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) (60 page)
“In the Dream, he was trying to tell me something. Why would he be in the Land of the Dead? That makes no sense.”
After a long silence, Night Rain said, “Our husband isn’t very popular these days.”
Pine Drop asked sharply, “What do you know?”
“The same thing you do, Pine Drop. That something terrible is coming.”
“Is Uncle behind it?”
“Uncle is behind a lot of things, but no. Everything is going to be all right. Either go to Salamander’s or go back to sleep, Sister.”
Pine Drop laid her head back against the wall and cuddled her daughter. Night Rain had never been any good at hiding things.
M
ud Stalker seated himself across the fire from Cane Frog and Three Moss. He studied the old woman in the flickering yellow light. Not for the first time, he wondered what it was like to have darkness for a constant companion. The old woman’s remaining white eye stared off into the night beyond the ramada; the empty pit of her other eye was a grime-rimmed hole. He had never had the courage to ask her what her souls saw. Did they only replay visions from the past, or did they make new images woven out of past and future, a sort of skewed pattern like a blind weaver might conjure?
ud Stalker seated himself across the fire from Cane Frog and Three Moss. He studied the old woman in the flickering yellow light. Not for the first time, he wondered what it was like to have darkness for a constant companion. The old woman’s remaining white eye stared off into the night beyond the ramada; the empty pit of her other eye was a grime-rimmed hole. He had never had the courage to ask her what her souls saw. Did they only replay visions from the past, or did they make new images woven out of past and future, a sort of skewed pattern like a blind weaver might conjure?
Three Moss sat on the fabric blanket she shared with her mother and measured Mud Stalker with her flat brown eyes. She was intent on his expression as if she might decipher the real purpose of his visit to their ramada—and unfortunately there was nothing wrong with her vision. Three Moss wore a fabric shawl over her shoulders, her skin greased against the mosquitoes that hovered in the air around them.
“What have you come to ask us for?” Cane Frog asked bluntly. She extended a hand, feeling for the warmth cast by the fire. “Can you see him, Daughter? Is the firelight good enough?”
“Yes, Mother.” Three Moss reached out and placed her hand on her mother’s bare shoulder.
“It has been a long time, Elder,” Mud Stalker began in a noncommittal voice. “I thought it was high time that we visited, got caught up on things. I hear that the crawfish harvest has been exceptional
this spring. I saw the latest catch down at the canoe landing this afternoon. Three Stomachs and Copper Toad brought it in. And then earlier this evening I could smell the aroma as they were boiled. I thought about sneaking in like a naughty child and spooning some out of the boiling pot when no one was looking.” Frog Clan had a shallow lake in one of their holdings that reliably produced more crawfish than any other place known in the region.
this spring. I saw the latest catch down at the canoe landing this afternoon. Three Stomachs and Copper Toad brought it in. And then earlier this evening I could smell the aroma as they were boiled. I thought about sneaking in like a naughty child and spooning some out of the boiling pot when no one was looking.” Frog Clan had a shallow lake in one of their holdings that reliably produced more crawfish than any other place known in the region.
“Yes, it has been good. We would be happy to provide you with some, Speaker.” Cane Frog rubbed her wrinkled hand down the top of her leathery thigh. “It will be my pleasure to send a youngster over with a couple of bags full when the boiling is finished. We seasoned them with honeysuckle blossoms and some of those mustard leaves. It gives them a sweet and tangy taste.”
“Snapping Turtle Clan will be obligated. For your fine gift we would reciprocate and send you a sack of hematite net sinkers. Some of my young men have just finished shaping a batch. We have a few more than we can use. It has been rumored that some of your fishermen are having trouble anchoring their nets. I saw some of Copper Toad’s. He has ordinary rocks tied on with string.”
“Ah.” She smiled. “Yes. It has been mentioned that you Traded quite a bit of squash last winter for raw hematite to make net sinkers out of. Something about that deal Salamander made with those Wash’ta Traders last fall. People thought him a fool for stripping his clan of all their finery. Then, while his clan wove and crafted beautiful replacements through the winter, that same fool was judiciously giving away hides, stone, and dried buffalo meat to the needy. When people weren’t approaching him for some of that Panther sandstone, that is.”
“Yes, well, Speaker Salamander seems to have uncommonly good fortune.” Mud Stalker smiled flatly at Three Moss to hide his delight that Cane Frog had brought up the very subject he wished to pursue.
“Good fortune? Is that what they call it?” Three Moss asked, the faintest hint of amusement curling her lips. “Many would like to say that Owl Clan has lost most of its prestige. At least, we hear that among the Speakers and Clan Elders and from those who are versed in the intrigues of the Men’s House.”
“And the Women’s House, too, no doubt,” Mud Stalker returned in a gracious voice.
“No doubt,” Three Moss agreed, her round face betraying nothing. “So we find it curious that while the leadership speaks of Owl Clan’s doom, people in the clans keep slipping over there for a piece of that Panther sandstone, or a buffalo robe, or a bit of tool stone
from the far north. All the while, I keep tallying the amount of obligation that my clan has incurred to that young man. In another few turnings of the seasons or so, I’m afraid half of my clan grounds will be owed to Owl Clan.”
from the far north. All the while, I keep tallying the amount of obligation that my clan has incurred to that young man. In another few turnings of the seasons or so, I’m afraid half of my clan grounds will be owed to Owl Clan.”
Mud Stalker tried to read her expression. Was Three Moss for or against Owl Clan? He couldn’t be sure.
Cane Frog surprised him when she said, “Quite the Speaker, isn’t he?”
“Your pardon, Elder?” Mud Stalker asked.
“Salamander,” she replied. “Let me guess, old friend. You didn’t expect this, did you?”
“Expect what?”
“His success.” Three Moss made no bones about it. “The amount of obligation he seems to accumulate.”
“I can only be pleased with Speaker Salamander’s success. His abilities reflect on my nieces.”
Cane Frog erupted in a rasping laugh. “Indeed. A good reflection indeed. This time last summer, as I recall, my Three Stomachs and your Pine Drop were polishing the spear. A fine reflection indeed. In a more public display, people still wonder why he took Night Rain back after that fiasco last winter.” She smacked her lips. “Touchy bit of business, that. Had tempers been allowed to flare, it could have become very nasty.”
“Yes, well, responsible heads prevailed. Pine Drop, in particular, stands out in my memory. She counseled patience and restraint that day.” Mud Stalker inclined his head pleasantly to Three Moss. The woman still had her hand on her mother’s shoulder. Something about the way her fingers moved on the old woman’s skin caught Mud Stalker’s attention. Then, in a flash, he thought he understood. Did the younger woman signal to her mother? Was that why they always touched during the Council sessions?
“It was more than Pine Drop.” Cane Frog sucked her lips back over toothless gums, and added, “Although I think she will make a very competent Clan Elder when she comes of age. Very competent indeed.”
“Our lineage thanks you for your confidence in her. We are obliged.”
“I think you are even more obliged to young Salamander for his eloquence that day, Speaker.” Cane Frog tapped her right ear. “These have grown sharper since my eyes went away. They hear more than most people know. Your Salamander did more than his share in keeping the lid on an overflowing pot.”
“Some would say he did almost too well,” Mud Stalker replied offhand.
“Indeed?” Three Moss asked. “You
wanted
an ugly brawl with Alligator Clan to break out?”
wanted
an ugly brawl with Alligator Clan to break out?”
He made a face at the incredulous tone in her voice. “Not at all, Elder. I am glad that the situation was resolved in a peaceful manner that satisfied all parties.”
“Then what did you mean?” Three Moss asked.
“I mean it’s curious, isn’t it, that anyone’s misfortune seems to end up as Salamander’s advantage?” Mud Stalker tried to read Cane Frog’s reaction in the firelight. The old woman’s face might have been a mask.
After several heartbeats Cane Frog asked, “What do you want, Speaker? Talk to us in words that do not balance on the tongue like a magician’s trick.”
Mud Stalker fingered his scarred elbow and considered his next words. “Some people have begun to worry about Salamander’s continued good fortune. Even my nieces cannot understand how he always seems to come out ahead. It is unnatural.”
“We have heard the whisperings of witchcraft,” Three Moss said. “We are still unsure what to make of it. Is it really witchcraft, or just the jealousy of others? What proof do you have?”
“Just look at his life over the last turning of the seasons. Think about everyone who stood in his way. Some, like his brother, have been killed, others, like his mother, have had their wits blunted. His barbarian wife walks freely among us, wielding her ax while she slips away to spoon poison about us into her uncle’s thirsty ear. A suspicious young warrior follows her out into the swamp and disappears. People who oppose Salamander find themselves in very deep water.”
“Ah, like his Clan Elder, Moccasin Leaf? Do you consider her elevation in Wing Heart’s place a coup for young Salamander? Or do I recall a certain Speaker promoting her acceptance by the Council?” She didn’t let him answer, stating, “Young Salamander is most unassuming for a witch.”
“He seems innocuous, but when one looks past his misdirection and attempts at humility, they will find Salamander gathering ever more prestige and authority, especially, as you have noted, with the common people.”
“So,” Cane Frog cut straight to the hunt. “First, you placed him at the top, and now you want to remove him. Why, Speaker? Is it because he is better than you thought he’d be?”
“Oh, go ahead,” Three Moss chimed in. “Speak to us with a clear
tongue. There is no one to hear. Your words will be carried in silence between our souls.”
tongue. There is no one to hear. Your words will be carried in silence between our souls.”
“It’s not a matter of me,” he hedged. “Nor is it a matter of what my clan wants.”
“Indeed?” Cane Frog asked. “And who else might it be?”
“All of us,” he said pointedly, eyes making the challenge to Three Moss. “We have had Owl Clan’s leadership for too many generations. On the whole, I admit, Sun Town has prospered. Owl Clan, in particular, has prospered mightily. My clan wasn’t alone when it came to giving up certain resources because of obligation.”
“You are referring to those lotus ponds that I ceded to Cloud Heron the time of the bad drought?” Cane Frog asked in irritation.
“That is but an example.”
“How, Speaker, do you think you can badger Salamander into returning them? By simply accusing him of being a witch? Do you think he will surrender Owl Clan’s assets just to make the charge go away?”
“I am not that simple.” Mud Stalker watched the fingers move on the old woman’s shoulders. When he smiled, Three Moss tapped with an index finger. He shrugged, as if absently, and watched the thumb and little finger move. Fascinating!
“Then how would a complicated man make such a thing happen?” Cane Frog was interested now, sensing for the first time, that some advantage might be in the wind for her and her clan.
“I don’t just want to accuse Salamander of witchcraft, Elder, I want to convict him of it.” Mud Stalker smiled again, seeing the first finger tap.
“Killing Salamander as a witch will not bring my root grounds back!” Cane Frog reminded shortly. “Nor will it cancel my clan’s increasing obligation to Owl Clan.”
“Moccasin Leaf would see Half Thorn take Salamander’s place as Speaker for Owl Clan,” Mud Stalker said firmly.
Cane Frog’s wrinkles deepened as she made a sour face. “I’ve made cooking clays that were smarter than Half Thorn.”
“That’s just the point.” Mud Stalker leaned back, a satisfied grin on his face.
“How would this be done? Would you deal with Salamander? Or did you have someone else in mind?”
“If he is declared to be a witch, he would be Owl Clan’s problem. I happen to know that, odious as the duty would be, it would befall the Clan Elder to ensure that justice was done. I would imagine that someone like Half Thorn would use that opportunity to demonstrate his leadership abilities.”
Cane Frog’s expression seemed to sharpen, her lips pulling back and forth over her gums. Finally, she said, “If we were to support you in this, we would need a guarantee. Some assurance that our root grounds would be returned.”
“Let me see what I can do. As I said, Moccasin Leaf would have a great deal of obligation to anyone who assisted her.” Mud Stalker stood, seeing Three Moss’s fingers rippling. “We may be dealing with an entirely new alignment of clans by the time the summer solstice feast is over.”
“Just so Frog Clan isn’t on the bottom,” Cane Frog reminded. “If we are to be part of this, Speaker, we had better come out of it with renewed prestige.”
“Give me your vote against Salamander, and you will, Clan Elder. I have great things in mind for the future of the People.”
T
he backswamp slowly drained away during those last days as Mother Sun crept ever so slowly toward solstice. Each summer at this time shallow pools formed where fish thrashed, fed, and often became stranded. Knowing the lay of the low contours, a fisherman with a properly set net could drag the shallows, effectively sweeping up the bounty.
he backswamp slowly drained away during those last days as Mother Sun crept ever so slowly toward solstice. Each summer at this time shallow pools formed where fish thrashed, fed, and often became stranded. Knowing the lay of the low contours, a fisherman with a properly set net could drag the shallows, effectively sweeping up the bounty.
Salamander squinted as he stepped into a patch of sun between the shade of two sweetgum trees. In the knee-deep water, mud squished between his toes. The midday heat seemed to weight the humid air. Insects flitted past on silver wings, while birds and locusts called from the trees. He bent at the waist, struggling against the sodden weight of the net.
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