Sequannah suddenly found himself laughing uncontrollably. He'd never seen anything so funny, or so it seemed. He tried to see through the crowd of Snake warriors to find out what they would do next, but they had gathered tightly around the screaming Paccu. Sequannah's fits of laughter heaved out of control even as he listened to the painted ones howling wildly with delight at the funny Paccus.

A sudden clap of thunder followed by the raging bellow of Quiktkoata's voice made the hair stand up on Sequannah's neck, arms and legs. His laughing stopped abruptly, and so did everything else, except for the occasional moaning of the Paccus. Quiktkoata roared commands once again, but before he'd finished, the Paccus were screaming in terror, and his men were hopelessly bound in strains of laughter. Sequannah found no reason to laugh, though, being in such close proximity to Quiktkoata. He glanced up at the cruel leader and saw him struggling to stand in his litter. His muscles seemed unusually large for a crippled man. Sequannah couldn't tell whether the Snake warriors were laughing at the Paccus or Quiktkoata, and it appeared as though Quiktkoata couldn't either. He was furious.

Sequannah pondered if he'd only recently become crippled. Perhaps his warriors had finally gotten the courage to rebel against the powerful Washan. If they defeated him, maybe he and the Paccus would be freed. It didn't seem real. His eyes were beginning to play strange tricks on him. He dared to look up at Quiktkoata's face. The laughter of Snake warriors echoed endlessly through his head, while a loud buzzing noise filled in the din. Quiktkoata's face was ever changing into strange distortions; sometimes glistening, and sometimes appearing to melt. The sound of crickets and cicadas was like an invasion of huge, alien creatures. Everything became increasingly distorted and Sequannah began to panic. He felt his own face drooped in exhaustion, his eyes half open. Strange visions danced around him, and the only thing that kept his focus was remembering how the Paccus were in mortal fear of imagined pain and illusions.

He leaned his head back, staring into the infinite, squirming sky. A sudden movement raced across. It had already disappeared before he'd time to focus. Moments later, another whooshed directly overhead. It was a spear ... with a bundle attached to it; a familiar black and white tail sprung out of the wrap as if flew overhead. "The Washan!" he thought to himself. Nothing he was seeing was real. He'd heard warriors speak of the Washan's potions before. He knew he was under a powerful spell, but he also knew that all he had to do was wait for the potion to wear off. Then his eyes began to burn, and the stench of skunk spray turned his stomach even more. The Washan's potions were indeed powerful, Sequannah thought to himself, to make an imagined skunk smell so strong.

Many of the Snake warriors vomited, so intensely foul was the spray. But the thought of skunks flying on spears had struck them as so funny, after a brief moment of panic and confusion, they fell immediately into fits of laughter, struggling to breathe and stop the burning in their eyes. Another roar from Quiktkoata silenced the crowd once again, but one painted warrior lost his fear, laughing loudly from a hidden place in the brush. Others began to grin convulsively at the warrior's outrageous laughter and soon they were choking and whimpering as they tried desperately to control themselves. The harder they tried, however, the more difficult it became.

The scene around him became increasingly chaotic, and the constant, sadistic laughter and screaming wrenched at his very being. Among the confusion and strange visions, he suddenly glimpsed the sober face of Petawahin, peering at him from a short distance away. Sequannah became instantly soothed and secure. The Washan's face appeared directly behind his father, and his heart quickened. For the first time since he'd seen the evil snakes, he sensed the possibility of rescue. Evil snakes or not, he thought to himself, the Washan had powers that Quiktkoata himself would find difficult to reckon with. But the Washan tugged at Petawahin and then tried to drag him away. Petawahin fought him briefly, struggling his way towards Sequannah. They glanced to the west, then quickly disappeared in the underbrush. Sequannah felt suddenly crushed, as if all hope had instantly vanished. Only a small flicker of faith remained as he prayed that the Washan had found a better way to free him. He glanced longfully into the surrounding brush, hoping the two Minnecou warriors would turn up within reach of him.

Suddenly, his scalp burned wildly in pain, and his head was jerked back with such force that his eyes nearly bulged out of their sockets. Quiktkoata glared down at him as he wrenched Sequannah's long crop of black hair.

"I know who you are," he growled in Minnecou. "Your people will all die just like the other clan of Minnecou warriors who dared to rise up against me."

Three hawks shrieked by them, fluttering wildly around the litter; a sadistic grimace appeared on Quiktkoata's scowling countenance. "Perhaps if any survive, they will be more open to civility," he sneered, his teeth clenched tightly as his voice dropped off to a near whisper.

Thunder roared through the long and winding valley as the dark and ominous clouds to the south finally began to move. Painted Snake warriors who had remained far behind the procession and hadn't eaten, infiltrated the area, their sharp and deadly spears before them as they scoured the underbrush. They gathered the laughing warriors from the low brush and arranged them into groups, forming vanguards around them. Three huge and swirling masses of thick, dark clouds moved rapidly overhead, slowing briefly while the three hawks each entered separate funnels. Sequannah could see upwards through the tornado where one of the hawks had flown, and far in the distance, he could perceive stars against a black sky. As the hawk reached a certain point into the mouth of the eerily whirring mass, bolts of lightning swirled in its wake, crackling loudly. The Paccus screamed in terror as treetops swayed violently, and small branches were sucked off into the long tubes of whirring clouds. But not even the slightest breeze ever reached the ground as the strange storm quickly disappeared towards the northwest.

A group of six Snake warriors struggled towards the litter with a huge and extremely hostile warrior who made them all seem adolescent in comparison. They had him bound in thick ropes and whipped viciously with their snake whips, tearing long, bloody streaks into his flesh. They kicked, punched, pulled and cursed at the powerful warrior who could easily have killed any pair of them. After a long and arduous struggle, they finally dragged him to the foot of the litter and held him for Quiktkoata to see. Sequannah turned. His heart nearly stopped as he witnessed Mokotak covered in blood; his face swollen with huge welts, his clothing tattered. Two snake warriors each latched onto a thick braid of his hair while simultaneously forcing their knees into his back. Two others held copper spear points to his throat while the remaining two kept their whips at the ready. Quiktkoata pointed back at Sequannah.

"Put him in the front of the litter and tie this one in his place. Keep your spears to his throat. If he should weaken or stumble, your blades will continue forward," he sneered. "Remember little Minnecou," he bellowed, "that my eyes will always be upon you. To look back will cause more suffering than you could survive. Your life will be spared until there are no Minnecou left. They will come for you," he laughed. Quiktkoata once again bellowed out for everyone to move. Sequannah could no longer understand his language, though his low voice was as clear as the stars he'd witnessed through the funnels.

It took a long time before the sober Snake warriors could gather their stricken companions, but it was the Paccus who caused Quiktkoata to quake with impatience. They held onto anything they could get a grip on, clenching tightly in mortal fear. With so many incapacitated warriors, it was nearly impossible to get a whole group of Paccus to their feet without one of them suddenly falling in overwhelming fear, and grabbing onto a clump of bushes, or a large tree root, clamping on tightly so that no one could move. The first group of Paccus was nearly ready when one of them, in the middle of the line, fell to the ground and wrapped his legs around the trunk of a large tree. Several Snake warriors whipped and kicked as they tried to yank him away from the tree, but he wouldn't let go for even an instant. They pierced his throat with one of their spears. He howled a gurgling scream. All of the Paccus fell to the ground, grasping for anything in sight and refusing to let go, even if it cost them their lives. They could neither hear nor see anything clearly through their constant hallucinations. The Snake warriors then knew that they had made a mistake, for Quiktkoata did not want any of them killed unless it was absolutely necessary. It had already cost him dearly for this particular expedition, and new slaves were the only commodity of any value from the poor villages of this great northern continent.

Sequannah stared languidly ahead as the effects of the mushrooms gradually faded. Exhausted from the experience, he could have slept for days, but the fear of Quiktkoata's scowling eyes kept him in a state of tense sleeplessness. His hair was no longer tied to the top of the litter and he no longer had to walk backwards. He felt better with Mokotak close by, though he knew that he should never wish this on anyone. At the same time, he felt totally hopeless as he suspected that Mokotak would be killed before he'd have the chance to talk to him. He might never have anyone to speak with in Minnecou again, condemned to spending the rest of his days among strange and cruel foreigners who would never care more for him than the dogs that haunted the edge of their villages, vying for scraps of food.

Quiktkoata focused on Sequannah, and though he held extreme contempt for this race of what he considered to be wild animals, he couldn't help but admire their muscular symmetry, their physical radiance, and their extreme cunning. He knew his warriors would become apprehensive about trying to annihilate another clan of these dangerous warriors. They had surrounded Minnecou warriors before and worked their way in for the expected slaughter, only to find no one at the center of their focus, and several of their best warriors missing. The slippery Minnecou filtered themselves through and around every trap the Snake warriors had so meticulously set. Invariably, they would count only one or two Minnecou victims against a score of their own. To pursue one of these clans always led to a swamp or briar tangle that would leave the Snake warriors scattered.

Quiktkoata also knew of the futility of trying to domesticate them for slavery, for if he allowed the captured Minnecou to remain with their own, they would find a way to escape and come back for the others...or his Snake warriors would begin to disappear, one at a time. If he separated them, they became immediately listless, dying within a change of the moon, with no contribution to the building of his empire. He must eradicate them. They have a penchant for assisting even tribes who are strangers to them. They recruit captives they steal from his slave drives, and soon they become as slippery as Minnecou. They stop at nothing to protect their precious trails, and even stage raids against his city. This is the third clan of Minnecou he'd run into, and even he had no idea as to how many such clans existed. No matter the cost, they had to be killed, not routed, for they would always return.

But there was always the possibility that one day he'd find a Minnecou warrior, adaptable enough to embrace the Snake peoples' ways, and help teach his warriors the tactics of the fearsome Minnecou. Such a person could help other captured Minnecou adapt as well. Eventually, those who resisted would be either killed through the Snake warriors' newly acquired knowledge, or shunned by those Minnecou who had accepted Quiktkoata's rule and protection.

Directly in front of him and tied to his litter, a perfect choice for Quiktkoata's designs occasionally stumbled, though Quiktkoata knew him to be thoroughly exhausted. He may not be well versed as of yet in Minnecou warfare, but this one could be at the point where adapting to a completely different lifestyle would still be possible. Though very young, this Minnecou was obviously accepted as a warrior, and being raised Minnecou, he must have a good idea of their tactics through stories and experience. Quiktkoata perceived many possibilities for this young warrior other than just bait for a Minnecou trap, but first he must succeed in breaking the young warrior through alternate applications of forcible submission and favor, depending upon the boy's behavior. It was an undertaking that could take several years, but there was no way of knowing just how many of these clans existed, or if it would be possible to ever rid the land of them all. Quiktkoata was patient and practical. His family and ancestors had spent generations, breeding and training, to finally develop hypnotic snakes, though much of their power lied in the faith of those who believed. Quiktkoata knew this to be true of his own powers. They were a combination of his faith and that of his followers; not just simply trying to believe, but accepting his power as truth.

Quiktkoata marched the procession eastward for many days without incident. His legs strengthened, and he could nearly stand on his own. The Paccus fared better as well; Quiktkoata had allowed them plenty of rest and food after the strange Minnecou potion had worn off. Sequannah found himself with more comforts than the Paccus, though. He was now tied to the litter by only one hand with a strange metal rope, a long line of circles that he couldn't bend. He could eat by himself, and the humid air had dissipated along with the strange weather. The cooler air had invigorated the entire procession, and the insects had disappeared. Even the moaning of the Paccus had diminished to occasional sighs.

Sequannah had taken a few quick glances towards the back of the procession, remembering Quiktkoata's threat of unendurable suffering. Quiktkoata had not seen him. He had to know if Mokotak was still alive. The last time he saw one of the litter attendants feeding him, he appeared to be strong and unaffected by the torturous beating the Snake warriors had dealt him.

Day after day they moved either southward or eastward, and gradually the trail became clearer. Grassy areas now surrounded a well defined path, and as they rounded each hillside, it became wider as more gravel was exposed to the elements. Smaller, well-traveled foot paths began to intersect. Down one of these small paths, Sequannah watched a group of slaves gathering reeds from a marsh, and laying them out in the sun to dry. Several small, square buildings were visible in the distance, and Sequannah marveled at the perfect geometric figures of these strange wickiups. Soon they began to cross many such paths where groups of people performed various tasks, others left no hint as to what lay beyond. He heard voices coming from many different places through the thinning woodland, and sometimes singing: strange, yet beautiful chants echoing across the valleys as the procession wound through increasingly hilly terrain.

They were coming onto a large, cleared area, as the sun shined brightly between the trees, illuminating what appeared to be an abrupt border between dense woodland and open prairie. As they tramped down a small hill, the view opened to a large body of water. At first, he thought it was a lake, but further along, he could see they were approaching the widest river he'd ever seen. Great wooden structures, some square, and some shaped like huge dugout canoes that he'd seen in villages, were floating in the river, tied off to massive posts, anchored beneath the water in rows. These posts also supported platforms where many people were walking above the water. They were constructed from many small trees tied side by side, with no branches.

A powerful odor immediately insulted his senses. It reminded him somewhat of the smells he'd experienced in and around the small villages of the south, except that this was everywhere, whereas in Minnecou villages, it only became noticeable in certain areas. Not quite as strong as a skunk, but infinitely more foul in nature, it seemed to be emanating from a narrow ditch flowing into the great river. As they marched alongside the oozing channel, he saw human waste and animal offal continuously flowing to a point where it was absorbed by the great river. Along the shoreline, very many of these channels had been dug into the soft sand and lined with rocks. Most originated from a large collection of huge square structures where more people then he'd ever imagined scrambled about in a confusing tangle of paths, seemingly unaware of the choking odors. The Paccus ducked their heads into the crooks of their shoulders in a futile effort to dodge the disgusting barrage to their senses. Even the Snake warriors would pinch their noses as they walked by certain areas, and this was apparently their home. Most of the inhabitants of this section wore tattered clothing: sickly looking creatures. Many donned cloth hoods, with a slot so they could see. They were filthy and smelled nearly as bad as the channels. Sequannah watched as Snake warriors bellowed, threatening with fanged whips. The hooded ones would then obediently wade into these putrid channels and break up the floating rafts of refuse that threatened to block the flow, and cause the thick ooze to seep over the banks.

They were treated as if they were not people at all. Many were carrying large baskets filled with animal excrement to distant fields, where a seemingly endless line traveled back and forth. The rest were all performing other functions where the putrid odors particularly reeked. Fires used for cooking and many other strange and unknown functions to Sequannah also seemed to weaken the very purpose of the air around them. Sequannah witnessed many wonders, but he couldn't imagine them important enough to endure such a poisonous gloom.

As soon as he'd left the forest, everything became bleak, suppressive and overwhelming in comparison to whatever this huge mass of people intended to get out of this arrangement. He suspected most were being forced, though he couldn't fathom why they wouldn't prefer to die trying to escape than to continue on in a life of suffering and shame.

They marched the captives onto one of the long piers. Sequannah felt like he was walking sideways as he looked down between the cracks of the logs that made up the floor of the dock, and gazed upon the steadily flowing current. The illusion disoriented him enough to bring about a queasiness in his stomach. When they reached the end of the dock, there were many square rafts onto which the Snake warriors began to lash the first group of Paccus to ferry them across the river. Sequannah was absorbed in the careful arrangements that the Snake warriors undertook to get the new slaves tied down without incident, when he noticed fear on the Paccus' faces as they gazed across the river.

Then he witnessed a vision that nearly stopped his heart. Like this side of the river, there were many square structures, but infinitely more in number. They extended as far as he could see up and down the length of the riverbank, so close together that they almost appeared to be one continuous structure. But, what sent the chill into his spirit was a huge and winding serpent in the midst of the city. Even lying flat against the ground, the imposing serpent's thick body was taller than the people. Hundreds of people crawled up and down its sides, and walked along the top of its back. The head was completed and the front part of the snake was black, but the rest of the long and winding body was the color of earth. Along the top of the head and the very first part of the snake's body, a checkered pattern of yellow and black stood out strongly against the backdrop of drab, square structures, then faded quickly into an outline that seemed oddly incomplete.

Quiktkoata's litter was loaded upon an exquisitely ornamented craft, resembling an enormous dugout canoe, only much wider and deeper. The bow rose high out of the water with a small platform on top, where Quiktkoata's litter was placed into perfectly fitted notches. Many Snake warriors moved the heavy craft with long handled paddles, while two warriors steered with poles from the rear. Sequannah thought he would be going with the litter as well, but he and Mokotak were tightly shackled after they'd been removed from the litter and placed on a raft with several, handpicked Paccus from each group, most of whom were involved with the uprising. Karnack and Woltah were among this group. With Quiktkoata on his way across the river ahead of them, the Snake warriors became much more aggressive with their cargo, particularly with this group.

Like the others, Sequannah and Mokotak were lashed down in a lying position to shackles that had already been built into the raft. Their legs were first tied tightly together and then placed between two studs, where they were fastened down tightly to the bottom of the raft. Their arms were tied similarly in a position directly over their heads, and their elbows and shoulders were contorted in intense pain. Their heads were placed into slots whose edges rose up to the height of the captives' ears as they lied face up on the bottom of the raft. A rope was tied tightly across their open jaws, pressing the back of their heads enough to cause a tingling sensation in their skulls. After their mouths were gagged, the Snake warriors tied another rope around the captives' elbows and drew it in until each captive's face turned red with pain. Sequannah was still young and flexible so that whereas the Paccus emitted stifled screeches through the thick lashing, Sequannah's elbows were touching, and still the pain was only a mere nuisance. One of the Snake warriors thought to tighten the lashing at his jaws to cause him similar pain, but another stopped him for fear of ripping the flesh at the corners of the boy's mouth.

Mokotak growled like a grizzly when the pressure was applied to his elbows, and the Snake warriors jumped back as a sudden surge of strength threatened to buckle the raft. One of the posts near his wrists had snapped and the two studs at his feet were bent towards him. The Snake warriors immediately put their spear points to his throat. He remained, however, loosely tied; the painted warriors were fearful of trying to move him again. They satisfied themselves by pressing their spears to his throat as they made the relatively short journey across to Quiktkoata's city.

Upon their arrival, the captives were removed singly, and dragged away to different destinations, beginning with Mokotak, who was led by four massive Snake warriors who'd been waiting at the dock. The rest were led away by two warriors each, including Sequannah. Throngs of spectators spat and cursed the new prisoners, while children threw handfuls of dirt that caked on the saliva. Cheers rang out with every slash of the Snake warriors' whips, then the captives were taken in different directions to keep the most dangerous ones apart.

They led Sequannah along the bank, next to a vast, flat plateau that was a maze of agricultural undertakings located at a safe height above the water, an area of rich and fertile bottomland that long ago was a part of the now shifted river. From here, he could see that the massive serpent was actually a huge mound of dirt, with people climbing up and down in a continual line as they carried baskets full of dirt, dumping them as directed. At the head of the snake, slaves were carrying alternate baskets of black and yellow stones to make up the checkered patterns.

Sequannah was led through the huge gardens that preceded the city, where several groups of hooded slaves were engaged in laborious details. Most of the crops had already been harvested. Groups of slaves pulled the old stalks and plants out of the ground while others followed behind, dumping foul smelling baskets of rotted fish upon the ground. Piles of dried stalks and plants were blazing here and there, and where they'd burned to ashes, others were turning the ashes and rotted fish into the soil as they chopped with stone hoes.

At the far corner of one of the fields stood and immense pile of rotted fish, where several hooded captives were tied with the strange metal ropes to an outcrop of granite ledge. They were wading into the slimy and putrefied fish, filling baskets which they would then carry to the outside of the smelly mountain of rot, placing them in rows for the long lines of unhooded slaves to carry into the fields. Another group struggled up the riverbank with long nets full of squirming catfish, carp and eels, some of which were sorted out to clean and then dry on racks; the smaller ones were tossed into the rotting pile along with the scraps of offal from the gutted fish.

The two Snake warriors brought Sequannah to a small wooden structure where they ripped off his deerskin shirt. They covered him with a rough, hooded garment that draped over his arms and tied at the waist with a short cord, woven through the coarse material. They fitted him with a long and heavy chain to a collar that was assembled from two metal pieces held together by pins that the Snake warriors roughly hammered flat as they held him by the hair to an anvil. The sharp blows caused bruises to the neck that would be tender for several weeks, teaching him not to strain against the collar. Once the bruises healed, if the captive began to strain at his collar to loosen the pins, a few quick raps would make the area tender once again and would be repeated until the captive learned not to try to escape.

The two Snake warriors then unexpectedly tore the hood off the garment, and led Sequannah to the granite ledge, where the other end of the long chain was hammered to one of the loops embedded in the granite. He was the only one of this group to be left unhooded, and as he surveyed the surrounding woods, he realized that this would probably be the best area for any intruders to infiltrate the foreground of the heavily guarded city. He was left purposely exposed.Quiktkoata fully intended to use him to lure his Minnecou relatives. They placed a stack of empty baskets next to the fish pile and shoved the top one in his hands. They each grabbed a handful of hair and an ankle and threw him face first into the slimy heap, laughing as they cracked their fanged whips and shouted out only two words in a strangely accented Minnecou tongue: "Fuull baskette."

Sequannah couldn't keep a steady footing in the slimy and sliding mass, although the other slaves had no trouble. Even when he fell, the slippery ooze would slide through and underneath his hands as he tried desperately to pick himself up. The Snake warriors stood by, solemnly watching, though occasionally turning to laugh to themselves. After some time, Sequannah still hadn't managed to stay afoot, let alone fill the basket. The Snake warriors grew impatient. They wouldn't demonstrate, as they weren't sure of their own success. Instead, they cracked their whips, screaming what Sequannah took to be insults. When he finally got his footing, the guards cheered and laughed at the young Minnecou as they encouraged him to move in the direction of his basket, now quite some distance away.

Sequannah couldn't understand how the other slaves managed to stay afoot. He was covered in a slimy film and spotted with fish blood, yet their tunics were dry, and only their bare legs were immersed to their knees. They moved quickly and confidently through the shifting mass, and when one of them fell, they all laughed heartily. Even the guards laughed. Sequannah took three steps with relative ease, and as he approached the basket, he deliberately fell. As he stood up, he could hear laughter coming from the other slaves working the pile. But the guards weren't amused. A whip cracked loudly within a whisker of his ear. "Fuull baskette."

Sequannah pressed the basket into the pile and began to quickly fill it with the surrounding refuse. When it was completely filled, he didn't stop. He kicked more fish at the basket until it was no longer visible. Both Snake warriors lashed out as he dove into the slimy heap, swimming through to the center. The guards tried desperately to reach him, but he'd hide behind one of the other slaves no matter where they tried to maneuver themselves. The shorter guard seized the long chain and dragged the choking Minnecou out of the pile. He grabbed Sequannah by the hair and immediately let go; the disgusting slime left his hand covered with hundreds of tiny fish scales. He then satisfied himself with an unhindered kicking spree at the rebellious Minnecou. The larger guard pressed another basket into his grip and they forced him into the pile again.

Sequannah crushed the basket, then tore it apart, and he was jerked down once again by the iron chain and dragged, choking his way through the rotted fish. The shorter one grabbed the chain near to Sequannah's neck and hauled him over to the granite ledge where both warriors lashed him down to the sun-heated stone, face first in an out-stretched position, and began to viciously whip at him. They didn't want to kill him, but he had to learn that rebellion was neither tolerable nor possible. Sequannah, however, would not prove to be a quick learner, for he would rather die than let himself be used for the sacrifice of other Minnecou.

He spent the remainder of the afternoon pinioned to the granite ledge in the hot sun. The slave guards occasionally wandered over and gave him a sharp kick. Though they appeared to be forceful, he knew they were holding back. Sequannah, however, had enough punishment, and didn't provoke them any further.

When the sun sat on the horizon, the hooded slaves were ordered off the fish pile and herded over near the square structure. A group of people without hoods or chains had arranged bowls of food in a line for the slaves to eat. The two guards removed Sequannah's lashings so he could sit upright, but they shortened his chain by anchoring it down to another pin in the granite so he wouldn't even be able to stand, and definitely not get food for himself. They made certain everything was eaten before they ordered the group into the wooden structure, then walked off towards the city. Sequannah was left on the granite ledge. He didn't mind. They couldn't speak his language, nor he theirs. But he could still smell the food that had already been eaten, even over the stench of rotting fish. He could nearly taste the ground corn and simmered meat. A pudding had been made from one of the strange vegetables they grew. He wondered if its taste was as sweet as its smell.

The sun sank below the furthest hills. Painted rafts of orange, black and lavender floated listlessly over the horizon, detached from the woes and perils of Quiktkoata's city. Sequannah sat with his arms wrapped around his legs, his chin resting on his knees, as he grappled with escape and suicide. His fingers were too weak to bend the iron circles, and his loyalty to the clan was too strong to allow him to survive as a lure in a trap. There was no way to warn them. Once they crossed the river, there was no escape. New guards from the city had positioned themselves at vantage points where could see any intruders or escaping slaves. Through a square hole in the wooden structure, Sequannah watched the silhouettes of hooded figures peering out from time to time. He could hear their quiet talk and sudden bursts of laughter. One of the Snake warriors threw a stone that banged against the wooden structure. Silence.

Darkness came nearly complete as only a sliver of moon barely illuminated the dirt fields. The city remained bright with countless torches. Song and revelry lasted well into the night. Sequannah saw what he thought to be fireflies on the ground, but shortly after they lit, a tiny, yet piercing squeal seemed always to follow. He heard the faint rustling of rats through the weeds as they dragged little tidbits of food from the fish pile. A thick, cold body slithered over Sequannah's feet, its scales sliding slowly over the warm human flesh. A short distance away, the snake's eyes became suddenly bright, a faint illumination cast in its foreground. In the dim light, Sequannah discerned the silhouette of a plump rat, paralyzed in terror, a fishtail hanging out of his mouth. The light faded rapidly and a tiny screech followed. Sequannah listened as the snake struggled to fit the fat rodent between its jaws for quite some time before the rustling at his side faded rapidly away in the direction of the city.

The dark, roaming serpents were barely discernible as they shifted loosely over the slight inclines and came together in one massive stream that slowly disappeared towards the city. The scant moonlight glistened faintly off the slithering creatures' scales. Cricket song became increasingly louder as the river of serpents faded into the city and one of the hooded slaves from the square structure ventured out towards the ledge. The slave produced a small cloth that had been dipped in cool water and began to clean the long stripes where the Snake warriors' whips had been powerful enough to slice flesh. Sequannah was surprised to hear the soft tones of a young woman's voice as she tried repeatedly to communicate with him. All of the slaves had been hooded, but he thought they were all men.

The young woman kept reciting different words to him, but he hadn't a clue until she said "Paccu?", and her voice took on a questioning tone. Sequannah looked up and repeated "Paccu". The young woman removed her hood and smiled broadly, prattling on in a litany of gibberish. When Sequannah didn't respond, her voice took on a questioning tone again. She pointed at him and questioned "Paccu?"

"I am Minnecou," he said proudly. "Not Paccu!"

"I speak you word also," she said with a thin accent. "But not many. Father of me teach many tongues. Only little Minnecou words. Come from very far to south, bigger village than this. Father used to be one of many Washans. Now he is Sikun. Father chief?" she questioned.

"No," he said. "He is hunter, warrior and scout. But the chief and the Washan often ask for his counsel."

The slave girl couldn't understand Minnecou so rapidly, and Sequannah repeated it slowly along with hand signs that she could barely make out in the dark.

"What is counsel?" she asked.

"Knowledge, wisdom," he tried to explain.

"I hope your father has counsel not to rescue you here," she said solemnly.

"It would not be possible," he sighed. "The Snake people only leave me here to trap my people. But my father knows many tricks to fool these foolish ones. There are just too many of them...and they have snakes and hawks for eyes. It is a long way to get here and a long way back."

"Minnecou travel much, more than anyone," the girl said.

Sequannah seemed surprised that the young woman knew so much of the Minnecou ways. "It is different in your own territory than that of enemies."

"Minnecou have no territory," she said matter-of-factly.

Sequannah thought about this. "There are Minnecou villages to the south of here," he replied.

"Not Minnecou," the young woman stated.

"I have many relatives who live there all the time, but they are small villages. Perhaps you have not seen them. Maybe you hear of someone else."

"Related to Minnecou," she said. "But not real Minnecou. Minnecou travel all the time. Stay alone and avoid other tribes. Father of me know much about all peoples. Say Minnecou travel always."

"Your father does not know as much as you think," Sequannah retorted. "We stay in the villages every winter. We don't always travel."

"Then you are not Minnecou. Minnecou always travel. Far!" She would not give in.

"I am Minnecou, there is no other name for me."

"You always stay in village for winter?"

"Whenever we can return before it snows."

"Then perhaps you are Minnecou," she agreed, "if you do not always stay in village for winter."

"What did you do to cause them to send a woman to the fish pile?"

"I choose fish pile."

"You have made a poor choice."

"Quiktkoata would not look for me here," she whispered.

"Why would Quiktkoata care about you?" he almost laughed.

"My father is Sikun, but Quiktkoata makes everyone think that he is greater by always demonstrating his power. He makes big storms and has snakes and hawks to frighten the people into believing. He teaches them to hate the followers of my father and the other good Washans' ways. He tells them of how Washans speak of generosity while they enjoy riches they demand from the people. The Washans all got together and convinced their followers that Quiktkoata was not so powerful a Washan as he is a sewer of hatred and fear. They taught them to ignore Quiktkoata. They would not trade or stay among them, and treated those filled with greed and self-indulgence as the lowest form of human. This so angered Quiktkoata that he took his followers and moved north to create his own empire. He will take revenge one day against those who treated he and his followers as anything less than the warriors of the Creator."

Sequannah found her story difficult to believe as well as understand. "If your father and the Washans are powerful enough to make Quiktkoata leave, why did they not put an end to the evil of these...Snake people?"

"They did not make Quiktkoata leave. He left because there were too many followers of the Sikun. Their lack of fear, and refusal to follow caused his power to weaken. He left in order to fulfill the prophesy of the rich and powerful empire that would rise up from the great and empty land to the north, which is here. Many miracles and feats of magic are prophesied to spring forth from a land to the north that is rich in all things but empty of people...except those that live in the poor villages...and those clans that travel far and survive from the land. But it is also prophesied that no matter how powerful an empire should become, it shall always become the inheritance of those who serve, for they live in care of one another. Care for me, because I will never bring fear or mistrust to you. Care for all of the captives here, no matter how weak they seem, for they shall inherit everything. I must return to sleep as every day is long here. My name is Tarote." She gestured for his name.

"Sequannah."

"Do not live in fear and do not choose to die," she pleaded. "Minnecou prefer to die than to live this way. But there is always a reason for us to be here whether we know what it is or not. It may be uncomfortable, but you must try to sleep well, for every day is long here." She pulled her hood back over her head and returned to the square structure, leaving Sequannah somewhat more comfortable but quite confused.

Go to Chapter 11

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