“That was it?”
She nodded, her fingers still moving up and down her thighs.
“You didn’t press him?”
“Of course I did, Uncle. But his entire manner had changed. I might just as well have slapped him.”
He ran his fingers along his new dart. “I don’t suppose you took the opportunity to lie with your husband? That usually loosens a man’s tongue.”
Her eyes fixed on his, dark, penetrating; the effect left him unsettled. “It wouldn’t have been right, Uncle.”
“What’s not right about it? You’re his wife! Wives couple with husbands. It’s what they do.”
“After having been with Three Stomachs the day before?”
“You know why we’re doing that.”
The corners of her mouth tightened. “It wasn’t that kind of day,” she muttered. “Excuse me, Uncle. I was up with the dawn. I’m tired.”
“Don’t forget, with Back Scratch’s death your mother is confirmed in the Council in three days. We need to prepare a feast for her, and we want you and your sister there for her confirmation. Dress in your finest.” He paused, failing to understand her irritation. “And don’t stop working on your husband. I’m sure you’re smart enough to pry this information out of him.”
“I doubt I’ll see him anytime soon, Uncle. Not after today.”
“What? Why not? He sleeps in your house, doesn’t he?”
“That’s about all he does.” She rose gracefully, her parting glance upsetting his protest before she strode off toward her house on the third ridge.
He frowned as he fingered his new dart. Firelight danced in yellow waves along the cane shaft. What just happened here? What did I miss?
Twenty-six
The Council House was filled; the six clans occupied their respective sections along the edge of the ring. While a great fire was built in the center at night, on daytime occasions such as this, a smoldering log in the middle of the fire pit sufficed. The afternoon sun was slanting at an angle from the northwest. The shaft of light illuminated Mud Stalker and his sister Sweet Root, the newly appointed Clan Elder.
Wing Heart studied her new opponent and tried to concentrate. Sweet Root. This was Sweet Root. Elder Back Scratch was dead. Dead. Just like Graywood Snake. Just like White Bird. Cloud Heron … dead.
When? She blinked, confused.
The terrible ache in her souls continued to muddle her thoughts. As the meeting continued, she kept hearing Cloud Heron, his deep voice booming as he stepped out and addressed the Council. She could see him there in the slanting sunlight. Watched as he raised his hand and spoke so eloquently to the crowd. His voice, so clear and resonant, echoing in her souls.
Look at him! Isn’t he magnificent? Has there ever been a Speaker as grand as Cloud Heron?
She tried desperately to focus her attention on Sweet Root, but tears tugged at the corners of her vision.
Sweet Root was speaking, her voice sounding far away. She remained a handsome woman, her hair still midnight black despite her age. She might have delivered eight children, two of whom had lived, but her body remained slim, only a thickening of her waist evidence of the seasons she had spent carrying children in her womb. She had been tattooed around her flattened breasts, down the midline of her belly, along the arch of her shoulders, and across her chin. Another pattern of concentric circles had been tattooed on her abdomen between the navel and pubis in an effort to increase her fertility; that pattern was now obscured by the dust gray kirtle she wore.
Wing Heart glanced about, looking for Cloud Heron. She had just seen him, addressing the Council. Not a moment before. He had to be here somewhere. Where is he?
Snapping Turtle Clan was well represented on this day, as was their right. Not only did Speaker Mud Stalker sit proudly as his sister was confirmed as Elder, but so did both of the woman’s daughters, Pine Drop and Night Rain. The girls had dressed resplendently: Brightly colored headdresses made from painted bunting feathers perched atop their gleaming black hair, and yellow shawls of tanned young alligator hide hung from their shoulders. Each of their kirtles was tied immaculately at the waist.
Such beautiful girls. Very worthy of White Bird. She looked around, losing her thoughts. Where is White Bird? He should be here for this.
“Dead,” a voice echoed in her head.
“No, not dead,” she snapped in irritation as she glanced around, seeking to identify the speaker. It was impossible. Absolutely impossible. He lived, yes, that’s right. Something held him up. Something important.
“As my first act as Clan Elder,” Sweet Root’s raspy voice called, “I must ask this Council to consider the matter of Owl Clan’s invitation to the Swamp Panther leader, Jaguar Hide.”