The-youth, unbidden, stepped forward with an engraved stone tablet. The High Heads valued such tablets, using them to mix ritual body paints for sacred events.
“Her Spirit is honored,” Hollow Drill said reverently as he accepted the tablet.
Star Shell gazed at the piece of worked slate. The artist’s skill showed in the intricate flow of the engraving. She could make out images of a woman, a man, and a wolf, all linked together.
On the back, strange symbols had been inscribed. Stains had permeated the slate, some having the rich blackness of old blood, others the crusted silver-white of dried semen.
The piece drew her irresistibly, as if it sucked at the soul.
The Magician explained, “It is the story of my clan, the Wolf People. It tells of the first days after the Creation of the world.
Old Woman is there, along with First Man and his Spirit Helper.” He smiled. “You probably know, Star Shell, that your mother’s lineage came from the High Heads, long ago. Her ancestors married into Great Star’s Clan. You, therefore, are a distant relative of mine.”
“I remember,” Star Shell replied, fighting to pull her gaze away. She almost sighed when her father placed the tablet into his belt pouch. Didn’t he sense the stone’s draw?
“Please, seat yourselves. Drink will be provided.”
Tall Man settled against his backrest and folded his short legs beneath him. Star Shell and her father seated themselves across the fire from the Elder, as was proper.
The young man arrived again, bearing a large conch shell full “of steaming yaupon. Each in turn drank from the lustrous pink shell. As the bitter black drink settled in her stomach, a warm flush spread through Star Shell’s cold body for the first time since she’d heard of her mother’s death. Yaupon did that, renewed the body and sharpened the wits.
“May all of your ancestors be praised,” Tall Man began.
“And may your descendants cherish your Spirits. May First Man shed his blessing upon you. May your fields be fertile, and hunger far from your door.”
“And yours,” Hollow Drill returned.
The Magician drank again from the shell cup and passed it around. The ritual of greetings continued until the shell was emptied. At that point, Tall Man took a tubular stone pipe from his belt pouch. It had been carved into the shape of a dwarf, long of body, with a decorated sash at the waist. The hair had been parted in the middle and worked into two buns. Hollow ear spools filled the ears.
Tall Man filled the pipe, his movements deliberate. Without spilling a single flake of tobacco, he tamped it with a blunt piece of bone. The youth arrived at just the right moment and offered a smoldering stick with which to light it.
The pipe went around, each person inhaling deeply and blowing smoke out at the ceiling in four puffs.
“May First Man hear our words. May the ghosts of my ancestors speak not of what passes here.” Tall Man knocked the dottle from the pipe and reloaded it.
Once again the pipe moved around the circle, until a blue haze filled the room.
“Now then,” the Magician began, turning his soft gaze on Star Shell, “you are worried. The Power of the Mask has begun to eat at . soul.” .
Star Shell glanced uneasily at the youth, who stood to one side, apparently oblivious.
“You may talk, young Star Shell.” Tall Man raised a thin eyebrow. “This place is safe.”
Star Shell sought to still her pounding heart. “How do you know about the Mask? About me?”
“Power is like smoke.” The Magician sucked on his pipe and exhaled a puff. Waving one hand, he set the smoke to swirling.
“Stir a part of the smoke, and the other tendrils are affected.
The Mask has been stirring Power for many generations of men.
Now it is stirring again.” , “Why did you come to see me? You did come here for that, didn’t you?”
Tall Man’s expression sharpened, and as quickly resumed that veiled tranquillity. “It was not an easy journey for me at this time of year, but yes, I came because I knew you would. Remember, girl, we are of the same blood. I Dreamed one night last summer. I saw you huddling in fear as your husband donned the Mask and looked down at you. The baby girl you carried in your womb was stillborn three days later. Mica Bird wants a son—one with a piece of Raven Hunter’s soul.”
“Who? Raven Hunter?”
“The Dark Twin, First Man’s brother. You know him as Many Colored Crow. It is he who caused the Mask to be made in the first place. Through it, his Spirit can act in this world. It does so by capturing the soul that looks through the Mask. That is why your husband wears the Mask just before he couples with you.”
“He has changed.” Star Shell chewed at her lip. “He is not the man I knew. He has become a stranger. Brooding. Dark.”