People of the Lakes(20)
Do I have to think of this now? She rubbed her cold face to clear her head.
Hollow Drill said nothing. She caught a glimpse of the lines tightening around his broad mouth. She knew that expression–the one that marked deep and serious thought.
“I’ll be all right, Father. It’s you I’m—”
“Star Shell, I want you to do something for me. I want you to talk to someone. A man arrived here several days ago. His name is Tall Man—an Elder of the High Heads. Some call him ‘the Magician.’ “
She just stared at Hollow Drill. Who hadn’t heard of the Magician?
Three
Stories circulated everywhere about the High Heads’ most famous and Powerful dwarf. If an infant in the womb was exposed to Power, a dwarf would result. Some said that the Magician was the most Powerful of all. Rumors claimed that he could change himself into an owl or a lizard. Others claimed— often whispering behind shielding hands—that the Magician used the darker Powers of witchcraft to his own benefit. Mysterious deaths were attributed to his Power, as were miraculous cures. Women, So the story went, could not resist his advances.
More than one angry husband had died mysteriously after seeking redress for such indiscretions.
Hollow Drill placed a hand on Star Shell’s back. “He says he came here to see you.”
Star Shell glanced sideways. “What would I want to talk to the Magician for? What does he want with me? I haven’t done anything.”
“Daughter, the High Heads know all about the Mask. They are an older people than we are. They know about these things.
The Mask … it was theirs once. Tall Man knows the legends, knows the history of the Mask. Please … see him.”
At the tone in her father’s voice, she nodded. Hadn’t she always done his bidding? The chill increased. “If I talk to the Magician, Mica Bird will know. The Mask will tell him. I’ll suffer for it.”
“The Mask won’t know.” Hollow Drill sounded so sure of himself. “There are other Powers in the Spirit World besides the Mask.” Hollow Drill hesitated. “The Magician, Tall Man, he arrived on the day your mother died. He’s been waiting ever since.”
Star Shell shifted uneasily, aware of the distance her other relatives had been keeping. Aware of the oily smell of smoke hanging on the still air—smoke from the cremation fire that burned the last of her mother’s bones into ash.
Dread filled her, as if she had just stepped upon a dark forest trail. One fraught with peril. “All right, Father. I’ll see him. But it won’t do any good.”
“You don’t know that. See Tall Man tonight. Then tomorrow we’ll collect your mother’s ashes and you can leave. Your brothers will accompany you down the Holy Road, back to Sun Mounds and the Moonshell valley.”
She followed in his footsteps as he picked his way along the slick path. Where so many moccasined feet had trod, the snow had been beaten into irregular humps of ice.
Once this land had belonged to the High Heads, They had built the first Sacred Circle here, and buried their dead in the conical mounds. From this rich floodplain at the confluence of the Flying Squirrel River and the Duck River, they had charted the path of the stars and sent Traders out across the world.
According to the legends, three clans had come down from the hills and united to drive the High Heads from the valley.
They seized control of the Chen quarries. Great Star, the legendary clan leader, had forged a peace. After that, the High Heads married with the Flat Pipe and they lived together, sharing sacred sites, and slowly the people began to grow close.
Words from both languages had flowed around each other, and many of the legends had mixed, along with the bloodlines.
Tall Man—the Magician—wanted to see her? I haven’t done anything wrong!
Star Shell winced. Didn’t she have enough to fear? Life with her husband had grown into a nightmare from which she never awoke. At night, in the darkness, she could feel his Power welling around her. He tossed and turned like a man possessed, tortured by dreams she could only guess at. Awake, he walked with his head cocked as if listening to something. At the slightest provocation, he flew into a violent rage.
After hearing of her mother’s death, he’d beaten her, a crazed look in his eyes—as though in guilt. The bruises on her body had healed, but those on her soul remained. Had he killed her mother? Why? How could he have done such a thing?
What had become of the young man she’d loved? Only the memory of his handsome face remained. Now, when she looked at him, she saw a stranger. He’d grown thin, his muscles sinking into bone. When he looked into her eyes, she could see the strain in his glassy stare.