People of the Lakes(94)

“Go on.”

“What happens when you bend an obsidian blade. Trader?”

“It snaps.” Green Spider shivered, and sighed. “The Black Skull needs to turn himself inside-out before he cuts off his own head and suffocates.”

“I see.”

Without a word more, Green Spider stood, hummed to himself while he did a little Dance, then pirouetted back to the fire and flopped down atop his bedding. He rolled himself up in his blankets and began to snore, loudly.

Otter glanced nervously at the dark lump where Black Skull had bedded down by the canoe. Catcher sniffed at the warrior’s bed, then trotted toward the fire. He stretched, shook himself, and circled several times before dropping on the sand at Green Spider’s feet. With pricked ears, he watched Otter for a moment, then yawned.

Otter fed another piece of wood into the fire. The flames flickered merrily. What had that exchange been about? Black Skull had, so the story went, killed his mother. Beyond that, not much had ever been said—and the White Shell didn’t have many ties with the Black Clan.

. Otter glanced at the warrior’s blanketed form again. A man didn’t just kill his mother and go on about life. His family would exact retribution for such a grisly crime … unless, of course, the family had sanctioned it. And if it had, that would account for the lack of gossip floating about the country.

Otter rubbed his tired face. Why, of all people, had Power called on him to take this unlikely pair north? Couldn’t Power have found just as gullible a Trader at the City of the Dead?

The place would have been crawling with them during the solstice.

And gamblers? He studied Green Spider from the corner of his eye. The Contrary had tried to tell them, but as usual, the import had been hidden in twisted meanings.

Does the world really hang in the balance as the Clan Elders insist? Or is Black Skull right? Are we all on a fool’s errand?

And if that’s the case, what will it cost us?

Otter shifted, suddenly aware of the little leather bag his mother had given him. He fished it out and studied it. Blue Jar said that a Trader had brought it down from the Khota. That Trader had paid handsomely for this—yet Blue Jar said she had obtained it for a mere night’s rest and a hot meal.

Otter pulled the mouth of the sack open and turned it upside down. A piece of copper, bound in cord, fell out. Even before he unwound it, he recognized the familiar ornament. The polished piece had been drilled through the middle and hung on the braided cord. In the firelight, the copper likeness of a falcon stared up at him. A freshwater pearl had been set for an eye; it seemed to burn in the yellow light.

In all the years Otter had known him, Uncle had never taken the copper falcon from around his neck.

Otter bowed his head, his fist knotting on the cool metal.

When he finally took a deep breath and looked up, he caught the gleam of firelight in Green Spider’s eyes. The Contrary said nothing, but watched him with an unwavering intensity.





Fourteen


Pearl waited in the dark shelter, feigning sleep. Tonight, on this narrow island in the middle of the river, she would make her escape. The Khota felt secure. That feeling–along with the yellow valerian she’d laced into the stew—might prove to be her only edge.

Yellow valerian had been used by Anhinga Healers for generations as a sedative. The problem with hunting herbs in the middle of the winter, and under guard at that, was that a person couldn’t always find what she was looking for. The plants were dead, and the only clue might be a few twisted brown stalks and some curled tan leaves. In this case, Pearl had been able to infuse only one small root into the evening meal.

She waited for the right moment. Patience, she counseled herself.

Her blankets were so warm. As tendrils of weariness threaded past her guard, she too drifted off … to dream … Sunlight shimmered on turquoise waters, sparking bits of silver off the waves. Pearl balanced in her slim canoe, her spear poised as the boat rose and fell. To her right, breakers rolled onto a white beach that gave way to salt grasses and dunes. Farther inland, she could see the dark green belt of pines and cypress that marked the backwaters.

As the warm sea breeze caressed her skin, she searched the clear water for her prey. Above the flat horizon, massed white thunderheads promised hot afternoon showers as they were driven ashore by the gulf winds. The musky odor of the warm water filled her nostrils, and white salt stains marked her smooth brown skin. She shook her head to flip the tangled black mass of her hair away from her eyes.

There! The dark shape moved in the crystal depths. With a smooth motion, Pearl launched the spear with its serrated bone point. The lanyard rope streamed out behind, drawing coils of braided cord from the bottom of the canoe.