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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) (66 page)

BOOK: People of the Owl: A Novel of Prehistoric North America (North America's Forgotten Past)
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“Water hemlock,” Salamander supplied with a numbness in his souls.
“Hemlock? The poison?” Moccasin Leaf cried, then burst into peals of laughter. “I see, you made a joke, Salamander. A grand joke indeed.”
“Yes. A joke worthy of Masked Owl himself,” he answered, and used his fingers to dip into the rich mixture of roots Anhinga had baked. Before the first debilitating cramps, he would make sure that he took an ample serving out to share with Saw Back and Water Stinger.
A
hard day’s paddle to the south, Anhinga bent over a handful of flickering fire that guttered in the ceramic pot she carried. Moths continued fluttering out of the darkness to circle her fire until the heat and flames engulfed them.
“He will be coming to us, little one,” she told the infant at her breast.
Anhinga smiled at the thought. “You should know, Daughter, that Salamander is the most cunning of all men. He will come to
us. You will see. His enemies will not defeat him in the end.”
She turned her head, looking back in the direction of Sun Town, imagining the countless fires, the masses of people preparing for the celebration.
And there, among them, Deep Hunter and Mud Stalker would be feasting. Bowfin, Mist Finger, and the rest would finally allow her to Dream in peace.
Anhinga ran a finger along her daughter’s cheek, an empty sadness deep in her breast. The elation she had expected didn’t rise to bubble and froth between her souls. She had struck the Sun People, obtained her revenge. It left her hollow.
“As the endless seasons pass, little one, it shall be my secret.” Anhinga looked out at the black night. “If they accuse me, I shall deny it. It is the price I shall pay for success.”
She did not see the looming shadow of the great barred owl who sat in the tree above her, watching, guarding, and mourning.
P
ine Drop was having one of those aggravating days. They happened sometimes. A full turning of the seasons had passed since she had set fire to both her mother’s and uncle’s houses. A full cycle since Mother Sun had fled south and come back north—since the day she had watched fire consume Salamander’s house and bones. That day after solstice had been marked by so many funereal fires. Bobcat, responsible for the ceremonies, as well as the preparation of the dead, had been sorely pressed to manage it all.
Had it been that long since she had held Salamander? Felt the hammering of his heart against hers? The hollow wound in her souls felt as painful as if it had been yesterday. But life went on.
As on this troublesome day.
That morning she had caught Tadpole splashing her hands in the large hide bag where the acorns were leaching. Pine Drop had looked just in time to make a desperate dash and pull the child back as she bent down to drink a mouthful of the poison-laden water.
Little Mud Puppy, three moons old now, had been squalling from his cradleboard like a wounded bobcat every time she turned around. Feed him as she might, the tiny infant burped, went to sleep for a couple of fingers’ time and woke up squalling again.
Water Petal had been by to see if anyone had seen Wing Heart. The old woman had taken to rambling aimlessly around Sun Town. Where once she only talked to Cloud Heron and White Bird, now she was heard muttering to Salamander, too. That latter was particularly
upsetting for both Pine Drop and Night Rain.
That morning a canoe load of Swamp Panthers had arrived from the Panther’s Bones. Anhinga and Striped Dart had sent requests for certain fabrics in Trade for the once-a-moon shipment of sandstone. It might have originally been Owl Clan’s Trade, but Anhinga preferred to deal with Pine Drop because of their former relationship. And, fulfilling what had become a ritual between them, Anhinga had sent Night Rain another bundle of firewood as a gift. When the canoe left, it carried a stone-headed ax from Night Rain in return.
Pine Drop had been interrupted no less than five and ten times that morning to settle petty little squabbles between the lineages, and one major one that involved Frog Clan.
“Pine Drop?” Night Rain’s urgent voice called from outside.
“What now?” she cried, exasperated.
“Come quick!” Night Rain stuck her face in the doorway. “Canoes! Tens of tens!”
“Whose?” Pine Drop asked, a hand to her aching back as she straightened. Wisps of loose hair tickled her face.
“Barbarians! Traders! With bulging canoes! They have entered Morning Lake and headed for the Turtle’s Back before even announcing themselves!”
“Where is our husband?”
Night Rain gave a faint shrug. “Headed for the canoe landing, no doubt. You’ll find him there—along with everyone else in Sun Town. I just asked Little Egret to keep track of my son. She will probably watch your children, too.” And then she was gone.
Pine Drop ducked out into the mottled sunshine created by a cloud-dotted sky. Little Egret sat next to a cradleboard under the ramada; Night Rain’s baby boy gurgled and cooed from its restraint. “Cousin, could you watch my children? I must see to the Traders.”
“Yes, Clan Elder,” the girl replied.
Pine Drop fought the urge to run—that being inconsistent with her status. She joined the flow of excited people, fending off questions, as they passed the ridges, rounded the Men’s House, and walked down to the canoe landing.
Recognizing her, people touched their foreheads and stepped back, allowing her to pick her way through the beached canoes to the waterfront. Council Leader Clay Fat had beaten her there, and was staring out from under the flat of his hand.
“Who are they?” Pine Drop asked—and fought to keep her jaw from dropping. So
many
canoes! It took her three tries to count them all. Three tens and four! All filled with oddly dressed strangers
who wore their hair in buns. Sun Town had never seen such a thing.
“What is this?” Yellow Spider asked, elbowing his way to her side.
“Traders? Barbarians.”
“Does anyone recognize them?” Water Petal asked as she pushed next to Yellow Spider.
“I do,” Yellow Spider said warmly. “I see old friends out there. Come, let’s take a canoe and greet them.”
“Take a canoe out to the Turtle’s Back?” Water Petal shot him a worried look.
“The water’s too deep to wade. But you could swim out if you were determined not to take a canoe.” Yellow Spider turned, searching the faces around them. “Little Needle! Go and find the Serpent, we have a cleansing to attend to.” He smiled at Pine Drop. “Help me push this canoe out.”
She looked at him askance as Night Rain slipped through the pack to join them.
The fact that they took Sour Mouth’s canoe—because it was the closest—gave Pine Drop a feeling of satisfaction. The man had a bobwhite’s brains when it came to sense.
I am not prepared for this. I look like I’ve been processing food all day long.
“Quick,” she asked, “do I have smears all over my face?”
“You’re beautiful,” Yellow Spider called from behind her.”
“Don’t give her airs,” Night Rain shot back. “She’s hard enough to deal with as it is.”
Nevertheless, Pine Drop took a moment to reach over the side and scoop up a handful of water to sponge her face with. She smoothed her hair and wished she’d taken the time to grab a cloak.
Yellow Spider’s sure strokes guided their canoe across the intervening water and onto the bank just down from the rows of Trade canoes on the beach. Pine Drop stepped out, helping to drag their craft ashore. Then she took her place at Yellow Spider’s side as they walked toward the gathered strangers. A smaller group stood off to one side, dressed differently; a tall young woman spoke to two men in low tones.
A big fellow stepped out from the big group. Muscles packed his sweat-gleaming skin. In guttural pidgin, he called, “Yellow Spider! By the Wolf, it’s good to see you again!”
“Hazel Fire! My kinsman!” Yellow Spider burst out, and charged forward, clapping the man in a violent embrace.
“Wolf People! Yes! That
is
Hazel Fire!” Water Petal cried before hurrying forward. “And there is Gray Fox, and I’d know Two Wolves anywhere.”
Pine Drop waited her turn and, Night Rain at her side, was introduced
to a great many young men with odd-sounding names.
“And these people,” Hazel Fire added, pointing, “met us on the river. They, too, were coming to bring Trade.”
Pine Drop turned her attention to the party at one side. Indeed, they were dressed differently, wearing carefully tailored hide tunics designed with quillwork. Pine Drop stepped forward, calling, “Welcome to Sun Town.”
“It’s good to be home,” the young woman replied. Tall, attractive, she stood beside a muscular man and surveyed the crowd onshore. Her gaze had centered on Clay Fat, a frown lining her forehead. “My husband and I have come to Trade with Speaker Salamander, of the Owl Clan. Is he here?”
“You don’t speak like a barbarian,” Pine Drop observed. Why was she so familiar?
The attractive woman turned her gaze back from Clay Fat, her eyes measuring. “I would hope not, Pine Drop.”
“Spring Cypress?” It took her a moment to place the face.
“The same, but I am of the Wash’ta now. You may have met my husband, Green Crane.” She pointed behind her, “And back there is Always Fat, returned for more Trade.”
“You are married to Green Crane?”
“She is, and with great status, thanks to Salamander,” Green Crane told her in Trade pidgin. “We have canoes full of Trade to give to Salamander.”
“As do we,” Hazel Fire called. “I swear, we have stripped our country for you. Stone, furs, medicines, copper, dried meats, exotics from the far north, stone hoe blades, points, siltstone, you name it! It is all Salamander’s.”
“Salamander’s?” Night Rain asked, hiding a stricken expression. “Why?”
Hazel Fire extended his hand. A small carved stone owl was pinched between his thumb and forefinger. “When we left here, two summers ago, he saw into the future and gave us a warning. We heeded his words. And used our warriors”—Hazel Fire made a slashing motion—“to open the river. Our Trade will flow freely now.”
Yellow Spider shot Pine Drop a quick look, and said, “My cousin, Salamander, is dead. An accident at last summer’s solstice ceremonies. Water hemlock, we think. Someone wasn’t careful when they were harvesting lotus root. I am Speaker for Owl Clan now. Water Petal is Clan Elder. In Salamander’s name, we bid you welcome.”
Hazel Fire seemed stunned. Spring Cypress and Green Crane,
too, might have just been slapped, given their expressions. Spring Cypress looked down at her palm. Pine Drop could see the small red stone owl resting there.
She stepped forward, souls whirling as she reached up to touch the little stone owl that hung from her necklace. “I am Clan Elder Pine Drop, of Snapping Turtle Clan. In Salamander’s name, we bid you welcome. Before my sister and I married Speaker Yellow Spider, Salamander was our husband.” A pause. “
My
husband.”
“How?” Hazel Fire demanded. “Power filled him! He spoke with the animals! How can someone who can see the future be killed by such a simple thing?”
“Because of the little stone owl you bear, you will hear what I have never told to a living soul. He died to save the People.” She had their attention now. “That night I was sick, my souls floating outside of my body. The Serpent had come, listened to my heart, looked into my eyes, and felt how cold my skin had become. He told people that I was dying. My souls saw a great many things that night. I spoke with Many Colored Crow and Masked Owl. They told me what Salamander had done and why.”
Hazel Fire shifted, shooting a nervous glance at Yellow Spider, then back at her.
“I flew that night,” she told them. “Across from me in the sky, I could see Night Rain, sailing through the air on owl wings. Then out of the clouds, I heard Salamander’s voice say, ‘It is all right, my wives. I have fixed everything. I am going now.’ At the sound of his voice, I knew he was dead. The last thing I heard was the echo of First Woman’s voice, calling him to her cave.”
She smiled, feeling the tendrils of Salamander’s Dream spinning through time to this place. “I felt his touch that night, as did Night Rain. And in that instant I understood. From that moment on, I spoke with Salamander’s voice. So, hear him, when I bid you welcome to Sun Town, the center of the world. You are part of his Dream, and we are obliged by your presence.”
BOOK: People of the Owl: A Novel of Prehistoric North America (North America's Forgotten Past)
8.24Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
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