She stepped out so that the fire illuminated her face and glanced up at the bark roof, choosing her words with care. “Fear is blowing across the clan territories like the winter wind. Why?
Because of the Mask. With it, my husband killed good men. He did it by looking at them. Not by driving a dart through someone, but with just a look.”
Star Shell closed her eyes for a moment, steadying herself.
“We may be too late as it is. Tall Man has had Visions … Visions granted by First Man. Many Colored Crow knows we will try to defeat the Mask. He is already acting to ensure that it remains with us.”
“But why?” Old Slate asked. “That is the one thing I can’t understand. Many Colored Crow is our friendl Why would he have such a thing built?” “May I answer?” Tall Man asked.
Old Slate gave a sweep of her arm, urging him to do so.
Tall Man cleared his throat. “In the beginning, the Creator made two brothers. One, First Man; the second, Many Colored Crow. They fought for their visions of what the world should be. First Man won. That doesn’t keep Many Colored Crow from trying to see his vision finally triufnph.”
At the expressions generated by his words, Tall Man responded, “Many Colored Crow isn’t evil. I’m not trying to say that. He was born to balance First Man. If you think of the world as a fire, you would readily understand that unless the fire were stirred every once in a while, the embers would burn out.” “People are not fires,” Fat Lips said condescendingly.
“Aren’t they?” Tall Man countered. “My people, the High Heads, had just about burned out. We were losing our heat. It was at that time that Many Colored Crow’s Mask was made.
Within a lifetime, we were smoldering again. When the Flat Pipe peoples added new fuel to an old flame, we began to burn brightly. A people, like a fire, , be stirred up. You see, when a fire is stirred, the shadow is mixed with the light.”
“That doesn’t make the Mask sound so bad,” Old Slate observed.
“It does if you consider that given too much wood, the fire will grow out of control and burn your house down,” Tall Man riposted. “Remember the Hero Twins. First Man and Many Colored Crow are constantly struggling, balancing each other. The Mask of Many Colored Crow has done what it was supposed to do for our people. Now the time has come to remove it.”
“That will anger Many Colored Crow,” Old Slate reminded.
“Yes, but it will please First Man,” the High Head dwarf insisted. “And if you will wait to make a final decision, I can offer you a way out of this dilemma.”
“How?” Fat Lips demanded. “We will anger one side of the Spirit World or the other, no matter what we do.”
“That might be true,” Tall Man said with a sad smile. “However, before the ghosts of my ancestors, I give you my word that I will provide you with a way out by tomorrow night.”
Old Slate licked her lips and glanced around. Everyone was nervous, unsure, afraid. “What do we do in the meantime?”
The Magician clasped his hands. “For now, go to your beds.
The angry ghosts of your cousin and his grandfather are contained for the night. Still, I would place a sprig of cedar at the doorways of your sleeping quarters, and do not go outside—just in case.” A , smile bent his lips. “And, believe me, I have a great deal of experience with angry ghosts.
“Tomorrow, first thing. Set fire to the clan house. Surround it with every person you can find. Have everyone wave cedar branches at the flames from first light until dark. Try to keep the guardian posts from burning. Then, after dark tomorrow night, you will see how the problem of the Mask can be solved without angering either side of the Spirit World.”
“By tomorrow night?” Old Slate repeated dubiously. “Why not now?”
Tall Man’s oddly shaped head bowed over his chest. “Because the first and most important worry is those ghosts over in the clan house. The Mask must come second.” He glanced up, taking the measure of each face. “I know of what I speak, especially when it comes to vengeful ghosts. I can only offer my advice. Will you take it?”
Murmurs of assent, enough to win the vote, made the rounds of anxious clanspeople.
“Just until tomorrow night?” Old Slate asked.
“I promise,” the Magician said solemnly.
Old Slate sighed wearily. “All right, Elder of the High Heads.
We will follow your advice.” To the people, Old Slate said, “Let’s go and try to sleep. Do as the Elder says; place cedar in the doorways, and perhaps over the beds, too. And please, stay inside tonight.”