People of the Lakes(240)

Which individuals would excavate the soil, and which would carry it? Did the clan have enough burden baskets on hand for the number of people involved? Enough digging sticks?

Who cooked the food for the toiling workers? Who repaired broken baskets? Which clans had the greatest responsibility for finishing the project? Because-the necessary red soil came from deposits belonging to one clan, did that clan need to contribute as much labor as the others? If one clan did a majority of the construction, would it also be required to do the maintenance work?

Not to mention the myriad smaller problems. Could a given person be dismissed from that day’s labor because of a sore back? What happened if an important relative within the clan died and half the people had to leave for the mourning cycle?

Could so-and-so be excused from work for a week to attend an in-law’s wedding? And, naturally, someone was always fighting with someone else and had to be put on a different part of the project.

Hollow Drill and the other clan leaders would be included in all of the planning for the earthwork. Each clan would carefully tally its resources and then decide how the proposed construction could actually be completed.

Star Shell’s heart ached as she approached. She recognized him standing with the group of Elders at one end of the stone alignment. Despite the distance, she saw that he looked different, fragile. Here and there, strings had been placed and stretched taut. A heated debate between two of the engineers and one of the astronomers had ended with flapping arms and rising voices.

The clan leaders stood as amused observers. Hollow Drill looked in Star Shell’s direction, seemed to dismiss her, and then reacted with a visible start. He said something to the Broken Pot clan leader and strode purposefully away.

Star Shell stifled a gasp of disbelief.

“That isn’t quite the warm welcome I anticipated,” Tall Man said. “By the ancestors, he couldn’t possibly know … “

“Know what?”

The Magician winced, pressing tenderly at his side. “Nothing, girl. The musings of a tired old man.”

Star Shell slowed, trying to understand why her father would walk away—and then she caught Hollow Drill’s subtle signal.

He pointed to the right, toward the Squirrel clan burial mound.

“Something’s happened,” Star Shell said quietly. “He doesn’t want to be seen with us. This way.” She cut across the wet grass toward the mound. Funny, I’ve lived here all of my life, and I can’t remember which Elder was buried here, or why he was important. Maybe old Star gazer wasn’t so wrong after all.

A burial mound wasn’t built for just anyone. Great Shell, who had founded the lineage, rested under the mound at the western passageway into the Octagon. Thus, from the observatory on the summer solstice, an observer would see the sun rise across Great Shell’s mound and, in effect, see through his eyes.

“Don’t forget, everyone is looking for you,” Tall Man reminded her. “A man on a high ridge does not seek shelter under an oak tree in the middle of a thunderstorm.”

“Because an oak tree draws lightning,” Star Shell finished “I only have to tell him that I’m alive, that he shouldn’t be worried about me.”

“A messenger could have done the same thing.” Tall Man looked around nervously. “I can’t help but think this is a mistake.”

“Then at least it’s my mistake.”

‘ ‘ be it from me to hinder your ability to make mistakes.

The ancestors know, I’ve made plenty of my own.” He paused, warily eyeing the burial mounds.

Why? What did he have to fear from any ghosts at Starsky City?

Hollow Drill had dropped over the terrace, out of sight of the Elders and the engineers. He circled under the lip of the terrace and came up behind the grassy burial mound. Here they would be shielded from the others. For a moment, Star Shell could only stare at the haunted expression, the drawn lips. Even the familiar tattoos had faded. When had he aged so? The lines had deepened; his flesh was oddly gaunt. Was it her imagination, or had his warm eyes sunk in the skull? The man she remembered as hearty, hale, and so strong, stood before her now little more than a walking rack of bones.

“Father?”

“Star Shell. My beautiful baby.” A faint ghost of that old smile bent his lips. “I … I’ve been so worried.”

She rushed into his arms, hugging him. Silver Water hung back.

“Baby?” Star Shell broke loose. “Come here, Silver Water.

This is your grandfather. Come meet him.”

Silver Water’s blanket had slipped off her head. She stared at Hollow Drill with distrustful eyes, a finger in her mouth. She approached with halting steps.