People of the Owl: A Novel of Prehistoric North America (North America's Forgotten Past) (31 page)

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

BOOK: People of the Owl: A Novel of Prehistoric North America (North America's Forgotten Past)
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W
ho is this man?
Pine Drop turned her head, cheek resting on the flattened wood of the canoe bow. From that angle she could surreptitiously watch Salamander’s face while at the same time keeping the blue heron in her sight.
A midday sun beat down, the air muggy and filled with insects who rose, fell, and circled on gleaming wings. Birdsong filled the backswamp forest, and the rich odor of wet earth, water, and plant life penetrated her nostrils.
Their canoe rested in a marshy shallow, partially lodged in a stand of swamp grass that obscured their outline. Herons were keen-eyed birds, among the most difficult to sneak up on. Nevertheless, by patience and stealth, Salamander had eased their canoe within a stone’s easy pitch of the tall bird. Through the stems she could see it as it hunted the lily pad-filled shallows. The graceful heron took one sure step, then, several heartbeats later, another. Between each step, the heron stopped, serene, its head slightly cocked, an alert eye on the dark water.
“He is so precise,” Salamander whispered. “No movement wasted.”
This is a day of revelations.
She considered both the heron and her husband anew. She had known herons ever since she was a child. Her people hunted them: their meat was prized; the bones were used for awls and flutes; and the feathers served as personal adornment at ceremonials and special occasions. Through all those years,
she had never observed a living bird up close—let alone for any length of time. She had never peeked into another creature’s life, never even considered that it might have a personality and unique characteristics.
The same way her husband, Salamander, did. Who
was
he?
What
was he? That morning in her presence, Salamander had transformed himself from a fool to a mystery. Clearly uncomfortable with her presence, he had been aloof, hesitant, and protective. After the miracle of the morning sunrise, they had walked down, loaded his canoe with fish traps, and paddled out into the channels to bait and set the traps. In the process, Salamander had stopped them under a low-hanging cypress to watch as one of the large yellow-and-black spiders spun a beautiful web between the branches.
At first she had chafed at the inactivity, baffled by the rapt expression on his face. It had finally occurred to her that for the first time, his guard was down. She was seeing him as he really was. The wonder she saw reflected in his face was the image of his true souls shining through. Then, in an effort to understand his fascination, she had really paid attention to what the spider was doing.
Strand by strand the spider enlarged the spiral of its web. Each action was like a carefully practiced Dance. The gossamer threads were spun and carefully set in place by a graceful manipulation of the legs.
“I’ve never realized how perfect their webs are,” she had remarked. “Isn’t that curious? In all of my life, I’ve never watched one being built.”
“People are too busy,” Salamander had remarked offhandedly. “We are in such a hurry to feed our bellies that we forget our souls.”
“So tell me, what does a soul need for food?” she had asked somewhat sharply.
She had never seen his eyes like that. They looked ancient, knowing, like tunnels to the infinite. He said, “Beauty, peace, and tranquillity.”
For a moment she mulled his words. “What about authority, prestige, and security?”
“Tell me something, Pine Drop. Are you happy with your life? Don’t just answer for the sake of answering. Think about it. When you close your eyes at night do you take a deep sigh and say to yourself, ‘Feel the joy in my souls. Thank the Sky Beings that I have had such a good day.’ Then, do you look back over the wondrous things you saw and experienced that day?” He smiled shyly. “Tell me the truth.”
She had searched his eyes, then lied. “Yes, I do.”
A knowing smile had been his only answer before he turned back to watching the spider.
His question had unsettled her, as had his serene presence as they finished laying out fish traps. He had seen the heron, and drifted them silently into the marshy flats where they now watched the bird through a screen of grass. Pine Drop had taken the time to study him with the same scrutiny she applied to the wondrous heron.
“How do you answer that question, Salamander?” she whispered softly. “Do you go to sleep happy every night?”
He shrugged slightly where he lay beside her in the canoe. “Depends on the day. On a day like this, I will. If I have to spend the day involved in clan dealings, I won’t.”
“You’re a Speaker. You have to deal with those things.”
“Responsibility can kill the souls,” he whispered.
“It can also fulfill them. It is what you make of it.”
“The difference is where you find responsibility. Is it responsibility to yourself, to your lineage, your clan, or your people? That’s the soul killer. Responsibility to self, however, fulfills.”
“So, what are you doing today?”
“I am feeding my souls.”
“And when people are looking up to you as Speaker?”
“My souls are dying.” A pause and a gesture. “Watch.”
The heron took a half step and froze. Balanced on one foot, it shot its head forward, the long yellow beak flashing into the water. It lifted its head in a sinuous motion, flipping the silver fish in the air and swallowing it. Only then did it gracefully insert its raised foot into the water.
“Isn’t that remarkable?” Salamander’s voice was reverent. “A person couldn’t do that, not with that kind of balance. Did you see how the heron just seemed to flow. At the Creation, Heron must have done something wonderful.”
“Why do you say that?”
“Because the Creator gifted Heron with so much grace and beauty.”
“People generally don’t think of herons that way.”
“People usually don’t receive the kind of gifts that you and I have just received.”
“You think this is a gift, being able to spy on a heron this way?”
“Of course.”
“Why?”
“Because my souls have been fed. How about yours? What will you tell yourself tonight when you lie down to go to sleep? Will you look back on today and smile as you remember the sunrise? What
about the way the spider’s legs moved so precisely to place each strand of web? Or the way the heron moved?”
She evaded giving an answer. “Does it bother you that people think you’re a fool?”
“No one wants to be thought of as a fool. They just don’t understand, that’s all.”
“Why don’t you do something about it?”
“What? Change myself. Try to be White Bird? I can’t be like him. He was who he was. I have to be who I am. Not only that, it’s not worth it. I won’t give up Power just so that people will like me.”
“What do you mean, give up Power?”
She could see the reservation return, and he said nothing, eyes on the heron, who had stepped farther away.
“Is that why you spend so much time with the Serpent? He’s teaching you the ways of Power?”
Salamander shrugged. She could sense that she was losing him again, so, after a pause, she said, “You are right. About souls, I mean, and what they need for food. When I go to sleep at night, I don’t feel very good about myself.” She felt nervous as she added, “I am usually too exhausted to think about anything but who did what to whom. I repeat conversations from earlier in the day and worry about what I should have said. Sometimes I repeat them over and over, as if I’m practicing conversations that are forever gone. That or I worry about all of the things I didn’t get done or have to do the next day.” She made a face. “So, no, by your standards I guess I don’t go to bed happy.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.”
“Why should you be concerned about what I feel?”
“Because, like me, you are trapped. You didn’t want this any more than I did.”
“Would you change it?”
He turned then, a warmth in his eyes that made her heart skip. “Oh, indeed I would.”
“But you are Speaker for your clan? You are Owl Clan’s leader! People look up to you. You are one of the most important men in the world. There are only six Speakers, and you are one of them. Do you expect me to believe that you would give that up?”
“In a heartbeat.”
“To do what?”
As he considered, she watched his gentle eyes, seeing the complexity, the turmoil behind them. Something about him sent a shiver through her, as if for the first time she could see the depth and breadth of his souls. No man had ever looked at her with such infinite
patience and understanding. Snakes, he was three summers younger than she was, but that look sent a tingle through her souls. Did Power really possess him?
“I would ease other people’s souls,” he finally answered. “I want to learn all the hidden things. I want to know how a firefly glows without getting hot. How snakes move without feet. Why ants can carry things that are bigger than they are.”
“And why bears don’t have tails?”
“Yes!”
She laughed for the first time. “And how mushrooms can grow without roots?”
Frightened by their rising voices, the heron leaped into the air, flapping away on liquid wings.
“Mushrooms don’t have roots? That’s one I have never thought of,” Salamander remarked thoughtfully.
“Hanging moss doesn’t have roots either,” she told him, smiling. “Why not? It’s a plant, too.”
“See! There are so many things. Everywhere you look there is a mystery hidden, and it’s so wonderful. Why is it that some people never seem to grasp the wonder?” His expression saddened.
“What?”
“Mother never understood.”
After an awkward pause, she said, “I think you have had a lot of nights when you didn’t go to bed happy either, Salamander.”
That shy smile slipped past his lips. “Perhaps not. But I have learned to live with it. I cherish the memories. Like today, just now, watching the heron. Talking with you like this. After a day of dealing with Mother, I take them out, share them.”
“Share them? With whom?”
He just smiled wistfully.
“Do you hate her?”
“Who, Mother? No. I know who she is, who she had to be for the clan and the People. I understand what it meant to her. I don’t think she can stand the pain anymore.”
“Is she all right?”
“No. I’m worried about her.”
“People are talking.”
He nodded, obviously unwilling to discuss it.
Did she dare? Was this the right moment?
“What does Jaguar Hide want from Owl Clan?”
She saw the change in his eyes, felt the coolness as he straightened and picked up the paddle. “We’d better be getting back.”
“Are you going to meet with him?”
“The Clan Elder will give him safe passage.”
“For what? Why would he—”
“I have to be getting back. I’m sure that you have clan business to attend to.”
At his abrupt tone, she nodded, sat up, and reached for her paddle. As they pushed the canoe out of the shallows, it was as though something delicate and precious had suddenly turned cold.
M
ud Stalker sat in the ramada as the evening fire crackled and popped, thankful that one of the youngsters in his lineage had thought to bring a supply of wood. The day had been busy, his authority called upon to mend a rift between two brothers over a woman and to make a judgment in a case of fish stealing. In the first instance, he had forbade either brother to see the woman, a member of Rattlesnake Clan. Perhaps they would learn a valuable lesson in this: Kinsmen did not compete with each other. Acting in such a manner had been disrespectful of the clan.
In the second case, he had found against the thief, requiring him to forfeit his canoe and to deliver one basket of fish to the aggrieved family per moon for an entire cycle. That the thief had been from Snapping Turtle Clan, and the victim from Owl Clan, had made his day more than a little sour, but with two neutral witnesses from Alligator Clan observing the theft, he couldn’t have found any other way.

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