Reading Online Novel

People of the Mist(155)



At Shell Comb’s gentle sigh, he looked up. What an attractive woman she was, her hair still black and full, her skin barely lined. Yes, he could see Red Knot in her, a stunning version of Shell Comb, but younger, the bright promise of life not yet tarnished by age and care.

She noticed his attention, asking, “What look is that in your eyes, Elder? Surely not desire?”

“I’m only old, Shell Comb—not dead. You’re a striking woman.”

She shifted uncomfortably, smiling at the compliment. “You flatter me, Elder. Given your clever mind, I wonder at your purpose.” “I have no purpose. If a man can’t admire a beautiful woman—and perhaps wish a little—he’d be better off lying on the platform with the rest of them in the House of the Dead.” He hesitated. “Smile for me, Shell Comb. Look me right in the eyes, and give me the biggest, most wonderful smile you can.”

She hunched down on her knees, placed her hands on his shoulders, and eye-to-eye gave him her most radiant smile, flashing her perfect white teeth. After a long moment, she added, “There, is that enough for you?” An eyebrow arched. “Or, do you want more?”

He chuckled. “Of course I want more, but I’m also well aware of what age does to a man. No, no, my dear, my time of lying with a woman is over for good and all time. You see, the problem with age is that your parts wear out. The only thing that particular part is good for now is passing night water.”

She patted him on the shoulders and straightened. “By Okeus! You know, Elder, I wish you’d seen a few tens of Comings of the Leaves less. I’ll bet you and I would have made quite a match.” She paused. “You’re not Greenstone Clan, are you?”

“No, not Greenstone. Not now, or ever.” He glanced up. “Still thinking about running off and sidestepping all this clan business? As I recall, on. that very first day, you looked at me with longing. You could still go, you know. Maybe wait until the solstice celebration is over and leave.”

“It’s too late for that,” she said sadly.

“Ah, yes. I forgot, you didn’t like the strangeness among the Susquehannocks.” He let the sun warm his face. “How long ago was it that you made that journey north?”

“Since then I’ve seen the leaves come ten and seven times.”

“Are the memories still fresh?”

“Oh, yes.” She closed her eyes and smiled. “I can see it as if it were yesterday.”

He grinned at her. “What did you think of the White Dog ceremony?”

She made a face. “It was a little ridiculous. Just think, a strong nation like the Andaste have to kill a little white dog, and burn his body to send a message to go’d? How would you feel if you were Okeus, and people sent you a dog for a messenger? It’s… well, insulting!”

“And it goes on for days.”

She nodded. “Maybe they don’t have anything else to do, being locked in their long houses for days on end with nothing but snow everywhere.”

“It’s the middle of winter. Up in that country, what do you expect?” He paused. “Well, if you think sending a little white dog is ridiculous, what would you send?”

“A person, of course.” Shell Comb shrugged. “Isn’t that why our ancestors are so cared for in the House of the Dead? Unlike the Andaste, we can speak for ourselves.” “And the Green Corn ceremony? Is that so different from our own, here?”

“Indeed it is, Elder.” She used a finger to emphasize her point. “Those silly Andaste, they do the same dance for each ceremony. Always the Feather Dance. No matter what the ceremony—winter, spring, corn-ripening, harvest, or fall. The same thing over and over. I don’t think I was ever so bored as during the Ah-do’~weh. Speech after monotonous speech. And the masks! False faces, bushy faces, cavorting around like monsters!” She shook her head. “I think we’re a great deal smarter. The Spirits come and live inside our Guardian posts. We don’t invite them into our bodies.” She glanced at him, suddenly uneasy.

“No, Shell Comb, I’m possessed of no other spirit than my own, and it, I must say, is more than I’ve ever been able to handle.” He smiled up at the bright morning sunlight. “I find it curious that no matter how I protest, people insist on believing that a person wants to be a witch. I’d no more make that bargain with Power than cut off my right arm.”

She fiddled with the corner of her feather cloak. “If you could go back, do anything differently, what would you do, Elder?”

His brow knotted with thought. “Oh, everything, I suppose. Presuming, that is, that I could go back knowing what I do now—to counsel myself. That’s what you mean, isn’t it? For, after all, it was passion and inexperience that led us into our mistakes in the first place.” He shrugged. “What about you, Shell Comb?”