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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) (33 page)

BOOK: People of the Owl: A Novel of Prehistoric North America (North America's Forgotten Past)
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Anticipating her, he said, “Remember, this must be done slowly, thoughtfully, and with great skill.”
“I
know,
Uncle.”
“The gravest danger is time. It will lull you, soften your resolve. You will look around you and begin to see these people as not so different from us.”
“You have told me this time and time again.”
“I will tell you yet again,” Jaguar Hide insisted. “Think, Anhinga! You are going to marry a man. You will live with him, day in and day out. You will look into his eyes, watch his smile. You will welcome his body into yours. His child will begin to grow within you. Do you understand what I’m saying?”
“Yes, Uncle. That by pretending to fall in love with him, I really will.” She shook her hair, flipping her raven locks in a dark swirl. “Looking at my back, what do you see?”
“Outside of a healthy and attractive woman?” He hesitated. “The scars are healed.”
“Yes, but you can still see them.” She drove her paddle vigorously into the water. “And so can I. I can run my fingers over them, feel the ridges, and remember the pain. Those are the things I do when I am awake. I remember what each wound felt like when they inflicted it. Over and over, I see the bodies of my companions. See what they did to them. It is better when I am awake, Uncle. I can shut most of the memories out of my head. When I am asleep, the terror comes. The Dreams wrap around my souls, and I relive every moment, watching them be cut apart, their hearts, livers, and intestines ripped from inside their bodies. I see those animals squatting over ruined faces, defecating into bloody eye sockets. Unlike being awake, I cannot stop the Dreams, Uncle.”
He paddled silently behind her for a moment. “The past cannot be killed, Anhinga, but it can be built anew. It is that which you must guard against. You will be tempted.”
“I will be
strong
!” she insisted. “I have no life left. At the Panther’s Bones, I had to look into eyes of Mist Finger’s relatives, see Cooter’s sister, wince as Right Talon’s mother’s eyes asked me, ‘Why?’ I had no answer for them, Uncle, only the ache in my heart that I was alive, and their sons and brothers were not.”
“No one holds it against you.”
“I do,” she snapped. “And I’m the only one who matters.”
After a long silence, he asked again, “Are you sure that you want to do this thing? It is fraught with danger.”
“It isn’t a matter of wanting, Uncle,” she told him hollowly. “I must.”
With a leaden heart, she continued to paddle doggedly toward her destiny. In her souls she was already delighting in the surprise as she drove a deer-bone stiletto into White Bird’s heart. But before that, yes, she could be patient. She could wait for years if she had to. It would make the act all the more terrible for the witnesses.
“
I
felt like such a fool!” Salamander cried as he reached out from the bobbing canoe and grabbed at the duck-shaped wooden float. He caught it, pulling it toward him. Straightening in the canoe, he reeled in the cord that hauled the wicker fish trap to the surface.
He sat in the stern, Water Petal in the bow. The center of the narrow hull was cluttered with pointed wicker fish traps. Each was the length of a man’s leg, two hands wide, cylindrical, with a funnelshaped opening that allowed a fish to swim in, but not out.
Water Petal remained silent as Salamander grasped the wet staves and pulled the trap from the opaque brown water. A single buffalo fish flopped inside. He placed the trap across his lap and untied the door that allowed him to reach in. He caught the fish behind its gills and pulled it from the trap. Using a round rock, he bashed it in the head and dropped it, quivering, into a basket.
“I’ve never felt so worthless in my whole life.” His thick fingers retied the cord after he closed the hinged trap door. “I couldn’t think of anything to say. I was so embarrassed and shamed.”
Water Petal picked up her paddle, propelling the canoe forward, steering with the blade. She glanced over her shoulder, checking to see that her son slept soundly in the moss-padded cradle. “Salamander, don’t blame yourself. No one expected the Elder to react that way. She was like a ball of soil in a rainstorm. She just melted away.”
“My brother wouldn’t have made a fool of himself.”
“Perhaps not, but he’s dead, and you are the Speaker.” She shook her head. “I’m not sure how this happened, but it has. Like it or not, you are the Speaker. Sick or not, your mother is the Elder. At least she is until Moccasin Leaf can marshal enough support from the clan to dismiss her.”
“She has started on that,” Salamander noted. “It will take her a while to get concurrence from the outlying camps. It’s the middle of summer. People are off everywhere, hunting, collecting, making a living.”
“I don’t have much hope,” Water Petal told him heavily. “As bad as it was on you, I watched any chance of succeeding Wing Heart vanish. Without her, our lineage is too weak.”
Salamander’s heart fell. She didn’t hold it against him, did she? “Water Petal, I didn’t do it on purpose.”
She glanced back at him over the pile of fish traps and read his expression. “No, not you, Salamander. I don’t blame you. By the Earth Monsters, I don’t know how this happened so fast. It’s as if Power just blew through like the south wind and left us broken and beaten.”
“I am still Speaker.” He considered that. “Moccasin Leaf might be able to have Mother removed, but as Speaker …”
She turned, expression thoughtful. “Finish that. What were you about to say?”
“Mud Stalker wanted me as Speaker. He saw more clearly than anyone. I would love to know how. He has wanted our clan to be disgraced for years. He brokered the marriage with White Bird and placed me right in line to succeed my brother if anything happened. It’s as if he knew White Bird was going to die.”
“Salamander, no one can foretell a lightning strike.”
“No, but having seen the things I have, it makes me wonder.”
“What? That Mud Stalker would have killed White Bird? Do you know what an awful chance he would have been taking? Murdering another clan’s Speaker would destroy Sun Town, split the clans right down the middle! It would mean war … between us! At best he would be hunted down and murdered! His family and lineage cast into exile, or maybe even killed!”
Salamander stopped short, images reeling in his souls. “Blessed Owl,” he whispered.
“Yes? What?”
“It’s me!”
“What’s you, Salamander?” She was focused on him now, the canoe drifting listlessly toward a lush green bank. As the spring flood had receded, it had left behind a braided web of channels like this one that crisscrossed the wide Father Water’s floodplain.
“It’s me that he’s been counting on. He’s been ahead of me all along. He is counting on me to be a failure.”
Water Petal said nothing, her expression pinched.
Reading it, Salamander smiled sadly. “I know, Cousin. We’re relatives: you, Yellow Spider, and me. Outside of Mother, we are the last of our lineage.”
“It’s not your fault, Salamander.” Water Petal turned away, her hands slipping up and down the paddle as if agitated.
“It isn’t time yet,” Salamander said gently.
She turned, caught off guard. “Time for what?”
“To take back what is ours.”
“I don’t understand you.”
“I’m not sure I do, either. Cousin, I am going to need an ally.”
“Salamander, what are you talking about?”
“I’m not sure yet. But when I know, I’ll tell you, all right?”
“You’re starting to sound as crazy as your mother.”
“Let’s hope the rest of the clans think so.” He smiled for the first time, pitching the fish trap atop the pile. “The next float is just up there. That’s the last one that Pine Drop and I set. I say we cut up this crappie for bait and make another set in the next channel.”
For the first time since he had caught his cricket the night White Bird returned from the north, he actually felt tendrils of hope.
A
ccompanied by six of the enemy’s canoes, Jaguar Hide and Anhinga paddled ever closer to Sun Town. It had been a trial for Anhinga, meeting those canoes full of Sun People and traveling side by side with them. In the narrow channels, the enemy were so close that she could reach out with her paddle and tap them. They were propelled by muscular young men, their bodies greased and wearing their best. Colorful feathers were tucked into armbands, hair was done up in high buns and pinned with bone skewers. They wore layers of necklaces across their swelling chests that proclaimed Sun Town’s immense wealth. Curiosity and danger reflected in their hard gazes as they paralleled her course.
To keep her nerve, she ignored their called questions, allowed Uncle to do the talking, and kept her back straight, eyes on the channel before her.
She considered it her first challenge, one that she had met, smiling, but remaining aloof enough to keep them at bay. She was, after
all, Swamp Panther, the niece of the most noted warrior in the history of her people.
Two other canoes had shot ahead to carry word to Wing Heart that Jaguar Hide was nearing. In spite of her vow of self-control, Anhinga felt a quickening, a thrill and fear mixing within her. She was entering the camp of the enemy to take up a new and secret life.
“Easy,” her uncle whispered behind her as they followed a winding channel past a stand of bald cypress, the boles knotted and thick where they rose from the still water. There lay Sun Town, dominating the high bluff across a sun-silvered lake. Dark soil was exposed on either side of the canoe landing, and up high she could see the Father Mound topped by the dreaded Men’s House.
Once before she had been brought here to be carried up that slope, degraded and bound—and there, during that foul day, she had suffered while her life was destroyed.
“Are you all right?” Jaguar Hide asked gently. “You haven’t taken a stroke in half a dozen heartbeats.”
“I was just seeing the past, Uncle.” She speared her paddle into the water, driving them forward. She watched as an incredible number of people began to spill down the bank, a host of them launching canoes. The slim craft pointed in their direction, sunlight flashing on paddles as they pushed their craft forward.
“Sobering, isn’t it?” Jaguar Hide asked from behind. “That is a lesson, Anhinga. Look at their numbers. And you and your fellows thought to bloody their nose?”
“Does this have a point, Uncle?”
“It does. When you are setting out to harm a great beast, the only way you can deal it a mortal blow is to strike at its heart. Swiftly, without remorse or pity. You must drive your blade true and straight, lest it kill you before you can escape.”
“I have already figured that out, Uncle.”
One of the lead canoes had closed and was turning sideways, a tall man in the bow, his right arm oddly cradled. “Greetings, Jaguar Hide,” the fellow called. “I am Mud Stalker, Speaker of the Snapping Turtle Clan. I am to direct you to the Turtle’s Back.” He pointed with a muscular left arm. “It is that hump of land there with the gum trees. We shall have our council there.”
“Snapping Turtle Clan?” Jaguar Hide muttered. “What do they have to do with anything?”
“Beware, Uncle. A great many things may be happening that we are unaware of. Just get me to Owl Clan, and all will be made right in time.”
In a loud voice, Jaguar Hide called, “Accompany us to that place. We have come in peace to see the great Elder, Wing Heart. It is time to bring an end to this senseless killing and raiding.”
“Especially as it has cost you so dearly,” Mud Stalker agreed in a jocular tone.
“I will drive a dart into his body myself,” Anhinga swore under her breath.
“Careful, Niece.” Jaguar Hide’s smooth voice warned. “Patience is the straightest dart in a hunter’s quiver.”
When they landed at the small island, it was to encounter a mob. “Not quite what we had expected, is it?” Anhinga asked.
“No, indeed,” he replied as he shipped his paddle and stepped out into the warm water. In one hand he retrieved a sack of smoked fish as an offering. In the other he carried his stone-headed ax. A tool equally useful in felling a tree or a man.
Anhinga nerved herself and reached for the sack that contained her personal possessions. The crowd parted, the way leading up to the shadowed base of the sweetgum tree. There a contingent stood, all dressed in finery, bodies greased, colorful feathers adorning their bodies.
“Courage,” Jaguar Hide whispered as he passed.
“You, too,” she shot back as she fell into step at his side. That short walk, surrounded on both sides by ranks of the enemy, every eye on her, was one of the most terrifying moments of her life. If this were a trap, they would be prisoners before either could react. Death was not nearly as frightening as the prospect of having her tendons cut and having to live the rest of her miserable life here as a slave.
By the time they reached the standing Elders, Anhinga was more than ready to run. Snakes and rot, could they see how scared she was? Even her tongue had stuck in her mouth. But for the grease on her skin, sweat would have beaded and gleamed as it ran.
“Greetings, Elders,” Jaguar Hide cried smoothly as he came to a stop. In that instant, he was the noblest man Anhinga had ever seen. Not a sliver of fear was visible in his demeanor or expression. The sunlight played in his silver hair and danced on his broad shoulders. “I am Jaguar Hide. You know me.”
“Indeed we do,” the tall man, Mud Stalker, replied as he stepped through the crowd to stand beside a middle-aged woman. “We have come to hear what you want from us.”
“Peace!” Jaguar Hide cried. “Nothing more, nothing less.”
“Peace?” A chubby man asked. He had a moony face, his belly
like a giant smooth brown squash. What would have normally been pleasant eyes looked skeptical.
“Peace,” Jaguar Hide answered. “In the last several cycles, we have had too many of our young people murdered.”
“That is a strong word,” a grizzled old woman stepped forward. “I am Elder Stone Talon, of the Eagle Clan. My son and several of my cousins were butchered by you and your sneaky warriors, and over what? A couple of flats of sandstone?”
Anhinga discovered that she couldn’t swallow. Fear had gripped the bottom of her throat until breathing was hard.
Find yourself, curse you! If you can’t face this, how are you going to stay here among them?
“Butchered is precisely the word.” Jaguar Hide lifted his arms, the ax held high. “Murdered, killed, slain, what does it matter what we call it? The effect is the same, be it in Sun Town or in the Panther’s Bones! We wail and grieve for the lives and souls of our dead loved ones. How many generations have we done this? More than I can relate. Can any of you tell me when this started, how far back?”
A voice called, “It began just after the Creation when the Hero Twins began to battle each other. We have been fighting ever since.” The speaker, what looked to be a mere boy, stepped to the fore. Thin, he might have been half-starved. His face was taut, as if he were frightened by speaking out in the presence of his Elders. He pinned Anhinga with large dark eyes that seemed to fill his bony face. “It goes back forever.”
BOOK: People of the Owl: A Novel of Prehistoric North America (North America's Forgotten Past)
6.65Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
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