Powered by a vigor he hadn’t felt earlier, he rubbed the wax furiously across the wood, friction leaving pale smears on the hull.
“She wasn’t for you, you know,” Grandmother called, still staring out at the river. “Your destiny was changed, Grandson.
The river claimed you. The Water Spirit took you … and then sent you back to us.”
Otter continued to wax the hull with powerful strokes. He couldn’t even remember the event that had changed his life.
According to the stories, it had been only a few moons after his birth.
“That night,” Grandmother continued as she stared across the river and back into time, “the storm blew up from the south.
We were coming down from Deer River, from the City of the Dead after the summer solstice. How terrible it was. We were out on the river in the dark. Thunderbird flashed sticks of lightning across the sky and shook the whole world with his roaring.
The waves rose high on the river, higher than a man stands on dry land.”
“That’s when I fell overboard,” Otter muttered.
“Yes.” Grandmother sighed, turning. She approached him with careful steps, her head slightly cocked as she studied him with bird-bright eyes. “We didn’t know you’d fallen into the water. When Blue Jar realized what had happened, she screamed in terror, half crazy. Practically had to tie her up to keep her from jumping overboard herself.”
Otter braced himself on Wave Dancer and stared stupidly at his hand where his strong brown fingers had gouged holes in the wax.
Grandmother sucked lined brown lips over pink gums as she nodded. “The rest of that trip, Blue Jar huddled in the canoe, clutching your brother to her chest. Yes, I remember so well.
She had a vacant stare on her face. You would have thought she’d lost both of her boys instead of just one.”
“Is that why she always preferred Four Kills?”
Grandmother stood silently, head down, darting the damp mud with her walking stick, perhaps ritually killing something in the past. “I think you’ve always frightened her. Everyone went out looking for your body, of course. No one expected to find an infant alive. No sooner had she come to accept the fact that you were dead than Uncle discovered you, your cradleboard caught in the driftwood just above the clan grounds.” She let her gaze slip to the river. “Now, Grandson, do you wonder that she was afraid?”
“No, I guess not. Who knew what sort of changeling I might have become.”
“You never could keep away from the river after that. Your brother would stay in the clan grounds, doing what boys do.
But you … if you vanished, your mother would panic, and Uncle would find you down here, fooling around in the water.
Scold you, she might, but Blue Jar could never break you of your fascination with the river.”
“It’s in my soul.”
The walking stick stabbed out its emphasis. “Of course it is.
Only a fool would think otherwise.” A light glinted in those black eyes. “And Red Moccasins is no fool.”
“Four Kills is better for her. A brave warrior, smart … wise for his age. During that raid three years ago, he killed four of the enemy and earned his name. People already listen to him in councils.”
“I’m glad to hear those words from you. I’d half feared you’d grown jealous of your brother. Twins … they make a person nervous. And you know the stories.”
“About First Man and his twin brother? If you’ll recall, Many Colored Crow was that brother.”
“He was indeed.” She appraised him from the corner of her eye. “The brother of the Dead, of the Darkness. How does it work out between you and Four Kills? Opposites crossed? If so, which of you is Light … and which Dark?”
Otter chuckled. “He is Light, Grandmother. And yes, I am the Dark one. Lost in the storm, bathed by lightning and thunder.
Cast to the dark waves, I still float. But jealous?” He shook his head wistfully. “Not of my brother. I feel him—” he pressed his hand to his breast “—here, inside. He loves her with all of his heart, Grandmother. And she loves him.”
Her eyebrow lifted skeptically.
“You must understand, Grandmother. He is me, what I might have been. No woman could turn me against Four Kills. A woman would have to turn me against myself first.”
“That’s been known to happen,” she said and raised a hand to shade her brow as she studied the rolling river. “Look at you.
You can’t wait to push your canoe back into the river, load her up, and paddle like a frantic rodent for the north. You’d think you had more in common with those strangers than you do with your own relatives.”