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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) (42 page)

BOOK: People of the Owl: A Novel of Prehistoric North America (North America's Forgotten Past)
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“Why?”
“Anhinga, think about this very carefully. You can learn about them, discover who their leaders are. Not just the ones now, but the ones who will lead in the future. You can come to know them as none of our people ever will, discover their strengths and their weaknesses. Do you see how such knowledge could be used to our advantage?”
She considered the passion in his eyes. Could she do that? Go back for a long period? She felt a tearing in her souls. “You ask: Would it bother me? A little. It is not pleasant, but not unbearable. The worst part is the loneliness. I miss friends. Family.”
“You can come here. Meet me. At this place. Every time the moon is full. Sometimes I will bring your mother, or your brother. Any of your friends.” He smiled. “Just as long as they don’t learn what we are really about.”
“In the end I am still going to kill them.”
He nodded. “Yes, but I think we need to reconsider given what you’ve told me. What good would it do to simply kill Wing Heart and Salamander? No one would notice that they were gone.” He steepled his fingers, thinking. “Which clan is dominant?”
“No one is sure. Thunder Tail, of the Eagle Clan, has been voted leader of the Council. Snapping Turtle is gaining in prestige. Alligator Clan is fighting them.” She smiled. “When Salamander delayed
Saw Back’s warriors and allowed you to escape, it infuriated Speaker Deep Hunter.”
“He did that?”
“Most cleverly, Uncle. If for no other reason, we owe him for that.”
“You are growing fond of him?”
“No, Uncle. I remember your warning. I constantly guard against forming any attachment to these strangers. I need only remember Bowfin, remember them butchering my friends, and my heart hardens.”
“Good.” He frowned, staring down at the soil. “In that case Salamander’s action on my part has earned him a quick death, out of respect.”
She took a deep breath. “I do not wish to, Uncle, but I will go back. I will wiggle my way into their confidence and learn what I can about them.”
“Trust me, Niece,”—he smiled grimly—“it will make them that much easier to destroy.”
F
rom the heights atop the canoe landing, Salamander watched Green Crane’s slim canoe as it paddled northward across the calm waters of Morning Lake. The wake, in the form of shallow Vs, trailed behind the long dugout; the surface looked pocked where their paddles had swirled the water. He gave one final wave as the two Wash’ta Traders looked back. Each waved in turn.
“It is good,” he told himself. “Masked Owl, see to their safe return.”
“
If you ever need anything
,” Green Crane had said as he took Salamander’s arm in a firm grip, “
send for the stone owl. I will come
.”
“Make her a good husband,” he had answered, before giving both Green Crane and Always Fat sturdy hugs.
Now he watched as they nosed their craft into the narrow channel that led north along the floodplain.
“So,” Pine Drop’s familiar voice said from behind him. “They are off.”
Salamander nodded. “Indeed they are. I wish them safety and a speedy journey.”
“I sincerely hope they don’t get lost again.” She stepped up beside him, tangles of her black hair curling around her shoulders as the breeze played with it. Her thoughtful brown eyes followed the Traders’ canoe as it disappeared behind the willows.
“I think I explained the channels correctly.”
She glanced at him, a question in her eyes. “Was it worth it? You
almost stripped your clan for the meat and hides you received in return.”
“Oh, yes, it was worth it.” In his imagination he watched the canoe winding its way northward. “I have heard the talk. Others are saying that I make as poor a Trader as I do a Speaker.”
“Do you, Salamander?”
“Would you believe me if I said there was more to this than the textiles, beads, carvings, medicine plants, and dyes?”
For a moment she hesitated, then said, “I think I would, Salamander.” Her attention turned to his face as she said, “I think there is more to you than most people think.” Her gaze went to the canoe landing. “Anhinga has still not returned?”
“No. It is but five days.”
To his surprise, Pine Drop reached out and linked her arm in his. “Do you think she’s coming back, Salamander?”
“Oh, yes. She doesn’t want to, but she will. She can’t stay away.”
Pine Drop shook her head. “I don’t like it. I mean the idea that she just goes out into the swamp for her moon. Anything could be happening out there.”
He gave her a sidelong inspection. “Are you worried about her?”
“No, husband. I’m worried about you. Deep Hunter and some of the others might not be the only ones who are bitter about the past. I think you can wager that Jaguar Hide isn’t acting in your best interests.”
How much did he dare tell her? “No, he has his own plans.”
“And Anhinga? There is talk. Eats Wood swears she is the same woman your brother captured in the Ground Cherry Camp raid.”
“She is.”
“What?” Pine Drop cried, using his arm to turn him so that she could stare into his eyes. Did all the women in his life have to be taller than he?
“We are bound, she and I. It is a thing I cannot explain. Something that no one but I can understand.”
“You and Masked Owl!”
He started, instantly regretting it as she read his expression.
Her voice dropped. “Is he real, Salamander? Does Masked Owl really come to you?”
He swallowed hard, knowing it made him look nervous, unable to help it. He bargained for time. “What do you think?”
She shook her head, a fragility in her eyes. “I don’t know. I just don’t know. Tell me, please. Tell me that it’s just an act, a thing you do to keep your enemies off-balance.”
That brought a wistful smile to his lips. “Pine Drop, why is it
easier to believe that I’m making this up than it is to know that I converse with Masked Owl?”
She sank white teeth into her lower lip, searching his eyes, then said, “Spirit Power scares me, husband. I don’t know what it wants from you, or from me. I just have a feeling, is all. And you, you’re vulnerable, Salamander. You have a great number of enemies. Don’t you understand, they are waiting to destroy you.”
He reached out, running the backs of his fingers along her smooth cheek. “All but you and Water Petal. What has happened to you, Pine Drop? What do you see in me that the others don’t?”
Her expression pinched. “I don’t want you hurt. It is important that you understand that. I don’t know what I can do to protect you. I have my duties to my clan, and I will attend to them, no matter what.”
“I am forewarned, and I thank you for that. I wouldn’t expect you to act against the wishes of your clan. Whatever you must do, I will understand. You must not worry about me. I will take care of myself.”
She sighed wearily, shaking her head. “That doesn’t make it any easier.”
“It should.” He turned his eyes back to the northern end of the lake, where the Traders had disappeared. “When the time comes, Wife, we must follow our hearts. Remember that I said that. Things are happening. Power is gathering.”
She tightened her grip on his arm. “Come home with me, husband. The Snakes know where Night Rain is off to, but maybe she’ll stay gone for the night. I would like to have you to myself for a time. Just you and me together for as long as we can keep the world away.”
He let her lead him south past the Men’s House, hardly aware of the grim stares that Eats Wood and Red Finger gave him as he passed. He held his wife’s hand, and wished he were someone else, someone that Power and circumstance hadn’t called upon. Later, in Pine Drop’s arms, he forgot even that.
T
he canoe bearing Yellow Spider and Bluefin arrived in late morning. Mud Stalker matched his stride with Deep Hunter’s as they descended the trodden soil of the canoe landing. Squinting into the hot sunlight, he could see a small crowd already gathering. People were slapping Yellow Spider on the back, asking questions.
“Did you have trouble?”
“None,” Bluefin replied, a grin breaking his normally placid face.
“Did you see any Swamp Panthers?”
“A canoe with two men,” Yellow Spider replied. “We called out that we came for sandstone under Jaguar Hide’s peace. They said nothing, just nodded, but they watched us the entire time. Seeing what we did, and that we did nothing more than collect sandstone.”
One of the Eagle Clan men spoke. “I would be obliged for a piece of that. In fact, that piece right there on top. I’m sanding beads for a necklace.”
“We are pleased to present it to you,” Yellow Spider remarked with a smile as he handed over the thick piece of sandstone.
“What is this?” Clay Fat asked as he strode up to stand beside Mud Stalker and Deep Hunter.
“The first canoe load of Swamp Panther sandstone,” Deep Hunter answered.
“Then it is true?” Clay Fat asked, one eyebrow raised.
“So it would seem.” Mud Stalker cradled his ruined arm.
“What does it mean?” Clay Fat asked.
“Nothing!” Deep Hunter’s lip curled. “An occasional canoeful of sandstone isn’t going to bring Owl Clan back to prominence.”
“But we must keep an eye on them,” Mud Stalker mused.
“Why?” Clay Fat asked. “Wing Heart is crazy. That boy sure isn’t any Speaker.”
“Indeed he is not,” Deep Hunter agreed. He glanced up, meeting Mud Stalker’s eyes and nodding. “We must watch this Trade with the Swamp Panthers. If it becomes too popular, we must take steps to stop it.”
Mud Stalker fingered the scars on his right elbow. “You and I may not agree about many things, Speaker, but we do about this.”
Clay Fat looked uneasy. “It is Owl Clan’s business.”
“Not if we make it ours, old friend.” Mud Stalker replied. “I still haven’t forgotten your obligation to my clan, Clay Fat. We prepared quite a feast. Copperhead turned down several
very profitable
offers in order to save himself for Spring Cypress.” He paused, letting Clay Fat squirm.
“All it would take would be a raid. A party of warriors sent into the Swamp Panthers’ lands. This Trade would end as quickly as it began.”
Clay Fat swallowed hard. “You would have to have Council approval. This is Owl Clan’s business. You cannot do this alone.”
Mud Stalker considered the situation. Deep Hunter would act immediately given the slightest encouragement. But would that necessarily
be good for Snapping Turtle Clan’s position among the people?
“I must agree, reluctantly, with Clay Fat.” Mud Stalker watched Deep Hunter’s expression harden and smiled to himself. “However,” he soothed, “if this sandstone becomes too irksome, Deep Hunter, I might be prevailed upon to support you.”
“Indeed?” Deep Hunter muttered, sensing a trap.
“All things in time, my old friend.” With that Mud Stalker turned on his heel and strode off.
T
he fire popped and cracked, curls of thin white smoke rising from the dry wood. Pine Drop had built the rick in a hollow square, placing the cooking clays in the middle, where they would absorb the heat. The arrangement had to be made correctly so that the specially formed cooking clays heated to a white-hot glow in the center of the fire.
Normally water lotus was gathered for the great solstice feast, but the harvest had been so good this turning of the seasons that she had extra. It wouldn’t keep in the midsummer heat, so she had mashed the remaining roots in the mortar to form a sweet paste. One by one she had formed the cone-shaped cooking clays, indenting the convex side to resemble the lotus’s seedpods.
During the process, she sang the Harvest Song that recounted the origins of the lotus. In the beginning Mother Sun and Father Moon had both shared the Sky with equal duration and brightness. There was no night, no summer or winter, for when one dropped behind the horizon, the other waited until the first reemerged.
And then one day Father Moon glanced down and saw a beautiful woman bathing in a pond. She was the daughter of a great Clan Elder. His light shone in her long black hair and on her soft bronzed skin. He had never seen such a beauty before, and resolved to have her.
That night, when Mother Sun slipped behind the western edge of the world, Father Moon eased down from the Sky. He took the
form of a young man and found the pretty young woman. She had never seen such a handsome man before, and lay with him.
Meanwhile, the night Sky had gone dark. The animals that normally were awake, bats, raccoons, flying squirrels, and crickets were all running around, bumping into things, saying, “Where is Father Moon? What is happening?”
But Father Moon was busy locking hips with the pretty young woman. He was so involved that he forgot the time. Thus it was that Mother Sun peeked over the eastern horizon to find the world in darkness, and the animals of the night running around in panic.
“Where is Father Moon?” she asked, concerned that some terrible thing might have happened to her mate.
“He is lying with a beautiful woman,” opossum said. “He has left us in darkness so that he can lock hips with her.”
Mother Sun sent her rays over the earth, and sure enough, there was Father Moon, lying with the pretty young woman. Rage burned in Mother Sun’s heart, and in anger she fled to the south. She kept going and going, going so far that the world was plunged into darkness.
Horrified, Father Moon rose into the Sky, calling for Mother Sun to come back to him. But she refused, heading ever southward.
Father Moon chased after her, following her south across the Sky. As his light waned, Winter came roaring down from the north, cloaking the land in snow and ice. Plants died, turned different colors, and lost their leaves. Animals burrowed into the ground, desperate to save themselves from the freezing weather and the endless darkness. Birds, desperate for Mother Sun, flew south, many disappearing out in the gulf; where they ended up, no one knows.
In the end, it was Bird Man who, seeing his world dying, flew south after the birds. There he found Mother Sun sulking at the edge of the sea, where it joined the Sky. He told her of the cold, of the dying trees, and how the animals had burrowed into the earth. He told how Father Moon was so lonely that he had hidden his face in sorrow.
“If you do not come back, the world is going to die!”
Mother Sun listened, and realized that no matter how mad she was at Father Moon, she couldn’t let the rest of the world die. So it was she came back to the Sky, and the plants came alive, and people and animals were warm again. Seeing how grateful the creatures were, she shot beams of light onto the water, and a beautiful flower grew there. To this day the yellow lotus grows, its flower reflecting the face of Mother Sun. It is her promise to the world that she will always return to light the Sky.
Mother Sun never forgave Father Moon. That is why she forever moves across the Sky, always avoiding him. Father Moon still hides his face in shame and never glows as brightly as he did before the night he betrayed his mate.
Among the animals, bear, raccoon, the bats, the bees, and so many other creatures still hibernate when Mother Sun goes south with each cycle. In return, Mother Sun marks her return to the high summer Sky with the blooming of the yellow lotus. When the people harvest it for the solstice ceremony, its roots are sweet, and its flower resembles the face of Mother Sun so that people never forget her gift of life to them.
As she Sang the song, Pine Drop took damp lotus leaves from a stone bowl and wrapped balls of dough in the leaves. These she laid to one side on palmetto matting.
Her heating fire had burned down to coals, the central cluster of lotus-shaped cooking clays having taken on a white glow. She used a stick to scrape half of them onto a thin wooden platter and gingerly lowered them into the earth oven. As she poured them, she had to jerk her hand back from the searing heat.
“Hey, Cousin!”
She glanced up, seeing Eats Wood as he strode down the ridge. Sunlight shone on his muscular chest. His lightly greased skin reflected the light; his tattoos stood out as dark blue designs on his brown skin. Several necklaces of stone and bone beads hung around his neck, and he wore a green-dyed breechcloth. A mocking smile curled his round face, and his hair had been parted down the middle and cut short to bob just above his shoulders.
“Greetings, Cousin.” She shot him a polite smile and bent down to lay the first of her wrapped lotus-root breads onto the cooking clays.
To her irritation, Eats Wood knelt beside her, asking, “Can I help?”
“No. Just a moment.” She artfully laid the rest of the wraps onto the cooking clays. She couldn’t help but wonder what he wanted as she scraped the last of the cooking clays from the fire and shook them from the smoldering plate into the earth oven. She had never liked Eats Wood. He let his penis dominate any good sense he might have had. The parallels between Father Moon and Cousin Eats Wood couldn’t have been more clear. When she had placed the bark lid on the earth oven to seal in the steaming heat, she looked up.
“I just came to see how you were doing,” Eats Wood began. He gestured around at the ramada, then at her house. “Do you need anything? Can I bring you anything? Firewood? Some palmetto for
that place where the wind shredded your ramada roof?”
She picked little bits of dough from her slim brown fingers. “I appreciate your offer, but I suspect that you didn’t come here because you were worried about my firewood supply.”
He settled back on his butt, rubbed his sun-browned shin, and looked around at the near houses. His expression had a slightly pained look as if he were trying to find the right words.
“Is it about your mother?” she asked. Eats Wood still lived at home. He had been notoriously hard to marry off. Despite the size of Sun Town, Eats Wood’s reputation preceded him. Few in the other clans considered him a likely candidate for marriage—even though Snapping Turtle Clan’s influence had grown like a north wind at winter solstice.
“She is fine, but thank you for asking.” He pressed his lips together, studying her with narrowed brown eyes. “It is said that you will very likely become our Clan Elder someday.”
“That day—if it comes, Eats Wood—is a long way off.”
“It is said that you had a chance to divorce Speaker Salamander.”
“Any woman has a chance to divorce, Cousin. That’s a little fact that I hope you keep in your head when and if you do marry.” She arched a challenging eyebrow.
He grinned sheepishly. “Yes, I know.” Then he sobered. “Why do you stay with him?”
“I have my reasons, Cousin. Among them, because of who he is.”
“He is a Speaker in name only. You could have—”
“I wasn’t referring to his title.”
“Most people think he is a fool, Cousin.”
She considered him frankly and lowered her voice. “They are wrong, Eats Wood. I may be speaking to emptiness, but I want you to listen to me. Do not underestimate Salamander. I tell you that as a kinsman.”
His round brown eyes didn’t register any comprehension. “He’s got that Swamp Panther woman for a wife. You could have anyone else you wanted.”
“He has his reasons for marrying her.”
“She was here before. She is the one his brother caught down at Ground Cherry Camp.”
“So?”
“Cousin, look what we did to her and her friends!” He leaned close. “You are part of his household, don’t you hear things about her? About what she’s after here?”
“You mean, does my husband trust her?”
“Yes.”
“Not completely.”
“She goes away every moon.”
“Of course she does. Think it through, Eats Wood. Would you want her here during her moon? Hmm? Bleeding where any man, yourself included, might step in it? No, I suspect you would have her gone, far away, where her woman’s blood won’t make you ill.”
“What’s wrong with the Women’s House? She can go there for her moon with all the rest.”
“Put yourself in her place. Would you want to be shut up in the men’s Society House in the middle of the Panther’s Bones? Would you want to be surrounded by their suspicious warriors for days? Would you want to hear them snicker at your expense?”
He stared suspiciously at her. “I’ll bet she meets with her Swamp Panther kin, what will you bet?”
“She has no friends here. If I were in her position, I would want to see kin, too.”
He seemed perplexed. “You don’t seem at all worried.”
“I will worry when I have reason to.” She gave him a sidelong look. “But why are you so interested in her?”
He spread his hands, trying to look casual.
“Uh-huh,” she answered. “One of these days, Cousin, you are going to be like Father Moon. Some woman will possess your thoughts and lead you into a mess you can’t find your way out of.”
“She’s dangerous,” he muttered uncomfortably. “You just watch, Cousin. She’s going to get you into trouble before she’s done here.”
W
ind howled in the thatch, poking cold fingers through the gap where the roof overhung the walls. It made a soft whistle as it blew around the house. Gusts shook the structure, cracking the wattle and daub. This wasn’t a night to be out.
Salamander lay awake under the snug buffalo robe and stared up at the darkness. Anhinga cuddled next to him, her warm rump pressed against the angle of his hip and thigh. Cold air played patterns across his face, tickling loose strands of Anhinga’s hair against his cheeks.
Turning his head, he could hear the soft rattle as leaves blew past. From the flapping sounds, the palmetto matting that roofed his mother’s ramada was shredding and would have to be replaced.
His house shivered under a particularly hard blast. In his bones he could feel the storm’s strength as it blew down from the north.
He blinked, wishing he could sleep with Anhinga’s soundness. Instead, images flashed through his mind. Bits of the Dream that had awakened him replayed over and over. He had been flying, sailing across the sky on Owl wings. A black shadow had blotted the sun, and talons had ripped painfully through his back. In that instant he was falling, the ground spiraling as though rising to meet him.
Breath had frozen in his lungs, his throat locked. His stomach had lurched, weightless, falling, plummeting like a carved piece of hematite. The air rushing past had become the roar of the winter wind outside his house before he plunged headfirst into Sun Town’s earthen plaza. At the last instant he had jerked awake.
“What?” Anhinga had murmured, shifting on their narrow bed.
“Nothing. A Dream. Sleep.” He had patted her shoulder as she slipped her arm from across his chest and rolled onto her side facing the wall.
But he had lain there, awake, his heart pounding, the terrible image of falling still tingling in his blood, muscles, and bone. The sight of that green ground had been so real! The spreading arches of the clan grounds, the buildings casting shadows, couldn’t have been imagined. Even the pathways, beaten into the grass by countless bare feet, could be seen spreading out like veins.
BOOK: People of the Owl: A Novel of Prehistoric North America (North America's Forgotten Past)
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