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

People of the Owl: A Novel of Prehistoric North America (North America's Forgotten Past) (65 page)

BOOK: People of the Owl: A Novel of Prehistoric North America (North America's Forgotten Past)
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He glared hard at Salamander, expecting to see some reaction: embarrassment, guilt, confusion, something. The young Speaker just stood as if listening to a discussion of the weather.
Mud Stalker gestured with his left hand. “When my kinsmen returned with the canoe and Eats Wood’s bones, we were at a loss. Why would this have happened? Who would have hidden his canoe and his body in the Swamp Panther lands? Why there?” He turned his head, directing everyone with his hard stare.
Salamander waited with his head cocked, paying attention, but unconcerned.
“Following the trail to its logical end,” Mud Stalker continued as he stepped carefully back and forth behind the canoe, “we sent my niece, Night Rain, to obtain the Swamp Panther woman’s ax.”
He bent down and picked it up from the bones within the canoe.
Sweet Root lifted Eats Wood’s skull, saying, “If you will look, you can see the fatal wound. Here.” Her brown finger pointed to the oblong hole in the round dome of the skull. “Not only was Eats
Wood murdered by this ax, but if you will notice, he had to have been struck down from behind!”
Mud Stalker aligned the ax just so, while Sweet Root placed the skull so that all could see the perfect fit. At Clay Fat’s scowl, Mud Stalker said, “Oh, don’t worry. You will all have plenty of time to see how well this fits.”
Clay Fat shook his head. “You might have used Anhinga’s ax
after
you found the skull. This proves nothing!”
“Look at the mud in the wound!” Sweet Root cried. “If you crush a dirty skull, the bone breaks cleanly and has a different color. You know that.” She pointed at Saw Back. “It’s not as if we don’t know this woman’s handiwork with an ax!”
“Agreed!
Agreed!
” Deep Hunter cried. “We would have dealt with this once before, but for certain interference with this Council.”
Again, all eyes turned to Salamander. His expression was thoughtful, his eyes almost dreamy, as if he had seen this all before.
Clay Fat muttered under his breath and shot a worried look at Salamander.
“Does the Speaker for Owl Clan have
anything
to say about this?” Thunder Tail asked gravely.
In his preoccupied manner, Salamander stepped forward. He paused for a moment, studied the ax in Mud Stalker’s hand. The way he smiled it might have been a private joke. In a firm voice, he said, “That is not Anhinga’s ax.”
Mud Stalker realized he was staring—dumbfounded as the rest. “What? Night Rain herself took this ax from your house!”
“That is not Anhinga’s ax,” Salamander repeated. “If you are familiar with her ax, it has a series of panthers carved into the handle in an interlocking design.”
“Then whose ax is it?” Deep Hunter demanded.
“It is my ax,” Salamander said casually. “For reasons of her own, Night Rain took my ax from the house that day.”
“Anhinga killed Eats Wood with your ax?” Mud Stalker wondered.
Salamander smiled as if in benevolence to a simple fool. “Anhinga killed no one, Speaker.”
“Wait!” cried Clay Fat as he stepped out, one hand up. “Yes, that ax fits the hole in the skull. But, let us keep in mind, there are many axes! Axes, by their nature, are all roughly the same size. What if we tried fitting every ax in Sun Town to that wound? How many matches would we have? Tens of tens? More? This proves nothing!”
“It proves
everything!
” Mud Stalker thundered back.
“Speakers, please!” Salamander stepped forward, his hands up. “Let me speak.”
Thunder Tail jerked a nod. “The Owl Clan Speaker has the right to speak.”
Salamander threw a fond smile in Clay Fat’s direction. “I thank you for your open mind, Speaker Clay Fat. It is refreshing to find yet another individual who thinks in terms of the People before he thinks of his own personal gain. For that, I am truly obliged in my souls.”
“Who killed Eats Wood?” Mud Stalker shouted.
“Hush!” Thunder Tail ordered.
Salamander turned, his head cocked. In the open circle he didn’t look like much—just a short skinny young man with large dreamy eyes and a knowing expression. “For reasons which need not concern this Council, I killed Eats Wood, Speaker.”
Mud Stalker stopped short. “Why?”
“As I said, my reasons do not concern this Council. Further, I take full responsibility for my actions. Speaker Mud Stalker, I will see you later to discuss a mutual settlement for Eats Wood’s death.” He looked at Thunder Tail. “May I continue and address the other more serious charge of witchcraft?”
“You may,” Thunder Tail said with a wary gravity.
Salamander walked around the fire pit in slow steps, expression pinched, as though searching for the right words.
When he finally looked up, he said, “Speakers, Elders, there are those among you who will be anxious, sit here in Council for hours telling stories about the reasons for my brother’s death, about my mother’s curious soul loss, about my dealings with Jaguar Hide, and so many other things. If we go through with this, you will hear how I sit atop the Bird’s Head every morning to watch the sun rise. You will hear that I helped the Serpent with the care and preparation of the dead. Depending on how far some people are willing to go in pursuit of my destruction, there may be even wilder stories to be told.” He looked at them, one by one, and added, “I don’t care.”
“What do you mean, you don’t care?” Deep Hunter asked irritably.
“What I said, Speaker.” Salamander turned to face him. “I don’t care.” A pause. “Let us speak honestly, shall we? This Council meeting is really about who will replace Owl Clan in the leadership. Removing me and placing Half Thorn in the Speaker’s position will benefit both Snapping Turtle Clan and Alligator Clan. I have heard that Moccasin Leaf will return Frog Clan’s root grounds in return
for her vote to convict me of witchcraft.” He faced Cane Frog, saying, “I congratulate you in getting your root grounds back, Elder.”
Mud Stalker barely noticed Three Moss’s fingers playing on the old woman’s shoulder.
“What are you saying?” Clay Fat asked. “That declaring you a witch is part of a deal?”
“I am saying that I quit,” Salamander replied. “If this is allowed to ferment, it will spoil. What we do here today will affect the future. If I act one way, I can destroy the clans. If I act another, Mud Stalker and Deep Hunter will be at war within a turning of the seasons. We are that close to disaster! So, I will choose a third way. I will just give up the Speakership.”
“What?” Thunder Tail asked, looking confused.
“Last night when I asked you to allow me to speak uninterrupted, Leader, it was to give me the chance to tell my enemies that they win. Rather than fight them in a destructive and divisive battle that, innocent or not, I cannot win, I will give up everything. It is my only defense, Speaker.”
“Defense how?” Clay Fat asked. “It sounds more like a confession!”
“Agreed!” Deep Hunter growled.
Salamander made a calming gesture. “A
real
witch is interested only in harming others, in accruing wealth, prestige, and authority. A witch wants admiration, respect, and status more than he wants life. That, or he wants revenge.”
“Revenge for what?” Thunder Tail asked.
“That is a very good question, Speaker.” Salamander stopped to stare down at Eats Wood’s bones. “Revenge for what was done to my brother? How does one get revenge on lightning? Masked Owl killed him to keep him from planting those goosefoot seeds and changing the People. Revenge for my mother’s soul loss? Do you take revenge on a woman because she can’t stand her grief? Or perhaps I might want revenge for having been made a Speaker?” He gave Mud Stalker a thin smile. “Indeed, there might be some merit in that.” A pause. “No, not even for being thrust into this position. I certainly wouldn’t want revenge for having to live with my three beautiful wives.”
“Then why are you casting spells?” Sweet Root asked.
“
I have cast no spells!
” Salamander spread his arms wide in a gesture of innocence. “Clan Elder, you have committed yourself to this course of action. Deals have been concluded. Promises made. You and the others have invested so much in this that though I am
not
a witch, you must declare me one. A fine predicament you find
yourselves in. How do you declare Speaker Salamander to be a witch when he isn’t?”
He held up a hand, stifling Sweet Root’s outburst, and cried, “To solve this problem and release you from the trap you laid for yourselves, I will leave Sun Town forever. As soon as I settle my obligation to Snapping Turtle Clan, I will be gone. It saves you the odious chore of having Half Thorn murder me. It keeps peace between my lineage and his. It ensures that there will be no whispers through the coming seasons that you murdered an innocent man.”
“Why?” Deep Hunter asked. “It means you will lose everything.”
Salamander’s eyes expanded like dark pools. “Yes, Speaker. I lose everything. I willfully and freely lose so that, unhindered, you may pursue your schemes in search of prestige and authority.”
“You can’t just let them win!” Clay Fat protested.
“Old friend of my mother’s,” Salamander said warmly, “I can, and I must. I have seen the future, and I know the price I must pay to save it. I ask you to vote to recognize Half Thorn as Speaker of Owl Clan until this Council is called tomorrow.”
“
Salamander!
” Water Petal cried in disbelief, pushing past the stunned Moccasin Leaf. “What are you doing?”
He smiled at her. “Saving us all, Cousin. When Masked Owl called on me to make one choice, and Many Colored Crow called on me to make another, I could accede to neither.”
“What are you talking about?” Mud Stalker asked as he stepped forward and spun Salamander around.
The youth’s eyes might have been watching him from a midnight eternity. “There will be no cities of stone built by the People. But we will not be Dreamers locked away in the One, either. The Brothers will continue to squabble, but they will do so at another place, in another time.”
“What is he saying?” Sweet Root demanded.
“
Hear
this!” Salamander cried, breaking away. “
Remember
these words! Tomorrow, when this Council meets, I ask you to recognize the voices of reason. Our strength has always been found in harmony among the clans. Your responsibility is simple! Just do what is right for the People.” With a sad smile, he added, “May the rest of your solstice celebration be filled with joy.”
In a lower voice, he said, “Speaker Mud Stalker, I will join you for your feast tonight if that is all right. We can discuss Eats Wood and what is a proper settlement for his death.”
Mud Stalker was still gaping as Salamander touched his forehead in respect and walked out the western exit. The crowd parted for him like a wave as he passed.
“What did he just do?” Deep Hunter asked.
“I haven’t the faintest idea,” Cane Frog answered.
“What about Eats Wood?” Sweet Root demanded.
Thunder Tail gave her scathing look, and said, “That is between you and Salamander. It is no longer the business of this Council.”
“I win!” Half Thorn clapped his hands gleefully. “I am to be Speaker!”
W
hen Salamander arrived that evening, the inside of Pine Drop’s house was lit by faint flickers of fire from the central hearth. Someone had been coming to check on both women; the baby had been freshly changed, and, he assumed, fed by a wet nurse. Where he crouched at the bedside, Salamander could hold each of his wives’ hands. The chill in their flesh cooled his hot palms.
He took that moment to study their faces, knowing how they were locked in the Dream. They were both so beautiful. How had he ever been so lucky to have been the subject of their smiles? He would carry the feel of their warm bodies against his even after his souls finally journeyed to the Land of the Dead.
“Relax,” he whispered. “Don’t be frightened. You are Dreaming. I used a potion of morning glory in the tea and covered it with the taste of mint. I knew what you would try to do. I couldn’t let you claim to have killed Eats Wood. It would have ruined both of you. Your clan would never forget, never forgive. In the end, it would have cost you everything. I couldn’t allow that. Not when I love you both so much.”
He thought he saw a faint frown on Pine Drop’s brow. “I give you my Dream for the People. Take it and make it yours. You shall become a great Clan Elder. I have seen these things come true.”
Night Rain’s lips twitched when he turned to her.
“You shall become the greatest of them all, Night Rain. Your
sons will take the Trade across the whole world. Generations will speak your name with respect.”
Night Rain sighed from deep in her Dreams.
“Take good care of my sons when they are born. I wish that I could stay and watch them grow. I wish that so much that my souls ache with the longing. But I have to finish my affairs with your uncle.”
He smiled down at them, their soft skin under his fingers. “I have to leave now. In the meantime, I want you to fly. Just relax. Set yourselves free. Open your wings and drift into the air. Soon, we shall all be flying together.”
Did he see a faint smile on their lips?
His daughter lay in her cradleboard, dark eyes watching him. The infant’s arms were free, and she reached out with chubby hands, grasping for Salamander.
“I shall miss you, too, little one,” he replied softly. “I just came to tell all of you that leaving you behind is the hardest thing I will ever do.”
He bent, touching his lips to Night Rain’s, then Pine Drop’s. Finally, he stood, stepped over to his daughter, and traced his fingers along the softness of her rounded cheeks. “Live long and well, little one. When you feel a warm caress in your Dreams, it will be me.”
Then he ducked out into the night, walking in the shadows at the edge of the borrow pit, smelling the rank water. He kept his head down, aware of the fires and the crowds of people moving back and forth between the houses.
“
For everything there is a price
.” Heron’s words rang in his souls.
They would live because of him, because of what he was about to do. When solstice came next summer, Sun Town would be alive, vibrant, and children would be playing and laughing here. His wives would be smiling, and his children would not know fear, hunger, and grief.
As he had known they would be, several young warriors were posted around Mud Stalker’s house to keep off the curious on this most important night.
“It is Salamander,” he said to Water Stinger. “I have come to make a settlement with Speaker Mud Stalker.”
Saw Back, a looming shadow in the darkness, said, “I want you to know, I personally am going to be dealing with you later tonight. Following that, I am hunting down that Swamp Panther bitch to pay her back. And, the day after solstice, the clans are going south
to raid. Owl Clan will no longer control the sandstone. We have a debt to settle with Jaguar Hide.”
Salamander told him. “What you do after this night is no longer my affair. My business here is with the Speakers and Elders.”
“Pass,” Water Stinger told him coldly. “I, too, will be waiting to deal with you. And, while you are in there, know that I was Eats Wood’s friend.”
“Yes, he has found a great many friends in death, hasn’t he?” Salamander felt the man bristle in the darkness as he passed.
Without ceremony, he ducked through Mud Stalker’s door to find the interior well lit by the central hearth. Mud Stalker and Sweet Root sat at the back. Cane Frog and Three Moss to the right, while Deep Hunter, Colored Paint, Moccasin Leaf, and Half Thorn were to the left. All of them looked up as Salamander settled himself at the last open space between them.
“We expected you to have run by now,” Mud Stalker greeted jovially.
Food had just been set out. Two large ceramic pots were filled with baked lotus roots. A steatite bowl rested at the side of the fire, black drink steaming its invitation. The bark platters and gourd cups that were being passed back and forth had stopped short at his arrival.
“Good evening,” Salamander greeted, nodding from one to the next. “Please, do not let me interrupt. Continue with your feast.”
Mud Stalker scooped up some of the root paste. “What did you do to yourself today, Salamander?”
“What I had to, Speaker. Just as I have since the moment you made me Speaker.”
“You are Speaker no longer,” Half Thorn remarked arrogantly.
“No. I am nothing now.”
“Did you really kill Eats Wood?” Mud Stalker demanded. “Or was that a trick to save your barbarian bitch?”
“I could not let him cut my unborn daughter from Anhinga’s raped and murdered body, Speaker.” Salamander hesitated, seeing the design on the clay-tempered pot beside the fire. The interlocking owls couldn’t be mistaken. There, beside it, stood its twin. He smiled, feeling the last pieces of the future falling into place.
“Where is Anhinga?” Deep Hunter demanded. “We went looking for her today. No one has seen her.”
“She is far to the south.” His gaze remained fixed on the two pots. “After tonight, the ghosts that plague her will be laid to rest.”
“What is this about?” Cane Frog asked, her single white eye on Salamander. “Why did you just give up that way?”
Salamander watched Moccasin Leaf scooping the thick root paste from the pot and piling it on her wooden plate. “I had a vision after the Serpent’s cleansing last winter. Brother mushroom is not to be treated lightly. Some of you will remember when I was so sick? I fell so deeply into the tunnel I couldn’t find my way back. There, in the Dream, I was dying.”
“I don’t understand,” Half Thorn muttered.
“You never will,” Salamander replied. “A Spirit Helper came to me, Danced with me. She showed me bits and pieces of the future. Seeing is tricky. A great many things may change. People make decisions that alter the way events may unfold.”
“Now we are to believe that you are a seer?” Sweet Root asked derisively as she scooped some of the paste into her mouth.
“We have already discussed belief once today, Clan Elder. You may believe what you wish.”
“So”—Deep Hunter waved a taunting hand—“tell me of this future you saw.”
“There were so many futures,” Salamander said carefully. “Different visions of what might be. That is one of the lures of the One. When you Dance, you see different futures as you spin about. But, to get back to your request, we could have followed Many Colored Crow’s vision and made Sun Town influential beyond your most exotic imaginings. It would have happened under a great leader who bound our entire world together through Trade and war. Sun Town would have grown to cover a huge area. Other towns would have been built up and down the length and width of the river—as far as canoes can travel.”
“A great leader?” Mud Stalker asked. “Just one?”
“All that authority,” Salamander agreed, “all placed in one person who passed it on to his heir.”
Mud Stalker was smiling grimly, seeing himself in that place.
“What about this other future?” Cane Frog asked.
“Other futures,” Salamander corrected. “In some, my decision would have driven the clans into open warfare. Within moons, bodies would lie among the houses, and in the ensuing battles, the clans would be split, dispersing, raiding each other until Sun Town is only a memory. A no-man’s-land where we kill each other on sight.”
“Never,” Colored Paint muttered under her breath. “Stop trying to frighten us.”
“Alligator Clan would win anyway,” Deep Hunter cried, smacking a hand to his thigh. He dipped a handful of pasty root from one of the jars and sucked it from his fingers, heedless of the hot stares of the others.
“What future did you choose?” Three Moss asked, glancing meaningfully at Mud Stalker.
“I chose a third way. I stopped at the Serpent’s last night and obtained a bit of mushroom. Just enough to open the tunnel. Old Heron answered my call, and we Dreamed. Peculiar, isn’t it? So many lines of Power, so many paths to the future ran through me. With one decision I would have been the greatest Speaker ever, uniting the People under Owl Clan. With another, I could have Danced and Dreamed the One. This place, and our People, would have evaporated in a few turnings of the seasons. They hadn’t counted on my finding a third way.”
“You?” Deep Hunter laughed. “The greatest Speaker ever?”
Salamander ignored him. “Tomorrow a new Council will be chosen. The lesson that we have taught them will survive for another five or ten generations, and then, as Morning Lake fills with mud, and the beliefs that we learned here spread, the people will slowly move away. In the end, Sun Town will be left to the forest, and the center of our world will move to other places, other peoples. Clans, peoples, and leaders will rise and fall. The meaning of our earthworks will change. Great Dreamers will carry the words of Masked Owl and Many Colored Crow across the land. Old Heron will sit in her cave, and watch the Tree of Life grow as she Dreams the One.”
“So,” Mud Stalker asked, “tell me,
Seer
, which clan will be preeminent in the next turning of the seasons?”
“Until Thunder Tail dies, Eagle Clan will be preeminent. Following that Clay Fat will lead the Council until his death. Only then, after many turnings of seasons, will he be followed by Clan Elder Pine Drop.”
Both Mud Stalker and Deep Hunter erupted into guffaws, slapping their legs, as they eyed each like kestrels over a grasshopper.
Of them all, only Cane Frog, perhaps seeing more through her blind eye, remained serious. “Why, Salamander? Why would any of us in this room vote Clay Fat into the leadership?”
“You won’t. Tomorrow you will all be dead.” Salamander smiled ironically. “That is the lesson that we will teach this day. Harmony between the clans must be maintained. Fortunately, there are young leaders ready to fill our positions.”
“Our positions?” Half Thorn asked. “I am already Speaker in yours.”
“Yes.” Salamander nodded pleasantly. “Enjoy it while you can.” He indicated the pot before him. “May I share your bounty, Speaker?”
“By all means.” Mud Stalker gestured with his good hand before he scooped more from the pot. “You know, Salamander, that despite your announcement today, we can’t just let you go. It isn’t just the matter of Eats Wood, but, as we were discussing before your arrival, we cannot allow you just to wander about.”
“We would be uncomfortable,” Deep Hunter added, “knowing that you were out there, talking to people, giving them ideas.”
“We are afraid you might find allies,” Cane Frog explained. “Bring them back to challenge the authority of the clans.”
Moccasin Leaf gave him a humorless smile. “We are sorry, Salamander, but you are too dangerous. Of course, the people, Water Petal, and Yellow Spider, will think that you left in secret. Water Stinger and Saw Back will make sure that no one discovers your body.”
He nodded, feeling a stone-heaviness in his heart. “Well, I shall hope that this last meal will be as good as it looks.”
Mud Stalker smiled past hard eyes. “It is excellent! A solstice gift. I found it here upon my return. And then Deep Hunter brings a pot just like the first. Yellow lotus, our traditional feast, but seasoned heavily with mint, honeysuckle, and some strange tang that I cannot identify.”
BOOK: People of the Owl: A Novel of Prehistoric North America (North America's Forgotten Past)
5.17Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
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