People of the Owl: A Novel of Prehistoric North America (North America's Forgotten Past) (46 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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T
he following morning, Pine Drop waved off the calls as she hurried across the southern half of the plaza. By the Sky Beings, it was the talk of every tongue!
“Pine Drop?” Eats Wood called. “Have you heard?” Her cousin came trotting toward her, breaking away from a group of his friends.
“Yes, yes.” Of all the people to have to talk to, Eats Wood wasn’t her favorite. Something had always been wrong with him, and she suspected that someday, as he grew older and bolder, he would finally submit to his desire for a young girl. It would fall upon her uncle to slip up behind him and cleave his head in two. The clans dealt out justice like that, taking responsibility for their own.
“What is going to happen?” Eats Wood demanded. “Elder Sweet Root has called the Council into session. She is going to demand that Swamp Panther woman pay for the insult she has paid us!”
“We don’t know the details yet.”
“What details! Yesterday that camp bitch drove
your
sister naked through camp! Made her work like a stinking slave! And Deep Hunter is as mad as a teased cottonmouth about Saw Back! His head is broken and swollen! You should see him. He can’t stand up without weaving and falling. He may die.”
“That is Alligator Clan’s concern.” Pine Drop frowned. “What no one has asked is what Night Rain was doing out there with him. Why were they both naked, Cousin?”
Eats Wood grinned in a manner that roiled Pine Drop’s stomach.
“Why do you think? I would have enjoyed seeing what happened out there.” He turned away. “But for now, I have to find my weapons. If this turns as ugly as I hope it will, we might have to back Uncle with darts as well as words.”
With that he was running, headed for his mother’s house on the fourth ridge.
Weapons?
She hurried forward, joining the stream of people headed toward the Council House. Tiny flakes of snow whirled past as Pine Drop pulled her blue jay-feather cloak tight about her. Snakes! This couldn’t come to fighting, could it? Generations had passed since the last time blood had been spilled between the clans. Of all the People’s nightmares, that was the worst. If clans began fighting with each other, they would rend the world in two.
Blessed Sky Beings, say it isn’t so.
She didn’t see him as he stepped up to match her pace. One of the curious things about Salamander was that he could be invisible if he wanted to. Overlooked, and unnoticed. She had often thought that a curious ability of his, and one that she often wished were her own. Now, however, he was the last person she wanted to see.
“I would ask a favor of you?” he began, voice muted.
“What would that be?” She couldn’t keep the hostile tone from her voice.
“There is more to what happened than you know.”
“What if they were out there locking hips? What of it, Salamander? Was that reason for that Swamp witch to humiliate my sister? Did she have to drive her infant-naked through the middle of Sun Town like a barbarian slave? Was that reason to half kill Saw Back?”
“No,” he answered steadily, and placed a hand on her elbow, stopping her so that he could stare into her eyes. What she saw reflected there made her pause. What was it about him? That look penetrated her souls, carrying a terrible warning with it. What Power possessed him at moments like this?
“Pine Drop, you must hold your uncle back. Do you understand? If he pushes this thing, I will not be able to control it. One thing will lead to another, and there will be no way back for us.
There is more here than you know.
”
The words seemed to grow, shivering her souls. “What? What more?”
He glanced at the throng heading for the Council House, ignoring curious looks of the passersby. “I don’t have time right now. I was just lucky to have found you first. We have to go. Please, you must trust me. We can’t allow this to get out of hand, or our worst nightmares will become real.”
He let go, a terrible fear brimming in his eyes. That look, more than anything, frightened her.
“You must trust me,” he insisted as he hurried off. “Will you?”
She nodded halfheartedly, seeing relief flooding in his eyes. Then he was gone, trotting for the Council House on his thin legs.
What had she just done? What had she committed herself to?
M
ud Stalker gripped his stone-headed hammer, tightening his hold until his fingers ached. Through slitted eyes he glared across the Council lodge at Salamander. The young Speaker was bundled in a warm buffalo robe. Occasional snowflakes drifted past. Wind seemed insolently to finger the thick brown hair, waving it this way and that as the cold gray day pressed down. Curse him, he had been trading one buffalo hide after another—spoils from his Trade with those Wash’ta fools who had piled all of their wealth on Owl Clan last fall. In the winter day’s chill, Mud Stalker could feel everyone’s envy of Salamander’s buffalohide cape.
Sweet Root had arrived, a double wrap of fabric around her shoulders. Pine Drop appeared, looking worried. She wore her blue jay-feather cape pulled tightly against the chill. As she stood beside the Clan Elder, her thoughtful eyes turned to Mud Stalker. What was that measuring look? In the confusion of the Council being called, he had yet to speak to her and find out what she knew of Night Rain’s humiliation. Something in her expression bothered him. Distress about her little sister, no doubt.
Thunder Tail was there, resplendent in his new bearskin—the only person who didn’t cast a covetous gaze at Salamander. He wore the glossy black pelt over his shoulder, the fur gleaming. The very sight of it made Mud Stalker’s stomach twist. It seemed that embarrassment dogged him at every turn these days.
He shot a hard glance at Deep Hunter. The Alligator Clan Speaker looked as if he were about to burst like a squashed chinquapin. His expression was a hard mask, and behind him, Saw Back looked ill. The side of the young warrior’s crushed face had mottled into blue-black under an angry mass of swollen scab.
Cane Frog entered Frog Clan’s part of the Council circle, her thick-veined hand resting on Three Moss’s shoulder.
Clay Fat and Turtle Mist were the last to take their places.
No sooner had Thunder Tail stepped out from under the awning than Deep Hunter strode out into the center by the charcoalblackened
fire pit, and shouted, “You all know why we are here by now! The Swamp Panther woman, Anhinga, has attacked a member of my clan. A young man of my lineage! She has maimed him! Crushed the side of his face! Alligator Clan demands that this matter be taken up by the Council!”
“If you will wait your turn,” Thunder Tail called, “I will recognize you. You may think you are the leader of the Council, Deep Hunter, but that honor has not yet been bestowed upon you.”
Deep Hunter’s hands knotted as the muscles in his arms bulged. The expression on his face brought a latent smile to Mud Stalker’s lips. Despite his own rage, he could enjoy Deep Hunter’s rebuke.
“Very well,” Thunder Tail said with simple dignity. “Speaker Deep Hunter has brought a matter of some gravity before the Council. It seems that an altercation has resulted in one of his kinsmen receiving a serious and crippling injury.”
Mud Stalker hadn’t made a step to second Deep Hunter’s call when Salamander leaped forward, his buffalo robe flapping. Behind him, Moccasin Leaf was a half heartbeat too slow as she tried to grab him back.
The entire Council waited in hushed silence as Salamander strode up to Deep Hunter, his small frame dwarfed by the burly Speaker. “Do you wish to pursue this, Speaker?”
“By the Snakes, I do, boy!” Deep Hunter’s arm muscles bulged, his face reddening. “You hand that Swamp Panther viper over to me!”
“You may not have my wife.” Salamander said it calmly, as if he were discussing a basket of prized stone blanks. His very demeanor, so thoroughly in possession of himself, left Deep Hunter off-balance.
“She attacked my warrior!”
Salamander crossed his arms, lowering his voice. Mud Stalker heard him say, “Are you sure you want to open this jar of ants, Speaker? Before it is done, we may all be bitten.”
Mud Stalker stepped out into the circle. “Open it we shall! The Swamp Panther woman has made allegations! She has sullied the name of my niece. Worse, she humiliated her! Drove her naked through the middle of Sun Town like a slave!”
Salamander shot him a level glance, then looked back at Deep Hunter, saying, “This is an internal matter within my household. I will deal with my wives in my own way.”
“You can’t deal with anything!” Deep Hunter bellowed.
“Uncle?” the soft voice caught Mud Stalker by surprise, as did the firm hand that grasped his elbow and subtly dragged him back.
Pine Drop leaned her head close, whispering, “Do not push this, or we will all regret it.”
Sweet Root stepped forward, a stunned look on her face as she in turn began pulling on Pine Drop’s arm.
“Please,” Pine Drop urged. “Step back, or this will burn out of control like hot sparks in a dry forest.”
“You would do this?” He couldn’t believe the determination in her eyes as she nodded yes.
“Trust me, Uncle. Trust Salamander. There is more at stake than you know. My husband will snuff this fire before our clan is burned.”
“
Him?
” Mud Stalker jerked his head back at Salamander. From the corner of his eye he could see Salamander lean close to Deep Hunter, speaking in a low, earnest voice. Even as near as he was, he couldn’t make out the words.
Deep Hunter stood like a lightning-riven oak, trembling while his expression blackened. Salamander had evidently finished, for he simply stared up at Deep Hunter with calm brown eyes.
“What did he say?” Clay Fat cried. “We can’t hear! Repeat what you said, Salamander.”
“Speak up!” Cane Frog shouted. “This is the Council! Not some Men’s House! Either we all hear, or no one speaks!”
“Speak up!” Thunder Tail and Stone Talon called in chorus. The Clan Elder leaned forward on her crutches, her toothless jaw stuck out in irritation.
“It is your decision,” Salamander said loudly enough for everyone to hear. “I could repeat myself in a voice loud enough for the rest to hear.”
To Mud Stalker’s surprise, Deep Hunter shot him an evaluative look, hesitated, then shook his head. He stepped back, hands still balled into fists. The muscles in his arms knotted and writhed. Before he turned on his heel and stalked back to his place, he muttered, “Alligator Clan retracts its statement. This matter is up to Salamander.”
“What?” Mud Stalker cried in amazement. He started forward again, only to have Pine Drop take his bad arm in a tight grip.
“Leave it, Uncle,” she insisted. “It is between Salamander, me, and Night Rain. Our time will come later, when it will not make fools of us in front of everyone. More is at stake here than you know.”
“How dare you?” Sweet Root exploded, struggling to keep her voice down so the others didn’t hear.
“Be smart,” Pine Drop whispered through gritted teeth before
she let go of Mud Stalker’s arm. “Figure it out yourself. I just did.” Then she turned, striding purposefully out of the Council House, pushing her way through the people who had come to watch.
That, more than anything, sank through Mud Stalker’s anger. He stopped short, meeting Sweet Root’s eyes, seeing nothing there but baffled frustration.
Suddenly unsure, Mud Stalker stepped out into the circle, catching Salamander before he could step from the ring. “Just tell me, Speaker. What did your barbarian do out there in the forest?”
Salamander stopped short, glancing back at Saw Back, before meeting Mud Stalker’s eyes. “Exactly what she had to, Speaker. Nothing more, nothing less.”
As Salamander walked past the stunned Moccasin Leaf and stepped out of the Council House, people parted to let him pass. Mud Stalker ground his teeth, his mind racing. He narrowed his eye as he shot a hard look at Deep Hunter. What bit of information could Salamander have used to back Deep Hunter down? What did they have in common?
Night Rain! She’s at the bottom of this!

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