“The Blue Duck, for one,” Star Shell said softly. “There will be others. Many see the Mask as a way to gain authority and status through Power. They would like to be known as wearers of the Mask. It offers a great deal to the ambitious.” Gray Deer sighed. “Yes, the Mask served my husband’s father well. Think back, people. Remember what our clan was like before the coming of the Mask? We lived from hand to mouth. Our clan grounds were small, and the Goosefoot Clan, the Many Paints, the Rattlesnake Clan, and the Blue Ducks never took us seriously. The Mask helped to build this clan. Our harvests improved. Others watched and took note. They would see their influence grow, too.”
Tall Man rose to his feet, a diminutive caricature in the fire’s glow. “An Elder of the High Heads requests permission to speak.”
Old Slate glanced around, then nodded. “We have heard of the Magician. He is known as a wise man. Let the Elder speak.”
Tall Man clasped his small hands before him. “As you know, the High Heads are an old people. A long time ago— so the legends say—one of my people received a Vision. It is said that Many Colored Crow called to him, took him to fly among the golden clouds of the Spirit World. In the Vision, Many Colored Crow gave this person directions about how to build the Mask.
“For many generations, the Mask helped people … and sometimes it hindered them. Some, those who were strong enough, used the Mask to accomplish great things. Others, those too weak to deal with the Power, became evil and were destroyed.
Finally, one man, seeing the pain he had caused, took the Mask and hid it on a mountain. From that time onward, no one went near that mountain.
“At the same time this was happening, a new people, the Flat Pipe, came into our valleys. At first we fought. Then a peace was made, and we lived side by side, often sharing territories.
Together, we have prospered. Trade increased, and the ancestors were happy.
“Finally, the one of whom we have spoken here, retrieved the Mask. It had been lost for a long time. Many had forgotten the Mask and its Power. The situation was discussed among those who remembered, but a decision was reached to do nothing.
It was thought that perhaps the Flat Pipes could use the Mask in a way we never did.
“I think now that it was a mistake. As long as the Mask is worn by men, it will cause discord and trouble. It has grown, become too Powerful. I believe it is not a thing for human beings anymore.”
“Burn it,” Old Slate muttered.
People nodded, a resolve growing.
“I would counsel my friends, the Shining Bird Clan, not to burn the Mask.” Tall Man looked about impassively.
Open stares were turned his way.
“What then?” Old Slate demanded. “Star Shell tells us that the clans are thinking about going to war. I believe Star Shell when she says that some would claim the Mask for their own.
Is that what we want? I ask the Elder of the High Heads, why shouldn’t we burn the Mask and be done with it?”
Tall Man looked up and spread his short arms. “I don’t think that would be wise. Just like burning the corpse frees the soul of the dead, so would burning the Mask free its Power. Do you want that kind of Power drifting around you like smoke? The ghosts of the ancestors would be helpless to prevent any retribution by Many Colored Crow. If you—” “Then what do we do?” Fat Lips interrupted rudely. “We have this thing here, among us. And worse, we now have a couple of angry ghosts within the clan grounds. We’ve had a tomb defiled. You did this to, us! You High Heads, you made the Mask in the first place!”
“Enough!” Old Slate snapped. She took a deep breath. “Forgive my cousin, Elder of the High Heads. We are all scared, shocked by what has happened to us.”
The Magician smiled beneficently, ignoring Fat Lips’ sour expression. “I understand. But allow me to finish. The Mask must be removed from the Moonshell valley. After that, things here will settle down. Angry passions will cool and people will be glad to blame the recent troubles on the Mask instead of on the Shining Bird Clan.”
“Who would take the Mask away?” Old Slate asked.
Star Shell raised her head, a dull feeling in her breast. “I will take the responsibility. My husband brought it here. His wife will take it away.”
Mutters of assent, along with a nodding of heads, followed.
Old Slate pursed her thin lips. “And where will you take it?
To Starsky? To your father? Starsky is strong enough without your father wearing the Mask. He doesn’t need its Power to add to Starsky’s authority. Or would you hide the Mask someplace?
If it was found once, it can be found again.”