He walked in silence, his head down despite the green grandeur of the leafy canopy overhead. She thought he’d ignored her question until he said, “I loved once, Star Shell. I opened my soul as wide as I could, and she ripped me apart as a cougar does a fawn. Never again.”
She resettled the Mask pack on her back. “You father’s dead now. You could go back.”
“I don’t think you understand. There’s no going back. There .never was.” She thought of her father, of his eyes that last day as they stood there in the rain. Of Stargazer, seeking to restore the past.
Of herself in Greets the Sun’s little valley. Of Clamshell watching the embers to see the past.
“What was your mother’s clan, Pale Snake?”
“Many Paints. Why?”
How many children did Tall Man leave behind? One from Clamshell, at least. Did he leave one with every clan—just for good measure?
He said, “You’re not thinking of eligibility, are you? If so, get it out of your head. I’m not interested in you. You keep too many questionable friends and acquaintances.”
“Don’t flatter yourself. I imagine I’d find a Caribou man more attractive than you.”
“Some aren’t too bad. But I’ll warn you now, they don’t bathe with the regularity expected by our people. Then again, given the way you looked when you appeared at Buckeye, that may not be of much concern to you.”
Star Shell groped for a response and finding none, scooped up one of last year’s walnuts. With a well-aimed pitch, she hit him with it—square in the back of the head.
Hello, Trader!” The call carried across the water.
Otter squinted against the light, and Black Skull rose to look, standing braced in Wave Dancer’s rocking bow.
“What now?” Pearl asked, sitting up in her blankets. She shielded her eyes against the glare of sunlight on the sparkling water.
“A canoe.” Otter pointed shoreward. They were well out from land, far enough to maintain sight-but not readily visible.
“Friendly or hostile?” she wondered.
“Hostile!” Green Spider blurted. “Going to kill us and pull Catcher’s tongue out of his head so he won’t lick me anymore.”
Catcher wagged his tail as though he’d heard, then leaped on Green Spider with his long pink tongue extended, trying to reach the Contrary’s nose. Green Spider threw up one arm and screeched in mock terror. The canoe rocked as they wrestled.
Otter scanned the waters, then the beach, seeking smoke or signs of a settlement, straining to see against the slanting afternoon sun. “I don’t see any others.”
Pearl stretched and began hunting around for her atlatl. “That last canoe-load of Traders saved us having to paddle around that inlet. Maybe we’ve stumbled on more Traders.”
“Let’s hope so. Or at least, friendly people.” From what the Traders had told them, four days of hard paddling would bring them to the southern shore of the Fresh Water Sea. There a narrow inlet would carry them into a river that flowed southward into a small lake—“small” being relative to these people, Otter had discovered. When the river emptied into the lake, they should paddle straight west, pick up the shoreline there and follow it south until yet another outlet carried them into yet another channel. Through that, they would be in what was called the Upper Sea.
Otter stood to inspect the approaching canoe. Three paddlers, each looking young, propelled the crudely hollowed-out log in their direction. A mound of netting filled the front of the unwieldy boat.
Otter cupped his mouth, shouting, “Greetings! Where are we?”
“Not far!” The tallest of them rose to his knees. At least they spoke Trade pidgin.
Otter frowned. “Not far from where?”
“From Wenshare … Shinbone’s village!”
They were closer now, and Otter could make out three friendly faces. The speaker was a young man of about twenty summers. A younger boy and a young woman sat behind him.
- All three were naked, grinning, and more than happy to have
found them.
“What can you tell me about Shinbone’s village?” Otter gave them his winning smile. He saw the youths get their first good look at Black Skull. The smiles faded.
“Oh, don’t mind him!” Otter made a throwaway gesture.
“He looks that way because we test tool stone on him. We hit him in the head with greenstone and basalt mauls. If the stone breaks, we don’t Trade it!”
“Oh, yes he does Trade ill And at the first opportunity— usually to the blind or enfeebled,” Black Skull corrected. “You watch him carefully. If you want to know the good stone from the bad, ask me. As he says, I am clearly the expert.”