Yes," said the dead people in angry agreement, "it is so."

"Kill him!" someone cried.

"Wait!"

The crowd parted to let an old man through. Hardly any flesh remained on his face. A turban of red cloth covered his head and his eyes were like the glistening yolks of eggs set with brown stones. Calling Crow knew he was their cacique.

The brave with the war club called over. "We should kill him. He stole our maize."

"No!" said the cacique. He stared into Calling Crow's eyes and it

was all Calling Crow could do not to look away.

"Why not?" demanded the brave.

The cacique turned to answer him.

Before he could, the others demanded, "yes, why not kill him?"

The cacique looked at Calling Crow. "Because he has a mission."

The people said nothing.

"What is it?" said Calling Crow.

The cacique laughed. "That is for you to find out."

"No!" shouted the war club brave. "We must kill him!"

"Yes," shouted others. "Kill the stranger!"

The cacique turned to them and raised his skeletal arms to stop them but they were not to be deterred!" He turned quickly to Calling Crow. "Run! Live and fulfill your destiny!"

The people pushed past the cacique and Calling Crow leapt to his feet. He smashed through the cane wall of the hut and ran out into the night. They ran after him, their shrill, raging cries in his ears. He ran along the beach until he passed out.

Calling Crow awoke with a start. He remembered his dream and looked around in the faint early morning light. Nothing moved. Hunger-induced fatigue washed over him and his head fell back. He slept deeply for a while and then, in the growing light, a twig snapped nearby. He sat up quickly but it was too late. Seven braves stood over him. Six of them were bare-chested and wore only breechclouts of skin, yet the intricate tattoos that encircled their bodies gave the appearance of garments. One of the six was Calling Crow's height, but much broader in the chest, with long, thick arms. The seventh wore several necklaces of polished, iridescent shell about his neck, indicating his high rank. He had an angry, fierce face and eyes that tried to look in at one another. All the men wore their hair pulled up and back into topknots. The big man pushed his flint-tipped lance painfully against Calling Crow's chest, starting a rivulet of blood flowing.

Crossed-eyes addressed him sharply. "No, Kills Bear," he said in a thick accent. "We must take him before the council."

The cross-eyed leader spoke the Muskogee tongue, as many peoples along the coast did, although he spoke very fast, and with a nasal accent.

Crossed Eyes looked down at Calling Crow. "Get up!"

Calling Crow got to his feet. Crossed Eyes took Calling Crow's iron ax from his belt. They then led him off through the thick forest. Crossed Eyes told Calling Crow they were the Coosa people and that his name was Black Snake and he was the leader of the Wolf society. The Coosa braves were divided into four warrior societies, each with its own leader. They were the Wolf, Fox, Hawk and Bear societies.

"Where are you taking me?" said Calling Crow.

The big brave called Kills Bear that had cut Calling Crow with his lance laughed. "You will not live long enough to tell anyone, so I will tell you. We live in a village east of here that is called Aguacay."

The cross-eyed one called Black Snake turned quickly to Kills Bear. "That is enough. No more talk."

They began running and two braves had to support Calling Crow in order for him to keep up. Around noon they reached the village. Passing through the palisade opening, Calling Crow saw many compounds, each containing three or four small square huts of woven thatch, mud-smoothed walls and thatch roofs. People worked at drying racks and pegged skins on the ground. They passed more of these compounds than Calling Crow could count. Finally they came to a square, gathering ground, fronting a large round structure with a conical thatched roof. Calling Crow assumed this to be their council house.

Calling Crow fell to his knees in exhaustion.

"Let me through," someone called out.

A light-skinned woman with a round, pretty face knelt in front of Calling Crow. She held a calabash of cool water before his lips and he drank. Strength flowed into him as he looked into her eyes.

She smiled at him curiously, as if admiring him, and then went away.

Calling Crow noticed Black Snake's crossed eyes harden and knew the woman meant something to him.

A commotion began as the village leaders entered the Council Hut. Calling Crow could not see them over the crowd of people. Someone pushed him roughly inside. The hut had woven cane walls, smoothed over with a mud plaster. Light streamed down from the fire hole in the peaked center of the roof.

In the center of the great hut, the village's sacred fire burned brightly in a pit, wood neatly stacked next to it. Against the far wall, five old men sat upon bear skins spread out upon platforms raised up off the dirt floor. One of them was an ancient medicine man, wearing a mantle of green feathers. Even from a distance Calling Crow could see that his eyes were as black and deep as the night sky of the new moon. The man looked at Calling Crow, but his face registered nothing. Calling Crow knew he was blind. The cacique sat in the center. A thick, bright shaft of sunlight streamed down from the fire hole in the roof, illuminating him vividly. The cacique was old, but strong-looking, and wore a blue-painted doe skin wrapped around his head, out of which spilled his long, thin white hair. A mantle of white feathers covered his broad, bony shoulders. His eyes immediately bored into Calling Crow, trying to see what was in his heart.

Calling Crow bowed slightly to the cacique out of respect. Behind the cacique a life-sized panther was painted on a skin hung on the wall and Calling Crow decided that it must be the tribe's sacred animal. Lances, bows and ceremonial masks hung from the walls. Next to the old men, a bitch dog eyed Calling Crow warily while it nursed its pups.

Another, younger medicine man, wearing a mantle of green feathers, entered the hut and knelt at the cacique's feet. Calling Crow noted the man's dark, almost-snoutish face and extreme hirsutism. Thick black hair, like the moss on a rock, covered the man's back, and shoulders, and his arms all the way to his knuckles. His head hair was pulled back into the distinctive topknot.

The medicine man extended a calabash of burning sweetgrass toward the cacique, blowing the aromatic smoke toward him. Calling Crow looked around at the men sitting in groups according to their clans. Despite the great number of huts he had seen when they brought him here, there did not seem to be many people. He thought that perhaps most of their men were off fighting a war.

The cacique spoke. "What people are you?"

"Muskogee. I am Calling Crow of the Turtle People."

The old cacique's eyes were hard as stones. "Why are you sneaking around our lands, spying on us?"

Calling Crow kept his face proud as he met the cacique's eyes. "I am moving south. I am looking for my woman who was stolen from me."

"Atina, he is lying. He is probably a spy for the white people, like the others were."

Calling Crow turned. It was the big, muscled brave who had cut him with his lance.

The cacique who was called Atina looked calmly at the brave. "That is enough, Kills Bear. You have not been asked to speak."

Calling Crow saw the brave's face harden. He looked around at the others. Some flinched in fear, others glared at him hatefully. What was

wrong with these people, Calling Crow wondered.

"Stranger," said Atina.

"I am Calling Crow."

"Do you know the white people Kills Bear spoke of?" said Atina.

"Of course," said Calling Crow. "My woman and I were slaves of the white people who call themselves 'Spanish.' We managed to escape from their island, but then they took my woman away."

Atina nodded. "Not long ago there were strangers who came to our village. They were people who looked like you and I. They said they were fleeing from white people. None of us had ever seen or heard of white people, but we let the strangers stay with us anyway. Then almost all of our people got sick, and many of them died."

Now Calling Crow understood their fear and anger. The same thing had happened to his own people when he had returned to them.

Atina indicated the hairy medicine man to his left. "This medicine man, Running Wolf, says that these people cast a spell on us and that maybe you were sent by the white people to do the same thing."

As he listened to the cacique's words, Calling Crow wondered if these people would get sick now that he had come here. He hoped not. He had not wanted to come here. He raised his hand to speak and the cacique nodded.

"After the Spanish took my woman away, I went back to my village. The people there got sick too, and many died, but it was not my doing."

The people in the hut began murmuring nervously. Atina raised his hand to quiet them.

Calling Crow went on. "Perhaps one of our enemies cast a spell on us too, but it was not me. As I have already told you, I am on my way south to find my woman. That is all. If you think my presence here a danger to you, let me be on my way. I mean you no harm."

Atina's eyes were unmoving. "We shall have to decide whether or not that is so." He looked at cross-eyed Black Snake.

"Black Snake. You found him, so you shall speak first. What should we do with him?" Black Snake bowed slightly. "Cacique, it was my cousin Kills Bear who tracked and found him. He should speak."

Kills Bear's muscled bulk rose like a mountain from the throng of braves. He looked around the hut, including everyone in his words. "We have suffered much these past few seasons because of strangers."

"Yes," said a man sadly.

"It is so," said another.

Kills Bear continued. "As Atina has already said, strangers came to us and cast spells on us. As you all know, my mother was the first to die of the fever. Then many others died. This time we must not let that happen. We must kill him."

The people shuffled nervously at Kills Bear's suggestion. Muffled conversations filled the hut as different groups talked quietly among themselves. A tall brave with a deep scar in his cheek raised his hand. "Kills Bear speaks true. I too, say we should kill him."

The ancient medicine man sitting at Atina's left raised his hand. The movement was so slight as to be almost imperceptible, but Atina was immediately aware of it. He addressed him respectfully. "Speak, Sees Far. What do you say?"

The almost-polished skin of Sees Far's head shone through his wispy white hair in places. Calling Crow thought it odd that the man did not get to his feet to speak.

"Let us not act too quickly," said Sees Far in a surprisingly strong voice. "It has been a long time since anybody died of the fever and this man does not sound evil to me. He sounds like a brother."

One of the young braves scoffed.

Sees Far ignored him as he waved his hand to include everyone in his speech. "I cannot see this man, but we should give all the other old men a chance to look into his eyes and see what is in his heart. Then, if it is felt that he is good, and a brother, let him go on his way, or, he can become one of us and live here in Aguacay. However, if the old men feel that he is bad, then we should kill him."

Atina nodded. "We shall do as Sees Far says."

The old men rose one at a time to stand before Calling Crow and look into his eyes. A commotion followed as people argued. Those who favored letting Calling Crow live seemed to be in the majority and the argument gained ground. Atina looked at Kills Bear. "It seems that most of them are against killing him."

Kills Bear looked around angrily at the people. "Very well. However, he has willfully invaded our territory, ignoring our signs and taking our game. I demand a contest to prove his innocence or guilt!"

"That is your right," said Atina. "What do you propose?"

"He shall fight one of us at the river."

The people grew grimly silent and Calling Crow wondered why.

Atina looked at Calling Crow. "What do you say to that?"

Calling Crow grew angry. "I say that you have already lost many men, either to sickness or to war. Must another die just so I can prove my innocence?"

Kills Bear struck Calling Crow from behind, knocking him to his knees. "Hah! I will fight you over the river and it is you who will die."

Atina's face was set. "That is enough, Kills Bear." Atina stood and addressed the men. "Choose one of our honorable women to feed him and then he shall fight."

The people filed out of the hut in silence.

Calling Crow was taken outside and pushed roughly into another, empty hut. After a short space of time a woman entered carrying a wooden bowl full of food. It was the same woman who had given him water. Wordlessly, she put the food down before him. Her face glowed with health and her well-proportioned body was evident under her woven skirt and doe skin top.

"What clan are you?" she said.

"I am of the Turtle clan."

She smiled. "I am of the Bird clan."

Calling Crow nodded, but said nothing. He knew she was interested in him. She made no secret of her pleasure at finding out they were not of the same clan, for men and woman could not marry if they were of the same clan. As the woman left, he looked up at her. She walked with a proud, strong bearing.