People of the Lakes(237)

“No. No, let him sleep.” Otter rubbed his neck. “I don’t know, Black Skull. The roaring water is east—that’s all I can tell you.”

‘ ‘ when it gets to full dark, which way is east?”

Otter looked up, seeing the first stars. The trouble with stars was that they changed throughout the year. A constellation that shone in one part of the sky in fall glimmered in another part in spring.

“East?” Pearl asked from the stern, where she’d been washing her hair. She craned her neck sideways as she twisted the long strands to wring the water over the side, then pointed. “That way!

We’re headed a bit north of true east.” Otter asked, “You know how to read the stars?”

In the fading light, he could see her teeth gleaming as she smiled.

“I’ve been to the islands way out in the Saltwater Sea, remember?

If you don’t know the stars, you’ll die out there. And you can’t take too long about making your crossing, either. Unlike the Fresh Water Sea, you can’t drink the water.”

Otter took his bearings, watching the heavens. They’d change with the night, but he’d start learning. “Black Skull, you’ve been awake all day?”

“Someone had to stay awake and keep watch. Even the fool nodded off within a hand’s time after dawn.”

“Sleep now. Pearl and I … we’ll keep the course through the night. In the morning, you’ll have the sun—and Green Spider, for what he can tell you—to steer by. If we keep headed east, we’ll find land somewhere.”

At the warrior’s nod, Otter retraced his way to the stern. Unknown territory? In more ways than one. He was curious about the changes wrought in Black Skull’s manner, and he felt awkward over the feelings that Pearl inspired in his soul. He could almost wish for another storm and its simple challenge of survival.

“How come you never learned the stars?” Pearl asked as she fluffed her hair to dry it. “I’d think a Trader would do that first thing.”

He shrugged, refusing to meet her eyes, embarrassed by his desire to hold her again. “Rivers have only two directions: upstream and down. When we traveled, Uncle taught me the currents, the plants, the animals, how to read the water for dangers. You know, what the River Spirit was trying to tell me. And then, as I mastered that, there was so much more. Which tributaries led to whose territories, the various histories and customs of the different peoples.

For instance, did you know that I have twenty-six wives?” She stiffened, her eyes suddenly cool. “You told me … “

He chuckled. “You must understand about Traders and Trading.

Four of my wives are dead. Most of the others are happily married to other men, having their children, and doing their duties to their clan. You see, among some of the peoples one Trades with, one must be part of the family—related to the people—or you’re not a full human being.”

“What do you mean, a full human being? You’ve got the right number of legs, arms, and … well, the other things.”

Otter settled himself in the stern, gauging where east ought to be from the evening star she’d pointed out. His hands, shoulders, and back protested at the feel of the paddle as he began the age-old rhythm of paddling. The awkwardness was growing between them. As he’d feared it would.

“Ah, but parts do not make a man. Relatives do. Just like you and Wolf of the Dead. Make a marriage and you’ve joined two clans, no matter how dissimilar. That, or you adopt. I have … let’s see, sixteen, no, seventeen, additional brothers, and more than a handful of fathers scattered around the country. After all, a man wouldn’t cheat, trick, or betray his own family, would he?”

“I can tell you he would if he were Anhinga.” She stared bitterly out at the evening. “It’s so quiet here. Not a sound.” He smiled, paddling, wishing he knew what to say that would make her feelings as smooth as the water.

“These wives,” she finally said. “You live with them when you visit their clans?”

“No. Well, except for She Panther.”

“She Panther?”

In her profile, he could see the arched eyebrow. “One of my, uh, wives. She Panther is at least six tens of years old. She’s a woman of the Morning Star people, who live high up the Muddy River. I think she’s married to half of the Traders I know, and when we go up there to Trade for buffalo, antelope, prairie turnip, or Knife River flint, we stay in her lodge. She’s like … well, we all call her Grandmother. But I gather that she created quite a sensation as a young woman.”