People of the Lakes(105)

“As we go north,” Otter warned, “there will be more of them. There always are as spring washes the roots out from under them. After a while, the branches get broken off or worn away, and if the tree was green, it won’t float high in the water.

Sometimes all the warning you get is the wave pattern off the trunk.”

“Great place, this river of yours!”

“Just around this bend there’s an island. Night is coming.

Let’s stop early and build a fire, dry out.”

“As you say, Trader.”

True to Otter’s memory, the island offered shelter. He and Black Skull leaped ashore, grabbed the fox head, and pulled Wave Dancer up on the wet sand. Catcher bailed off the packs, dove into the shallows, then trotted onto the shore and shook copiously.

“Just like a dog,” Black Skull observed as he twisted the tail of his heavy leather shirt to wring the water out. “People are half-drowned and a dog has to come shake right beside them.”

Otter turned his attention to the campsite. The river was eroding away the sides of the small island despite the stubborn resistance of the trees. Farther up from the sandy spit they’d landed on, roots clung desperately to what dirt remained. In another ten years, nothing but a low sandbar would be left.

Otter wiped water from his face. “Black Skull, go see if you can find some dry wood. I’ll put some under together and shake the embers out of the fire pot.”

The warrior reached for his atlatl and clans, checking the delicate feathers.

“Don’t you ever go anywhere without your weapons?” Otter asked.

Black Skull gave him a disapproving scowl and stalked off for the narrow band of woods.

“He must never be what he is,” Green Spider observed.

“Therefore he is always what he is not.”

Otter bent over the packs and fished out the thick-walled clay pot that held their embers. The sides were pleasingly hot. “He’s become stranger and stranger. I thought he’d pick a fight the other night in Meadowlark’s clan house. Why does he have to be so difficult?”

Green Spider’s disconnected gaze seemed to sharpen. “The meat of the snapping turtle is very delicate.

Otter hesitated, shivering now that he’d stopped paddling.

“What does that have to do with Black Skull?”

Why, not one thing.” Green Spider, his arms outstretched, pirouetted around on the sand while gray water trickled body paint from the blanket corners.

Otter shook his head and walked up to the tree line. From the looks of the place, they’d stopped at yet another Khota camp.

The shelters still stood, and with a little effort, they could be patched up. Several fire pits marred the silty sand. Otter used his hands to dig one out and pinched the charcoal between his fingers. Not more than two days old.

He picked his way into the remnant of forest and kicked around, finding dry grass beneath a section of bark. Cupping the under, ‘ returned to the fire pit and huddled over it to protect his prize from the rain. From the pot he coaxed a couple of embers and blew on them until they glowed. Then he, poked them into the under with a wet stick.

Flames crackled, and he added damp twigs. The fire smoked but stayed alight. When he looked up, Green Spider was watching, his expression quizzical.

“Guard this, will you? And don’t drip on the fire. I want it kept as wet as the river.”

Green Spider grinned and knelt down to protect the vulnerable flames from the worst of the rain.

Otter returned to his foraging and found enough wood that was only damp instead of soggy to keep his fire going. Entrusting that to Green Spider, he searched out his adze in the canoe and attacked some of the larger logs, hacking off the wet wood to expose the dry. These he added to the blaze, and by the time Black Skull reappeared, he had a toasty fire crackling.

“Find anything?” Otter asked. Black Skull shouldered past him and went to rummage in the canoe before walking off down the shoreline.

Otter chewed his lip for a moment, battling an urge to confront the ugly warrior.

“Better do it now,” Green Spider whispered at his side.

“Now, now, now. Before it’s too late.”

Otter frowned. Did that mean, “Do it now and Black Skull will likely break your neck”? He shook his head, thinking about it. A few days before, they’d been facing Meadowlark and his clan. The talk had been in Trade pidgin. Trouble began only after the introductions.

“He doesn’t seem to know who I am,” Black Skull had muttered, looking half baffled by the quick interchange. The languages were completely different. And then Black Skull had said: “’/ teach the gobbling grouse just who the Black Skull is!”