People of the Lakes(57)
“I was standing there on a black rock, with the foamy waves lapping at my feet. Cold, Otter. I was shivering in the drenching spray as the body came whirling about in the sucking whirlpools.
A ray of sunlight pierced the sky then, shimmering through the dancing spray and silvering the droplets and striking gold from them as it lit your face. You were dead, brother, and your soul was still Dancing in the water.”
Otter had been entranced by Four Kills’ voice. Now he shook himself of the horrible image. Clearing his thoughts, he chuckled to lighten Four Kills’ melancholy.
“You’ve always feared the river, brother.” Otter reached out, mimicking his brother’s grip on his shoulder. “I know of no such waterfall in the Copper Lands.”
“Don’t go.” Four Kills met his sober stare. “It’s the Power of Twins, brother. I can feel it. Maybe you’ve covered it with sorrow over Red Moccasins, but I don’t want you going. Not now, not until we can divine the meaning of this. Perhaps it was Uncle’s ghost that whispered in my Dreams last night. A message, from the Dead.”
Otter was framing his reply when the sharp cry scattered his thoughts.
“Uncle Otter!” The childish voice belonged to Tiny Turtle, Red Dye’s youngest daughter, a chubby girl of about eight summers.
She came trotting doggedly across the smoking field, ash churning up about her moccasined feet. “Uncle Otter! You gotta come quick!”
Otter and Four Kills bent down, each reaching out instinctively.
Tiny Turtle panted to a confused stop, searching their identical faces. “Uncle Otter?”
Four Kills chuckled and dropped his arms.
“That’s me,” Otter confided. “You must have run all the way from the clan grounds to be this winded.”
“I did!” She nodded as she ran into his arms. He could feel the heat of her exertions through the thin fabric dress she wore.
The skirt had been decorated with circles of clamshell drilled through the center and bound by hemp thread. “You’ve got to come immediately. Grandmother sent me to find you. It’s mer gentcy.”
People of the Lakes I’ll
“Emergency? What’s happened?” He glanced up, noting Four Kills’ paling expression. The revelation of trte Dream was bad enough. Now this?
“Two canoes—war canoes—arrived from the City of the Dead. Some old men … important men. Clan Elders. They brought Green Spider to see you.” Otter squinted suspiciously. “I thought Green Spider was dead.”
“He was!” Tiny Turtle asserted, wide-eyed with the gravity of the whole situation. “But he’s come alive again! And he wants to see you! He brought the Black Skull with him! The Four Old Men came, too! Just to see you, Uncle Otter! You gotta hurry!”
“The Black Skull?” Four Kills mumbled disbelievingly. “To see Otter?”
Otter gave Tiny Turtle his best grin. “You’re sure you’ve got this right? Maybe the names you heard were—”
“No!” Tiny Turtle squirmed, breaking free to wave her arms up and down like frantic wings. “Grandmother told me the names. And, Uncle Otter, I’ve never seen her like this. She looked scared. You know, with her eyes gone funny and her mouth hanging loose. She barely looked at me. I mean, she didn’t even recognize me when she ordered me to find you!
And I’m her favoritel She’s told me so!”
“I believe you. We’d better hurry then. Can you run all the way back with me?”
“I can!” Tiny Turtle asserted, jerking her chin in a nod.
Otter straightened, dropping the adze. “Let’s go. Come on, brother. If it’s Green Spider and Black Skull, something’s really wrong.”
“It started with that Dream,” Four Kills growled. “Ghosts … blowing across my face all night. And you … floating dead in the water.”
“The only time I Dance is on land,” Otter quipped in return as he led the run across the smoldering field.
H2 Kathleen O’Neal Gear and W. Michael Gear When Star Shell had finally stepped out of the Blue Duck clan house that morning, it was into a pristine world. The virgin mantle of snow had blanketed the clan grounds with a delicate purity. The sky seemed bluer, the air crisp and invigorating.
Sunlight had sparkled off snow crystals, while the charnel hut, clan house, society houses, and storehouses were capped by fluffy whiteness. The ridge-shaped lump of the burial mound had looked soft in the morning light. The only tracks to mar the freshness had been those of the Star shaman who had climbed the platform mound to Sing his welcome to the new day.
Once Star Shell would have gasped and marveled at the sight.