“He’s a Contrary,” Old Man Blood reminded sourly. “We’re perfectly safe.”
“But he … ” Black Skull straightened. The danger charging down upon them consisted of two little girls: one about eight, the other perhaps ten. They skipped down the steep slope, shouting and laughing.
“Who’s here?” the older girl called as she perched on-a limestone rock above them.
Black Skull drew himself up, filling his lungs. “The four Clan Elders of the City of the Dead, their warrior, the Black Skull, and … and Green Spider.”
The girl cocked her head, giggling. “Sure you are. And I’m Many Colored Crow! Who should I tell Grandmother is really here to see her?”
The eight-year-old had slid to a stop several paces in front of Black Skull. She frowned as she inspected him. Turning, she shouted: “He’s ugly enough to be the Black Skull!”
The older girl laughed again, her eyes sparkling with mischief.
Black Skull exhaled wearily, aware of the amusement in Old Man Blood’s eyes. Old Man North, his bony hands clasped behind his back, stared out at the river to keep Black Skull from seeing his stifled laughter. Green Spider had climbed out of the canoe again, and now he thoughtfully studied a big Trading vessel that rested upside down on skids. The wood shone, lustrous and polished. Brightly colored carvings lined the-hull above the waterline.
Black Skull lifted his war club, shaking it. “Tell your grandmother that the Black Skull is here to eat little girlsl” He thrust the club toward the path to the clan grounds. “Now, go announce our arrival!”
The eight-year-old backed up, her eyes suddenly large. She spun on her heel and shot up the trail, even passing her sister on the way.
“How do these people raise their children? Don’t they teach them anything? What do they expect? That I’m not who I say I am?”
Green Spider’s absent gaze shifted from the canoe to Black Skull. “We are never who we say we are.”
Black Skull felt his face begin to twitch, and he struggled for control. Ever since the Copena war club had crushed his cheekbone, he’d had trouble with the muscles.
“It’s a long way up.” Old Man North studied the path that led to the clan grounds. “I suppose we should start. Black Skull, go find this Otter. He’s supposed to be a Trader here.”
Black Skull stamped his foot to settle his crawling nerves, then charged up the rutted way, his dart still nocked in his atlatl.
The second canoe had beached. Three Eagles had wilted in the stern, exhausted, his paddle across the gunwales.
Black Skull bounded clear of the top of the bluff to find the two girls chattering excitedly to a group of women who stood before the opening to the clan grounds. They stopped short, staring at him with wide eyes. He dropped to a defensive crouch and gave the curving earthworks a careful inspection for any ftint of danger.
All that worry and frustration on the river had fed the desire to kill something—and all that awaited him here was a covey of wide-eyed women!
Taking a deep breath, he threw his head back, withdrawing the dart from his atlatl. The women stood frozen. And he realized what a sight he must have been as he vaulted over the crest, ready to cast.
“I am called the Black Skull! I announce the arrival of the Four Clan Elders of the City of the Dead. And with them comes Green Spider. He seeks a man of the White Shell Clan, known as Otter!”
“You are Black Skull! I saw you once.” A middle-aged woman stepped forward, peering up at him. “But we heard that Green Spider died … on the solstice.”
“Green Spider returned from the Dead. I have escorted him here!”
A shrunken old woman, growling and muttering to herself, pushed through the clot of women. “It’s him" She wet her lips nervously. “What … what do you want here?”
“The Trader, Otter. The Four Clan Elders and Green Spider would speak with him.”
The old woman placed a hand on the arm of the first woman who had spoken—as if for support. “Blue Jar? What’s happening?”
She looked back at Plack Skull, then saw Green Spider as he topped the rise. He was walking backward, pulling Old Man North up the slope by his withered hands. “I am … I am Yellow Reed, White Shell Clan Elder—grandmother to Otter.
What … what do you want from us?”
“I have told you, Grandmother,” Black Skull growled, hating this whole silly charade. They looked as if ghosts had just stepped into their world. Were these outlying clans sť simple after all? Didn’t they know anything?
“W-Welcome,” the old woman stuttered, openly staring as the fool stumbled around backwards. “This way. Come. Tea will be made. Food brought. And … and Otter will be fetched. Immediately.” But she stood rooted in place as the rest of the Elders arrived, out of breath, to stand behind Black Skull.