People of the Lakes(45)

“You know better than that.” Otter relinquished the wax and bent to pick up the thick folded square of nettle-and-milkweed ‘fabric. Doubling it, he began the arduous job of buffing this last section. With powerful strokes, he worked the wax into the wood, seeing the pale streaks become clear, the rich grain of the wood leaping out at him.

“But you can’t stay, can you?” she insisted. “The thought of him and her … just over there—” she pointed with her walking stick “—eats at you.”

“He is her husband. I have no part in it.”

“And that copper plate you gave them?” She snorted loudly.

“Quite the gift. The clan forgives you such generosity with its wealth.”

Here it came. Menially girded for war, Otter bent his head to the side to meet those glinting eyes. “Not all of what I accumulate belongs to the clan!” “Indeed?” she asked mildly. “You belong to the clan—and, therefore, so does anything you own. Just as a woman’s children, and her children’s children, belong to the clan.” A pause, then her voice dropped to emphasize the point. “And I told you the clan forgave you.”

Otter remained silent, continuing to wax his boat.

“Besides,” Grandmother granted, “the story of that gift will travel up and down the river. Such stories serve a purpose.”

“Are you always so crafty? Always seeking some advantage?”

“Absolutely. I’m a Trader … just like you. Ah, you see, Otter, we’re not so different, you and I. Each of us seeks an advantage.

You in your barter for goods, I in the accumulation of obligations, good will, and alliances for my clan and territory.”

“It’s all Trade?”

“What else would it be? Just because you’re young, Otter, you’re no wide-eyed innocent. You’ve seen more of people and places than most old men who’ve died and been burned to ashes.

You know a great deal more than you ever let on.” She made a twirling gesture with her bony hand. “So why don’t you and I make a bargain—a Trade, if you will?”

“And what would that be, Grandmother?”

“If you give me honesty, I’ll give you freedom.”

“I already have it, or are you threatening to take Wave Dancer away from me, along with all my copper plate?”

“Yes, you have your precious freedom, or whatever it is that you think freedom is.” She pointed the walking stick northward.

“You could go up there. I’m sure there are clans along the Serpent River that would leap at the chance to adopt you into their ranks. Hmm? Give you your choice of wives, of fine houses and honors.” She paused. “They’d be fools not to.”

“Yes, Grandmother, I suppose there are people who would take me.”

“Good.” She bowed her head, frowning at the holes she’d poked into the mud with the walking stick. “I don’t think the others understand what you’ve been trying to tell them. Our world is about to change. That thought worries me.”

“Don’t judge them too harshly.” Otter fingered a nick in the wood. “Not even the Traders really understand. They look at the rise in demand and think it’s just good luck—or their own special Power.” Grandmother finally said, “I’m an old woman. I need you, Otter. More than that, the clan needs you. Your mother will need you even more. You heard that silly talk about raiding Khota canoes that might come down river?”

“Mother wouldn’t allow it. She’s smarter than that.”

“Ah, she might know that instinctively, but does she have the experience to argue against it? That’s the question. She’s a bright woman, I know. She makes most of the decisions these days; but leadership is more than wisdom. You need to understand what’s happening beyond your territory. Events upriver are going to affect your people. Like it or not, she’s going to need your eyes, ears … and experience.”

Otter buffed the wood with circular swipes of the cloth. “Are you really that worried that I might run away?”

He flinched when her hand settled on his arm. “Yes, Grandson.

What’s to stop you? The woman you have loved since you were a child just married your brother. You’re not one of us, Otter. Not in the sense that the other men are. You could not care less about clearing new fields. Hanging snares for deer in the forest runs and collecting nuts aren’t in your soul. Sitting beside a warm fire, watching your children play on the floor while you carve a new steatite pipe and gossip about your sister in-law’s relatives—none of that suits you.” She made a wistful sound. “The big ceremonial centers along the Serpent River, the Moon River, and the Ilini, they’re exciting … more so than this little squalid clan ground on the riverbank.”