Tall Man charged forward, enfolding the Mask in the wolf hide. The Mask appeared to resist. The old woman’s talon-like fingers remained knotted in the edges. With a cry, he wrestled it out of her frozen grip. He sat down hard then—the action sudden, as if his feet had slipped out from under him.
Tall Man heaved a weary sigh and stared across Clamshell’s body. “Is your daughter all right?”
“Baby?” Star Shell peered down. “Are you all right? Baby, talk to me.”
“Mama?” Silver Water looked up, those large eyes eerie, depthless.
“Did the Mask hurt you?” That choking desperation continued to tighten in her throat.
“It talked to me.” Silver Water lowered her gaze, her attention thoughtful as she considered Clamshell’s dead body.
The old dog moaned now, as if it had been kicked by a careless stranger.
Star Shell stopped her jaw from trembling. “What … what happened? What did it say?”
“Stories, Mama. Jt told me stories. And it Sang Songs.”
Tall Man hung his head, saying in wooden tones, “Clamshell.
She took the Mask out of its covering.”
Star Shell swallowed, some sense of control coming back to her. “She asked about it the other night. I told her it was a sacred thing. Maybe it’s my fault. I didn’t give her a very good answer.”
“She always was a curious one.” Tall Man used one hand to rub his face. “Leaving well enough alone wasn’t among her ways of dealing with the world.”
“It called her,” Silver Water whispered absently. “It called, Mama. Not loud, but you could hear it.”
Tall Man leaned forward, his expression sharpening. “It called? And you heard it?”
With the wariness of a hunted animal, Star Shell asked, “What does that mean?”
Tall Man didn’t respond for several moments. “Probably nothing.”
“Nothing? Clamshell’s dead! My husband’s dead! My daughter hears that thing … and you say nothing]”
He glared at her, the tone in his voice commanding. “Don’t panic! It’s contained. Within the wolfhide. We caught it in time.
All we have to do is get the Mask to the Roaring Water, throw it over the edge, and Power will take care of itself.”
The prickling worry refused to abate. “Why is Clamshell dead?”
Tall Man’s sympathetic gaze returned to the old woman.
“Evening Star, my poor old love.” His welling sadness betrayed itself. “You had to look into those eye holes, didn’t you?”
“And … and what happened? What did the Mask do to her?”
He glanced at Star Shell, then back at the corpse. “She was the most beautiful woman to have ever lived. You should have seen her in her youth. Radiant, alluring. And now, in old age, she looked into the Mask—not through it. Instead of seeing the world as Many Colored Crow would see it, she saw herself reflected there.” He paused. “The fulfillment of every nightmare she ever had about aging.”
Tall Man slipped the wolfhide-bound Mask back into the fabric bag. Then he reached over and closed Clamshell’s eyelids over the death stare. “She saw what she had become, Star Shell.
Not what she dreamed herself to be, but what she really was.
In all her life, she never saw herself as she was. What a shock to see herself now, in this condition. Old, ugly … well, that’s not so bad for most of us. But she lived behind a sort of Mask all of her life. Tonight she finally saw through it.”
Star Shell closed her eyes, tightening her hold on Silver Water until her daughter squirmed and complained, “Mama, you’re hurting me!”
“Oh, I’m sorry. I’m sorry, baby.” She patted Silver Water’s hair gently. “And what did my daughter see?” Tall Man smiled reassuringly. “She’s a child, Star Shell.
Children generally see themselves as they are, or at least as they want to be. That’s the blessing of youth.”
Star Shell frowned, glanced at the dead woman, and slowly shook her head. “No, Tall Man. What happened to my daughter?
You tell me.”
For a moment, their stares locked, a battle of wills escalating.
Then, abruptly, his eyes went limpid and sympathetic. “I don’t know, Star Shell.” He looked at Silver Water. “Did the Mask ask you to do anything? To hurt anybody?”
Silver Water shook her head as she nestled against Star Shell’s side.
“Silver Water?” Star Shell asked.
“It just told stories, Mama. About people a long time ago when the world was new. That’s all. I promise.”
“I believe you, baby.” But did she? Could she? She raised a skeptical eyebrow. “Tall Man, I don’t understand. A lot of people looked at the Mask when my husband wore it. He … they died only when he willed it. I looked at the accursed thing when he wore it. Even when it lay by the bed and watched … ” She shook her head, seeking to gather scattered thoughts. “It never killed anyone on its own! Not like it did Clamshell.”