Wave Dancer lay just behind him where they’d pulled her up on the sand. The painted designs had faded and weathered, but the fox-head prow still watched alertly.
“Good morning, Trader.”
“Good morning, Killer of Men.” Otter pointed toward the silver-crested water. “I see you haven’t lost your reckless spirit.
For a moment there, I thought you’d gone down for the last time.”
“I like to dive deep,” Black Skull said, rubbing the water from his hide. “That’s one cold, dark bottom down there. Look at that! My balls are pulled up so tight, my heart will barely beat.”
“Find any ghosts down there this time?”
“No.” Black Skull paused reflectively as he studied the smooth surface of the sea. ‘ ‘ even a sneaky Khota. But then, I myself once feared losing my soul down there. Feared it more terribly than I’ve ever feared anything.” He gave Oner a sidelong look. “The night of the storm. I got hold of my soul and tucked it into a safe place inside me. I no longer fear it slipping away as I once did. I know I wasn’t of much use to you that night.”
Otter reached down, picking up a flat piece of weathered shale and skipping it out across the glassy water. “To be honest, I was so terrified during that storm, I think I fouled myself. I’d never dreamed of such raging wind and water.”
Black Skull picked up his shirt and batted the sand from the fabric. “I thank you for the lie, Otter. You’ve become a friend to me. But we both know the truth of that night: I broke.”
The Trader skipped another rock. “Don’t you think that’s the wrong word? To me, ” means unfixable, or at best, something that can be patched up, maybe glued, with a thong run around it—like a pot. But never as strong as it was in the beginning.
You seem even stronger now.”
“The fool used that analogy at White Shell clan grounds that day. Do you recall? He said you could see a life in a pot.”
Black Skull curled his toes in the coarse sand. “I didn’t understand.”
“None of us did. But we’re here.”
“Saved again by Pearl. She steered us south by the stars all night, didn’t she?”
Otter studied the next rock he picked up, as if judging its quality before skipping it. “She did. Again. That wind trap was quite an idea, too. Too bad it works only when going with the wind.”
“It will never replace paddles.” Black Skull tied on his breechcloth and picked up his war club, testing the balance before he rested it on his shoulder. “Tell me, Trader, did you ever think we’d make it this far? Look at that. Water as far as you can see, just like on the other side of the peninsula. How much water is in the world, anyway?”
“I don’t know, my friend.”
“Nor do I, but a sense of wonder has been born in my soul.
Oner, sometimes I look back … think about how I lived at the City of the Dead, and shake my head. That life … I know it was real, but it seems like a Dream now.”
“Because it’s hard to be away from home?”
“No. Not a Dream of something I want, but one that you wake up remembering. I wouldn’t Trade any of this, not one moment—well, maybe two moments.”
“Which two?”
He paused, nerving himself. “Killing that crow on the river just before we reached the Hilltop Clan … and grabbing you by the throat that day.”
Otter placed his hand on Black Skull’s shoulder, the grip firm.
“It was a lesson … for both of us.”
“What do you miss the most, Otter?” They started walking back toward the canoe.
“Oh, I don’t know. Nights with Uncle, I suppose. I think he rests easier now. Maybe-1 miss a little of the innocence that was once mine. Green Spider has taught me a great deal. I’ll never stand back like I used to.”
“And Red Moccasins? Is she still tormenting you?”
“Sometimes … in my sleep.” Otter clasped his hands behind him. “Since I’ve been with Pearl, those dreams come less and less frequently. Pearl and I seem to match, like two pieces that fit together. At other times, I look forward, toward the future, and wonder what will become of us. I would make her my wife, Black Skull, but we’re each clanless in our own way. A man has few rights among the White Shell when it comes to marriage.
The Anhinga will disown her when they hear what happened with Wolf of the Dead.”
“You worry too much, Trader. Believe me. I know you for the conniving and slippery eel that you are. You’ll find a way.”
Otter grinned. “How about you? When this is over assuming we live that long—what are you going to do? You’ll be a great man, respected, almost worshiped, at the City of the Dead.”