“The two of you … he’s like, the earth, stable, secure, warm, and tender. You, Otter, you’re water—just like your Spirit out there. Tempestuous, exciting, rain and storm, flood and renewal, all in one.”
She sniffed, and he realized she was battling tears. Her shivers came half from the chill, half from her shaking emotions.
He reached for her, to pull her into his arms. “You did the right thing, beloved.” The scent of her refreshed his memory, made him hearken back to the other times when they’d slipped away into the darkness to share their bodies.
“I know,” she whispered. “You would have destroyed me, Otter. In the end, you would have driven me mad with loneliness.
I would have gone to Four Kills anyway. I’d have gone to him because he looked like you, acted like you.” She smiled wistfully. “It wouldn’t have been as if I hadn’t shared his blanket, either.”
“I knew that you had shared his blanket.” “He told you?”
“Never. It was enough to know that he loved you with all his heart.”
She seemed to wilt against him. “The worst time was always just after you left. I went to him as often as he or I could get away. I could pretend he was you. And in the end, I knew you would never be there for me … and he would always be.”
Otter ran his hands through her hair. “And if I asked you now? Would you share my blanket?”
She tensed, then trembled. “Don’t ask that. Please.”
He pushed her away, aware of his rising desire. “I guess I can’t, beloved. I can feel his acceptance even if we did. He loves us both. Go back to him. We’ve said what we need to.”
She hugged him so desperately that she drove the breath from him. Hot tears tickled on his neck. “This time, Otter, be even more careful than usual. I don’t understand why Power has come for you, but it’s dangerous. Stay alive, Otter. For me … for Four Kills. If you died, he’d … Just be careful!”
She grabbed his head to kiss him passionately, as if demanding his very soul. Then she whirled and ran for the trail.
Otter stood still for a moment, his soul gone numb, before he started along the shore, stepping around the canoes, brooding.
He stopped short at the sight of the crouched figure that sat perched on one of the overturned hulls.
Barely distinguishable from the darkness, the man rose on cat feet. In a deep voice, the Black Skull said, “Forgive me, Trader. The opportunity didn’t present itself to say anything.
And afterward … well, I had hoped you would walk the other way.”
Otter struggled to find a response, but he could only manage to nod.
“If you will excuse me, I must go and guard that addled lunatic.” At that, the warrior rose and disappeared into the darkness on ghost-quiet feet.
I sit cross-legged, my eyes fixed on the wavering dance of flames.
I can hear the Mask clearly now, or rather, the world around the Mask. It is as though the eye holes funnel sound to me.
Earlier, one ghost had been shrieking in anger; now two rage at each other. The frightening part is that they are ghosts, and will rage at each other through eternity.
“From somewhere in that distant land, a cackling laughter begins. Faint tremors of Power vibrate in the air around me, surging, seeking … Firelight cast eerie shadows over the assembled leaders of the Shining Bird Clan. Star Shell watched them through vacant eyes, barely aware of the fear that sank sharp talons into her belly. In her mind’s eye, the grisly image of Mica Bird’s swinging body dominated everything else. She shivered at the memory of his bugged-out eyes, the purple tongue protruding through swollen lips.
People had gathered in the Potters’ Society house—for no one would enter the clan house again. Mica Bird’s tormented ghost still seethed there, locked behind a barricaded doorway.
Frantic measures had been taken. Posts had been scavenged and set in holes hurriedly excavated into the frozen soil. This time, the posts faced inward to keep Mica Bird’s angry spirit at bay.
Branches of cedar, plucked from living trees, dangled on thongs tied to the tips of the poles. Hung so, they created a Spiritual barrier to the ghost.
Now the stricken clan. would decide what measures to take.
The Potters’ house consisted of a bent-pole frame roughly fifteen paces across. Sections of bark had been tied over the.
framework to shelter the contents and the women who worked here. Baskets of clay and ceramic jars of water lined the back wall. Large bowls held sand and grog for temper. Old bits of fabric and thick cord had been wound around paddles, to impress decorations into the wet clay of newly made pots. A stack of sharpened awls lay in a basket and were used for punctating and incising the clan’s unique designs. Other jars held special clays that allowed the maker to add a brightly colored slip.