People of the Lakes(21)
Only her first daughter, Silver Water, coming up on her fifth year, had lived. The next two babies had died at birth; it was as if their souls had emerged, seen the horror that lived in that house, and fled.
// only I could escape as well.
For this journey, Star Shell had left Silver Water with her motherin-law. The girl would be safe there, out of her father’s way for the time being. Poor Silver Water … the sweet days of carefree childhood had vanished like leaves from a winter-bare tree. Where giggling delight should have filled those large brown eyes, dread haunted that once-innocent face.
Twilight had dwindled by the time they reached the High Head clan house. Although the High Heads no longer lived in the Flying Squirrel valley, they kept a clan house here. The old mound stood to one side of the clearing, a low, conical dome of earth. Beside it, pairs of posts, set out at angles, formed a Sacred Circle. Offerings hung from each of the posts: colored bits of cloth, strips of hide, bundles of herbs, and other precious objects.
Hollow Drill muttered a greeting . the Spirits that dwelt here, and touched his forehead in respect. Star Shell followed his example, feeling the ancient Power of the place. She barely noticed the fluffy snow that crunched underfoot.
The High Heads built perfectly round houses, lashing bark to a pole framework. A heavy fabric covering draped each doorway.
“Greetings!” Hollow Drill sang out. “Hollow Drill and his daughter, Star Shell, have come to see the venerable Tall Man, respected Elder of the High Head peoples.”
A young man appeared at the doorway. “Greetings, Hollow Drill and Star Shell. I am to tell you that Tall Man offers you his welcome, and that he shares the terrible grief at the death of your gracious and kind wife and mother. Please, enter. Be welcome here.”
Star Shell hesitated as the young man held the hanging aside.
Icicles had formed like silver lances on the thatch walls of the clan house. The cold had intensified, or was that only her imagination?
Resigned, she ducked in after her father. The young man allowed the hanging to fall. After the biting cold, the warmth
made her nose and cheeks tingle. The air smelled of mint and rose petals mixed with a pungent and soothing incense she couldn’t quite place. What Star Shell had mistaken for a distant drum now betrayed itself as her pounding heart.
She stood in a large, high-ceilinged room. A modest fire crackled in the central hearth and cast a rosy glow over the walls. Matting woven of bluestem grass lined the walls; behind it, she knew, moss had been packed for added warmth.
Decorated pottery lined the walls, and wooden backrests had been placed around the fire pit. Bedding, mostly deerhides and blankets, marked the sleeping area in the rear. A bear skull adorned the southern wall, and medicine bundles of unknown use hung from the soot-encrusted rafters.
Tall Man, the feared High Head shaman, sat on the opposite side of the fire. He rose on stubby legs and spread his arms in greeting. The top of the Magician’s head reached no higher than Star Shell’s navel. His short legs bowed, as if they’d grown around a river cobble, and his face reminded her of a turtle’s, the nose rounded, with the nostrils forward-facing. After his teeth had fallen out, the jaw had receded, which augmented the turtle-like wrinkles on his throat. His skull had been flattened by his having been bound into a cradleboard as an infant to mold the high, broad look for which his people had been named.
His gray hair formed a bun at the back of his head, and stone ear spools hung from his earlobes.
Only when she gazed into his faded eyes did she feel the man’s Power, so shrouded in mysterious secrecy. And something else—something dark, hidden, and terrifying.
Tall Man wore a magnificent blanket made of interwoven strips of fox fur, rabbit, and feathers. Copper bracelets jingled on his stick-thin arms. His small hands had curled with age, the long nails grown like talons.
“I share your grief.” The simple statement proved more eloquent than any long speech.
Hollow Drill nodded. “Thank you, Wise One. It has been a trying moon since her soul passed from her body. The final fires have been lit.”
The Magician laced his fingers over his stomach. “We would offer a gift. Please, place this token of our respect with her ashes so that her ghost will know of our deep affection. The memory of the time she nursed Broken Dish has not faded.” He glanced to one side as a gust of wind shivered the wall. He went slightly pale, then whispered, “No … indeed it has not.”
Star Shell remembered. Broken Dish was one of the High Head clan Elders, a noted Trader who had developed a swelling of the face. Her mother had gone to care for him—and there, she had actually met the Magician. No one else had gone to help. Others feared that whatever horrible thing grew inside Broken Dish’s head might also grow in theirs.