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

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

People of the Owl: A Novel of Prehistoric North America (North America's Forgotten Past) (57 page)

BOOK: People of the Owl: A Novel of Prehistoric North America (North America's Forgotten Past)
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“By branding me a witch?”
Mud Stalker made a forgiving gesture. “All right, perhaps you are not obligated to me. I grant you that, but if you work with me, help me to unseat Thunder Tail and put Sweet Root in his place, I might be persuaded to save your life. Allow you to remain married to Pine Drop, at least.”
Salamander chuckled softly. “As if that was my only worry? Oh, Speaker, if you only knew the choices that lie before me.”
“Then I take it we cannot come to an accommodation?”
“Not this way, Speaker.”
“This is your last chance.”
“You railed when Night Rain acted in concert with Deep Hunter. Don’t you think it difficult to blame her when you would use me, meddle with my clan’s affairs?”
He didn’t answer that, only saying. “I must destroy you, then.”
“It is what you have wished from the beginning.”
Mud Stalker jerked a nod, his eyes on the ballplayers across the
barrow pit. “They’re going to lose, you know. And so will you.”
Salamander said nothing as the Speaker stood, shot a piteous look at Wing Heart, and walked around the borrow pit before heading south to his clan grounds.
A
nhinga filled her lungs with the damp odor of the swamp. Her canoe drifted the final lengths to slide onto the muddy beach of the island. She could see the blue haze of smoke from the fire. The tall figure of Jaguar Hide reassured her. Her uncle stood with his hands on his hips, his gray hair spilling around his muscular shoulders. A keen wariness lay behind his eyes.
Lifting herself above the gunwales, Anhinga swung out of the canoe and pushed it up onto the bank. From within she lifted the cradleboard that held her sleeping daughter. The infant was wrapped against the mosquitoes and flies, her face greased, while beads of pinesap added further discouragement to the pests.
“Niece! Let me see my heir!” Jaguar Hide came striding down the slope, his arms out.
She charged up to him, a desperate sense of relief bursting her breast. Her daughter began to cry, jounced as she was by Anhinga’s run.
After a crushing hug, she handed the cradleboard over to Jaguar Hide. He inspected the little round face. The baby girl had her eyes closed, her mouth open as she squalled her displeasure to the world.
“Yes, that’s it, my little joy, you tell the world that you are here. Bellow your presence out like the thunder itself so all may know that Jaguar Hide’s lineage goes on.”
“She needs changing and feeding,” Anhinga said, unwilling to take her daughter back from the fawning Jaguar Hide.
“At this age, they usually do.” Jaguar Hide was smiling, wiggling his finger like a worm in front of a catfish. “Here, little one, open your eyes. Yes, that’s it. Let me look inside you. Are you there yet, my little niece? Have souls fastened themselves to your little body?”
“We don’t know yet,” Anhinga replied. “She is still so young. The Sun People don’t believe that the Dream Soul fastens itself to a body until a child speaks. They claim that is the first actual proof that a soul is there.”
“That’s silly drivel,” Jaguar Hide insisted as he played with the crying infant. “You’ve been among them too long. The Life Soul comes with the first breath. That’s when the infant sucks it in.” To the little girl, he asked, “How could you live otherwise?”
Anhinga reached out and half wrestled the cradleboard from her uncle. “I take it that we are safe?”
His smile faded, and he nodded. “I got your message. Warriors are out and about. There will be no surprises. What has happened? We haven’t talked for moons.”
“Striped Dart didn’t tell you?”
Jaguar Hide shook his head, frowning. “Tell me what?”
Anhinga walked up to the fire, glancing uneasily toward the place where Eats Wood had been killed. Was his ghost still lurking here, prowling among the patches of hanging moss?
“Salamander killed a man who followed me. We swore Striped Dart to secrecy. Apparently, Uncle, my brother has taken such responsibilities to his heart.”
“A man followed you? And Striped Dart didn’t tell me? I’ll pull his arms out of his sockets!”
“No, you will not. He gave Salamander and me his word.”
Jaguar Hide narrowed his eyes. “You had better start at the beginning.”
She related the story as she unwrapped the baby from the cradleboard and changed the fouled moss with fresh. Then she raised her daughter to her nipple. “But for Salamander’s timely arrival, I would have been dead and Striped Dart ambushed,” she finished.
Jaguar Hide frowned pensively at the fire. “I should have thought of guards in the beginning.”
“We were being clever, remember? The fewer the people who knew, the better?”
“And this time?” He shrugged. “How do we know that you will not be ambushed when you return?”
“Yellow Spider will meet me. He has gone for sandstone at the quarry.”
“I have been wondering about the fabrics that were left there.
Striped Dart said little about them, only that he had bartered with the stone boat.”
“I am starting to think he will make a good leader, Uncle.”
“Bah! He’s soft. Willing to take the easy way for less when the hard path will give him more.”
“Is that so bad?” She studied the little mouth working so desperately at her breast.
She looked up at his silence, startled to find his expression hard, an unforgiving glint in his eyes. “Are you giving up on me, Niece? Is that what you are trying to tell me? That now that you have a husband who fought for you, and planted that child within you, that your heart has lost the fire of revenge?”
She gave him a grim smile. “No, Uncle. I came here to tell you that the time has come to strike.”
He settled back, exhaling as he closed his eyes. “I cannot tell you how I worried. First Striped Dart returns, obviously bearing secrets. Then moons pass without word from you, and finally, when you do come, it is with the warning that we must be guarded here. What was I supposed to think?”
“Perhaps you should have thought less and looked deeper into my heart.”
“So, you want to strike now? Why?”
“We are running out of time. The clans are gathering against Salamander.” She frowned at that, surprised it hurt to admit that in front of her uncle.
“You fear for your life if they move against him?”
She shrugged. “It’s not that. I will have warning enough to get away. He’s a good man, that’s all. And the odd thing is, he’s a Powerful one. Uncle, he knows what is coming, but does nothing to avoid it.”
“How is that?”
“He knows that the clans are poised to strike him down, but he goes about his life searching for the proper actions to save not himself, but everyone else.”
“Sounds like the ways of a fool, if you ask me.”
She gave him a bitter smile. “Never think him a fool, Uncle.”
“A man with Power against him—not to mention so many people—isn’t smart.”
“My husband is a very smart man, Uncle.” She gave him a half-lidded stare. “Smart in ways that I don’t think you can understand, but we’re straying from my reason for meeting you.” She met his eyes. “The Dead have been coming to me, pleading with me. I have to act, Uncle, or they will lose their patience with me.”
“How do you intend to do this?”
She gestured over her shoulder. “Do you remember the hemlock that grows on the far side of the island?”
A slow smile spread on his lips. “Ah, and then?”
“The next time I paddle south, Uncle, will be for the last time.”
F
irelight illuminated the interior of the Men’s House; it flashed on the masks and danced over cane walls decorated with the hanging trophies, war clubs, sets of antlers, and grinning human skulls. Beyond the east-facing windows, the night was black, veiled with thick clouds that promised rain. But for the crackle of the fire, only the sounds of the night insects broke the silence.
Mud Stalker reached for a section of broken oak and tossed it into the fire. Sparks crackled and whirled, dancing in the air. He stroked his chin, dark eyes watching the licking flames.
“Speaker?” Water Stinger called from the door. “Speaker Deep Hunter is coming.”
“Is he alone?”
“Yes, Speaker.”
“Please see that we are not bothered. And make doubly sure that no one is lurking around the windows or pressing their ears to the walls.”
Water Stinger’s lips twitched. “Yes, Speaker, I understand.”
“Also …”
“Yes, Speaker?”
“Stick your fingers in your ears. You don’t need to hear this either.”
Water Stinger smiled, nodding. “Yes, Speaker. I understand.” He ducked out the door and into the night. Several heartbeats later Mud Stalker heard soft voices, then Deep Hunter stepped in.
The Speaker wore a bobcat pelt over his shoulder; a dark brown breechcloth with interlocked alligators on the flap hung down the front. He raised an eyebrow as he stopped short and studied Mud Stalker. Then his eyes made a quick survey of the room, a question reflected in the set of his mouth.
“There is no one else here. Thank you for coming.” Mud Stalker gestured at the mat across the fire from him.
“Just the two of us?” Deep Hunter asked. “In the middle of the night?”
“Just the two of us. My young hunter will ensure that we are not interrupted and can speak our minds without having it carried to every hungry ear and flapping set of jaws among the clans.”
Deep Hunter shrugged and walked across to ease himself down onto the matting. His bones cracked as he settled himself and removed the bobcat hide from around his shoulders. With careful fingers he folded it and laid it neatly to one side.
Mud Stalker indicated a small steaming bowl that rested at the side of the fire. “I have provided us with fresh black drink.”
Deep Hunter’s hard eyes never wavered. “If I drink any of that, I won’t sleep. It’s already late.”
“So? Do you have a busy day tomorrow?”
A faint smile curled Deep Hunter’s lips. “No, I suppose not.” He lifted the bowl, tilting it to sip at the hot liquid. When he set it down Mud Stalker reached out with his good hand and grasped it, lifting it to his lips to drink some of the dark bitter liquid. It almost scalded his tongue.
“You brewed it strong.”
Mud Stalker set the bowl down and wiped his lips. “Something about black drink. It makes the thoughts clearer and races the blood.”
Deep Hunter’s eyes had narrowed. “I would assume, however, that you didn’t call me here in the middle of the night just to share a pleasant drink and make a little companionable conversation.”
“We have a problem.”
Deep Hunter cocked his head. “We have a lot of problems, you and I.”
“What are we going to do about Owl Clan?”
“What are
we
going to do? Why should anything my clan decides interest you?”
“Because no matter what is between us, you and I must work together on this.”
“Why?”
“I think you know. You are waiting, planning on striking at Jaguar
Hide. You would have done it sooner, but Owl Clan has an agreement with the old rascal. If you take action on your own, it could cause a stir in the Council. Thunder Tail, Cane Frog, Clay Fat, and Salamander could vote to condemn Alligator Clan. I might be tempted to side with them against you.”
“You are assuming that the Council would take an interest in the Swamp Panthers’ response to a ‘peaceful Trading expedition’ that went wrong.” He smiled warily. “You just can’t tell about those people down there.”
“That might work. And again, it might not. Someone could make the plausible argument that your warriors took that action as a provocation. That you were jealous of Owl Clan’s domination of the sandstone Trade.” Mud Stalker massaged the elbow on his ruined arm. “Or, Snakes take us, worse, that it was personally motivated, a backhanded way to repay Anhinga for what she did to young Saw Back.”
After a pause, Deep Hunter asked, “What did you have in mind?”
“There might be a way that you could attain your ends, and I might attain mine.”
“Your ends and mine have nothing in common.” Deep Hunter’s smoldering eyes took Mud Stalker’s measure, his jaw muscles tight.
Mud Stalker made a pacifying gesture. “Let us lay our gaming pieces in the open. You and I have been adversaries for a long time. I know how you used Night Rain against me. Perhaps I deserved that. I shouldn’t have placed such a naive young girl in that position in the first place.” He chuckled at himself. “Knowing where we stand with each other, I propose that we work together.”
“Why should we?”
“Because I think young Salamander has too much of his mother and uncle in him. If he has done the things he has as a fresh-made man, what will he be like in another ten summers?”
Deep Hunter digested that for a moment, his expression pensive. “We thought him pretty foolish for the way he stripped his clan for Trade with those Wash’ta Traders. But look how well he did this last winter, giving out those hides. Who would have thought the weather was going to be so miserable?”
“Even a fool pulls in a full net on occasion, but this is something more.”
“I would hesitate to mention that it was your insistence that put him in such a position of authority to start with.” He gave Mud Stalker an ironic smile. “Let me guess. When White Bird was killed, you thought luck had dropped control of Owl Clan into your lap, didn’t you?”
Mud Stalker shrugged. “I wanted to see Wing Heart’s authority compromised.”
“What prompted you? Everyone thought you were crazy when you married those girls to that boy.”
Mud Stalker chewed his lip, hesitating.
“You said we should speak freely.”
“A Dream,” Mud Stalker admitted. “A Power Dream. Now I cannot be sure if it was for good or evil.”
“Which, I suppose, is the real reason you brought me here. What did you want to offer me?”
“An alliance. At least until we can fix our current problem. You have Thunder Tail’s obligation. Cunningly done, I might add, through information provided by Night Rain. I have influence with Clay Fat. Rattlesnake Clan is obliged to me for the moment.”
“What are you planning?”
Mud Stalker lifted the bowl and sipped black drink. Handing it to Deep Hunter, he said, “Salamander doesn’t behave the way a young man of his age should, don’t you agree?”
Deep Hunter drank, wiped his lips, and shrugged. “How should he behave?”
“A normal young man doesn’t work with the Dead. He doesn’t spend every morning atop the Bird’s Head where he can look out into the Land of the Dead. He doesn’t ally himself with Jaguar Hide for purposes that we can only guess at. And, most of all, have you noticed how those who stand in his way have been removed?”
“What?”
“You saw him when the Serpent’s house was burned.”
Deep Hunter gave a thoughtful nod. “Do you have any real proof that he’s a witch?”
“We need only the accusation. People will do the rest. He has only a handful of allies.”
“If I support the accusation of witchcraft, what do I get in return?”
“Warriors from Snapping Turtle Clan, and perhaps even Rattlesnake Clan, will accompany yours on the raid against the Swamp Panthers. We will break Owl Clan’s peace and destroy their access to sandstone. Who knows, if we use Anhinga as bait, perhaps you might finally manage to lure Jaguar Hide into your reach. Whether you do or not, with Snapping Turtle Clan involved, no one in the Council will vote against you.”
Deep Hunter sat silently, lost in thought. Then he nodded. “I agree, as long as I can kill Jaguar Hide, and Saw Back gets Anhinga—at least for a while.”
“I think we can arrange that.”
“What about afterward?”
“Owl Clan is discredited for as long as either of us is alive. Then you and I can go our separate ways. There will be no remaining obligation as we seek to replace Thunder Tail.”
“If Salamander is declared a witch?” Deep Hunter asked, apparently satisfied. “What then?”
“A witch who belongs to Owl Clan becomes their problem, not ours. I have spoken to Half Thorn. He will be happy to attend to it. After all, he has everything to gain.”
BOOK: People of the Owl: A Novel of Prehistoric North America (North America's Forgotten Past)
2.22Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
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