People of the Lakes(97)
“So, what do we do with the badger bowls? What do we need them for?”
“We need the badger bowls to Trade with Elk’s Foot. He’s the head Elder of the Cottonwood Clan. He’s got a passion for these badger bowls. He leaves them as offerings to one of his ancestors. He fills them with seeds and places them on the top of the clan burial mound, a gesture of respect for his greatgrandfather’s ghost. In return, we’ll get a couple of pots of his honey beer.”
“And that we drink?”
“No, we take the honey beer, and Trade it to Great Ring at Hilltop. The Hilltop holdings are located just south of the mouth of the Serpent River. For the honey beer, Great Ring will Trade a tanned buffalo robe that came out of the plains this last fall.”
“And we’ll Trade the buffalo robe to someone?” Black Skull was shaking his head.
“You’re catching on.”
“You never get to keep any of the worthwhile goods. You just Trade them away to someone else. -Sounds dreary to me, Trader.” Black Skull grumbled to himself and gave the paddle all of his effort.
Green Spider had ceased to drag his hands in the water and now stared with fascination as droplets fell from his fingertips to form rings that spread over the canoe’s wake. He squinted at the rings, bending over the side of the canoe to watch them melt into the wake and vanish.
After a tijne, Black Skull shipped his paddle and turned halfway around. “So why don’t we just Trade the sharks’ teeth for the buffalo robe and be done with it?”
Otter counterbalanced for the way Green Spider leaned over the side, trying to watch the water. “Because every Trader who goes upriver tries to Trade sharks’ teeth to Great Ring. Look, Hilltop is situated right under the confluence, which means that everything that passes up and down the river goes by his clan’s ground. Now I happen to know he likes that honey beer, but he and Elk’s Foot have hated each other for years. Great Ring doesn’t get much honey beer as a result.”
“Then let’s give him more sharks’ teeth and save the time,” Black Skull insisted.
Otter sighed, “You’re just not good at this, Black Skull.”
“But I don’t—”
“Never mind!”
Star Shell blinked herself awake. The Dream had been horrifying.
She’d been surrounded by burning corpses, all of them reaching for her with fingers of fire. A mountain, consumed in flames, had risen into a reddish, smoke-choked sky. Not a mountain like those she knew, but a huge slab of rock that jutted upward in steep majesty. The high, timbered slopes had been ablaze, and there men screamed as they burned to death.
A fat man, dressed in skins, had run toward her, waving his arms in the flames while sparks fell around him, setting trees ablaze.
She massaged her tired eyes with gentle fingers, as if she could rub away the vivid images: flames, men burning, burning as her husband’s body should have burned by now. She’d had Power Dreams before—haunting visions of people and places far away—but the terror of this one didn’t fade from her soul.
Easy, Star Shell. You’re exhausted, that’s all. As soon as the horror of your husband’s death fades, it will be all right.
Star Shell looked up at the roof of the small hut. Sections of bark had been overlapped and tied to the bowed rafter poles with rough cordage. The place looked old, in need , repair.
“Awake?” a reedy voice asked.
Star Shell turned her head. An old woman crouched over a small, smoldering fire. She wore a faded, worn blanket that had unraveled at the edges. Where once-bright colors had made it a thing of beauty, now smudges of dirt and ash sullied it.
Silver threads had won the battle with gray in the old woman’s hair, which she wore pulled back in a severe bun. Ancient brown eyes looked out from a mass of wrinkles, and her undershot jaw proved that all of the teeth had fallen out.
An old dog, its muzzle gone white with age, lifted its head to glance longingly at the old woman. The tail slapped the ground twice before the dog yawned. Then it dropped its head back onto the filthy brown fabric it slept on and huffed a heavy sigh.
The hag shook her head at the animal, then glanced at Star Shell with rheumy eyes. “It’s almost morning. You’ve slept a long time.”
Star Shell sat up and looked around the small hut. Silver Water’s body was little more than a small mound in the blankets.
Tall Man’s face was visible only from the nose up. The rest of him lay covered in another grease-crusted blanket.
Here and there, faint traces of snow had worked between cracks in the bark siding. Old spiderwebs rippled along the walls as the air currents played with them. A mouse zipped around one of the half-rotted posts and out through a hole.