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Authors: Kathleen O'Neal Gear,W. Michael Gear

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BOOK: People of the Owl: A Novel of Prehistoric North America (North America's Forgotten Past)

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That voice! It touched Anhinga’s souls. She noticed that the Elders had turned disapproving eyes on the skinny boy, distaste in the set of their lips.

“The boy is correct,” Jaguar Hide agreed. “And I, for one, am ready to try something new.”

“Why?” A muscular brown man, his face deeply lined by countless days in the sun, asked. “I am Deep Hunter, Speaker of the Alligator Clan, and I would know why Jaguar Hide, who fought so many battles and killed my brother, would come here asking for peace.”

Anhinga watched her uncle’s face, seeing the slight tic in the corner of his eye. Yes, he knew this Deep Hunter.

“Greetings, Speaker. It has been a long time since you and I faced each other.”

“We could take that up where we left it.” Deep Hunter’s voice had dropped to a growl.

“We could, but it would make more sense if we didn’t.” Jaguar Hide fingered his ax and stared out from lowered brows. “I have
grieved enough in one lifetime, and caused enough others to grieve, that I would find another way.”

“Why?” the middle-aged woman beside Mud Stalker asked. “I have been told all of my life that you hate us. What has changed your mind?”

Jaguar Hide smiled, his voice firm. “Oh, I do hate you. Do not believe for a moment that anything we do here today will stop that.”

Anhinga tightened as a ripple ran through the crowd.

Jaguar Hide let it hang for a moment before adding, “But I can still hate you without killing your young people. I can hate without hacking their dead bodies apart in a futile attempt to frighten their souls. I can hate you without having to bury one of my young men or women every other moon.”

Uncle thrust a hard finger toward Deep Hunter. “
And so can you!
You can hate us without killing us!” A pause in the tense silence. “Who knows, perhaps as we are taken by other means of death, our young people might not hate as we have. Perhaps they will do things differently than we did.”

“I still do not understand this,” Mud Stalker said warily. “What do you have to gain by peace?”

“The lives of my young people.” Jaguar Hide cocked his head. “And you, and your clans, have sandstone to gain, as well as your young people’s lives.”

“We can take your sandstone anyway,” Deep Hunter growled.

“Yes, you can,” Jaguar Hide agreed. “But at what price, old enemy? Your nephew? Your grandson?” He shook his head. “I am not here to trick you. I am here to offer you sandstone in return for leaving us alone. I am not fool enough to think that we will remake our world, or forget our hatred and live like brothers. I want to try this for a couple of summers, that is all. Who knows, it may be that we really
enjoy
hunting and killing each other and burning our children’s bones in grief.” His sad smile seemed to touch them more than the logic of his argument.

“How will this work?” the skinny boy asked before the others could.

That voice! Yes, she knew that voice. But from the darkness, hands fumbling at knots. The sweet words, “
I’m cutting you free,
” echoed in her memory. This forward youth,
he
had been the mysterious shadow in the night?

Uncle said, “From this moment, you will not raid our territory. In return we will allow one canoe per moon to come and take sandstone. If you wish to send two canoes for sandstone, the second
must bring gifts for my people. That is all.” Jaguar Hide crossed his arms.

“And how do we know you will keep your word?” Deep Hunter’s jaw was cocked.

“I bring my niece, Anhinga. I will marry her to the son of Wing Heart, Elder of the Owl Clan. Wing Heart’s reputation has traveled far and wide as the greatest among you. We believe that she, of all of you, will see the advantages to this agreement between our peoples.”

The words caught the Sun People by complete surprise, but before the Elders could speak, the skinny boy cried, “Owl Clan accepts your offer, great Jaguar Hide.”

The boy stepped boldly forward, and for an instant, Anhinga expected his mother to leap from wherever she had been hidden in the crowd to drag him back.

“No, you don’t,” Mud Stalker growled, narrowing an eye as he studied the boy.

“
Owl Clan
accepts!” the boy fired back, effectively silencing Mud Stalker. The tension between them couldn’t be mistaken.

“Who
are
you, boy?” Jaguar Hide asked, obviously surprised.

“I am Salamander, son of Clan Elder Wing Heart and Speaker for the Owl Clan.”

Laughter broke out, and Anhinga could only stare as a cold shiver, like a whisper of Power, coursed in her veins. Mud Stalker was glaring daggers at the boy.

“Where is Wing Heart?” Jaguar Hide demanded.

“The Elder is ill,” the boy replied, his dark eyes fixed intently on Jaguar Hide. “I have offered to accept your conditions. Yes, or no, revered Elder? Will you marry your daughter to Wing Heart’s son, or were your brave words something else?”

Anhinga turned, seeing her uncle’s eyes glitter as he said, “I meant what I said! I came here seeking peace!” He looked as if he had just pulled his arm from a hole and found a water moccasin wrapped around it.

The boy took another step forward, offering his hand to Anhinga. “Then, as of this moment, I accept this woman for my wife.”

“Salamander!” a young woman cried from the crowd. “What are you doing?”

He ignored her, his gaze burning through Anhinga’s shock as he said, “Do you agree to take me as your husband?”

“Yes.” Her reply came involuntarily.

Salamander glanced at Jaguar Hide. “I presume that you have
brought the traditional gifts of food. If you will distribute it to the assembled guests here, it will formalize the arrangement between us.”

Anhinga stared at Salamander’s extended hand, frozen in the moment.

The young woman from the crowd—a baby at her breast—elbowed her way forward, panic on her face. “Salamander, what did you just do?”

“Water Petal, I just cast myself adrift in the Dream,” he replied with a weary smile. “I just wish I knew where it will carry me.”

Anhinga placed a hand to her throat. She couldn’t breathe. Chaos seemed to erupt as the stunned crowd realized what had just occurred. Everyone began talking at once, crowding around her and the skinny youth who took his place so naturally at her side.

Blessed Panther, what have I done to myself?

Twenty-eight

S
houts of disbelief drowned the questions being called by others. Aware that he had trapped himself, but unsure how, Jaguar Hide reached into the sack of smoked fish and began handing it out. The boy, first in line, stared into his eyes, taking an oily chunk and thrusting it into his mouth as if in defiance.

Those eyes! Jaguar Hide shook his head. He had seen eyes like that, but never before in a child’s face. A child’s? The boy—the young man—was Speaker for Owl Clan? Had that been a joke? It was only later, in the milling swelter of people, that he had learned about White Bird’s death and the dissolution of Elder Wing Heart’s souls.

White Bird died over three moons ago! Elder Wing Heart discredited and soul sick? Why haven’t we heard?
The question shifted back and forth between his souls.

At times the remoteness of their swamp, safe as it was, left them far removed from the activities of other peoples. Nor, obviously, would the young Owl Clan man he had contacted have admitted to these scandalous happenings within his clan.

Jaguar Hide returned his attention to the present, listening as he handed out gifts of smoked fish. He kept an eye on his niece, watching her as she stood, half in shock, at the youth’s side.

“How can Salamander just up and marry her?” a woman was asking her companion. “He didn’t even ask his clan!”

“He’s the Speaker, that’s how.”

“But his mother, she should have been consulted,” another declared hotly.

“Who? Wing Heart? She’s lost her souls: all she does is sit at her loom and Dream of the past.”

“You think Wing Heart retains enough of her wits to tell him no?” another asked.

“I’ll tell you what,” a man insisted, “when Mud Stalker insisted that Salamander follow his brother, he dealt a deathblow to Owl Clan.”

So it went, people passing him, collecting pieces of the rapidly vanishing fish, and through it all, he had no time to discuss this unsettling turn of affairs with Anhinga. She looked as if her own souls were floating, white-faced, back stiff, while the skinny manboy who stood beside her accepted the well-wishing of individuals.

“So, you have your peace,” the gruff voice interrupted Jaguar Hide’s reeling thoughts.

He centered himself on the threat hidden in that deep voice. Turning, he met Deep Hunter’s narrow stare with his own. “We have
our
peace. You and me, old enemy.”

Deep Hunter shot a look over his broad shoulder to where Anhinga and Salamander stood in the center of a knot of people. “It didn’t quite turn out the way you expected, did it?”

How could he know?
Old reflexes from countless Council sessions and clan meetings came to his rescue. “You tell me. Is that boy really the Owl Clan Speaker?”

Deep Hunter nodded, amusement in his eyes. “He is indeed, confirmed by the Council after his brother was stuck dead by the Sky Beings.”

“Then, being only somewhat familiar with your laws, his action carries a great weight with your Council.”

Deep Hunter sensed the trap. “It does, but his decision to marry your niece does not bind the Council. We will discuss this peace of yours. We can still dismiss it out of hand.”

Jaguar Hide handed the last piece of fish to Deep Hunter before folding up the bag. “I understand that. But Owl Clan is bound, isn’t it? If the other clans should decide not to accept my offer of peace, it would appear that Owl Clan will have a singular and unlimited source of sandstone. And—excuse me if I’m unsure of your ways—that would grant them a great deal of status, wouldn’t it?”

“Status, prestige, authority, it comes and goes like the wind, old enemy. Look at how Owl Clan has fallen, from the top to the bottom, and just within a few moons.”

“They could rise again, just as quickly, I would assume. And yet
another clan could fall like a dropped stone. A lesson I would well remember, Speaker.” Jaguar Hide grinned wickedly. “If this could happen to the great Wing Heart, I’d say none of you is truly safe. Wouldn’t you?”

“You didn’t come here seeking peace.” Deep Hunter’s eyes were probing.

“Ah, old enemy, but I did.” He gestured at his niece, looking like a surprised deer suddenly surrounded by a ring of hunters with nocked darts. “Let’s you and I see what the future brings, hmm?” Somewhere deep down between his souls, a voice cackled in raucous laughter. No matter the way of it, his weapon was planted. From here on, he must hope that Anhinga was as tough and singleminded as he believed her to be.

“Welcome to the future, Deep Hunter.”

N
ight Rain ran as she had never run, breath pulling at her throat as she sprinted full tilt across the plaza to her clan grounds, passed the first two ridges, and rounded the borrow pit. She charged along the row of houses, her kirtle flapping, her young breasts bouncing. She leaped a barking dog that rushed out to intercept her. The cur continued growling and snapping at her ankles. Ripping a stick from a firewood pile outside her cousin’s house, she paused long enough to smack the dog along the side of its head before charging headlong past the last house and into her yard.

“Sister!
He’s married!
”

“What?” Pine Drop asked, poking her head through the door. Ground smilax root covered her hands in a paste.

“Salamander! He’s married!” She was gasping, one hand to her burning throat.

“Well of course he is, you silly toad. To us!” Pine Drop had an irritated look on her face.

“Yes, to us! And to this Swamp Panther woman!” She pointed to somewhere behind her. “It just happened! Out there … on the Turtle’s Back. I told you you should have come!”

“What on earth are you talking about?”

“Jaguar Hide! The Swamp Panther! The meeting he wanted with Owl Clan? It was to make a peace. This Anhinga is part of it.”

“Who is Anhinga?”

“His new wife! Salamander married Jaguar Hide’s niece to seal the agreement! It just happened!”

Pine Drop looked confused. “He wouldn’t have married this quickly. He’d need time to discuss it with his clan. This must be some sort of joke.”

“No, I swear, Sister, Salamander just took this woman for his wife. It happened so quickly no one could do anything about it. It even caught Mother and Uncle by surprise.”

“So, what are we going to do about it?”

That question caught Night Rain flat-footed. “I don’t have any idea.”

“What did Uncle say?”

“He told Salamander no. And then Salamander defied him in front of everyone. Uncle is fuming.”

“What did he say to you?”

“He said to come and tell you. Right away!”

Pine Drop’s brow lined, puzzlement mixed with disbelief. “Well, he’s certainly
not
bringing her here!”

Night Rain’s gasping had slowed to deep breathing. “Sister, this isn’t good, is it?”

“I don’t know,” Pine Drop said softly, her gaze growing absent. “Maybe I just need time to think, that’s all.”

T
he sun had dipped below the high embankment of Sun Town to cast a blue-green shadow across Morning Lake. Puffs of cloud gleamed as they continued their endless march north from the gulf.

People slowly trickled away, taking to their canoes to paddle back to the landing. Salamander paused for a moment to gather his thoughts. The afternoon had passed like one of the whirlwinds that ripped out of late-summer thunderheads.

Several clumps of young men stood in furtive groups by the shore, talking over the day’s events as they studied their canoes and shot curious glances back at Jaguar Hide. Salamander couldn’t help notice the stacked atlatls and darts lying inside those narrow hulls. Something about the way they waited, the way they stood, quickened his souls.

Jaguar Hide stood to one side, his head bowed as he studied the charcoal-stained dirt at his feet. His face was a deeply lined mask, the thoughts hidden, almost brooding. If Salamander could read the set of his shoulders, a terrible nagging worry lay within the man.

Salamander glanced at his new wife. Jaguar Hide had every reason to be worried, most likely about his current situation. His life was under the protection of a broken and impotent clan. Anhinga, however, looked absolutely miserable and terrified, as if she were once again some sort of captive.

“Do not be frightened,” he said as he turned to her. “I think this was meant to be.”

Her eyes were partially hidden by the fall of her long black hair. She stood with her arms crossed under her breasts, the nipples like darts pointed at his souls. “Who are you?” Her voice was laced with frustration.

“I am Salamander, Speaker for the Owl Clan, as you have heard over and over this day.”

“
Who
are you?” she repeated more vehemently. “Why did you step out today? You’re no Speaker. The Sun People only choose old men for Speakers.”

“This time they chose me. It happens, but very rarely.”

“Why you?”

“Because my brother was killed. He was struck by lightning. I was made Speaker in his place.”

“That makes no sense.” Her beautiful face trembled as if she were fighting sudden tears.

“It wasn’t supposed to.” He narrowed an eye. “They made me Speaker in order to discredit my clan.”

“It worked.”

He smiled. “Yes. For the moment. Come, we must talk with your uncle.” But she didn’t move as Salamander walked over to where Jaguar Hide stood lost in his musings. “Elder? Are you staying the night on the island?”

“I think not.” He lifted his head to scan the sky. “It will be dark in a couple of fingers’ time. That will be good enough.” His smile turned predatory. “Were I to stay here, boy, I’m not sure my souls would find my body alive in the morning. There are men here who wouldn’t trouble themselves over a silly little agreement made between you and me. And, as I have discovered, the great Wing Heart’s authority is a thing of the past, so I doubt she could protect me.” He shook his head, eyes taking in the waiting youths. “No, better that I take my leave as dark is falling. By the time a pursuer catches up, I will have vanished into the channels like the fog.”

“As you wish, Elder.”

The old warrior studied him as if he were a piece of meat. “Are you a fool, or a joke, boy?”

“I am Speaker for the Owl Clan.” He couldn’t help meeting that
gaze. “I am supposed to be a joke. The spirits will decide who laughs longest.”

“I see.” He turned his attention to Anhinga. “I will be going. Take care of my niece. If you don’t, I will hear about it; when I do, it will take you a long, long time to die.”

The way he said it made Salamander’s blood chill. This man had been raiding from the swamps when Salamander’s mother was but a suckling. It took no stretch of imagination to believe the stories about the number of men Jaguar Hide had killed.

The Swamp Panther Elder turned and walked toward the shore. He bent over the canoe, laying out what Salamander determined were sandstone slabs. Then, without a word, he pushed the canoe out, jumping lithely into it. The craft didn’t even rock as the old warrior settled in the stern, picked up his paddle, and pulled the canoe around.

“Wait!” The cry strangled in Anhinga’s throat as she rushed up, staring in disbelief, a slim hand to her throat. In a louder voice, she called, “Uncle?”

He raised a hand to her, but didn’t look back as he stroked vigorously for the channels. The young men, clustered as they were, were caught by surprise. Salamander could see them, talking in hushed tones before they raced for their canoes.

“Let him go,” Salamander called. “No matter what your orders, it is only right! He came according to his word: Owl Clan has guaranteed him safe conduct.”

“He killed my father!” Saw Back, of the Alligator Clan, cried passionately.

“Animal,” Anhinga hissed under her breath.

“And your clan has killed more than one of his kin in return,” Salamander replied as he blocked their way to the canoes. “I said let him go.”

BOOK: People of the Owl: A Novel of Prehistoric North America (North America's Forgotten Past)

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