Salamander’s heart fell. She didn’t hold it against him, did she? “Water Petal, I didn’t do it on purpose.”
She glanced back at him over the pile of fish traps and read his expression. “No, not you, Salamander. I don’t blame you. By the Earth Monsters, I don’t know how this happened so fast. It’s as if Power just blew through like the south wind and left us broken and beaten.”
“I am still Speaker.” He considered that. “Moccasin Leaf might be able to have Mother removed, but as Speaker …”
She turned, expression thoughtful. “Finish that. What were you about to say?”
“Mud Stalker wanted me as Speaker. He saw more clearly than anyone. I would love to know how. He has wanted our clan to be disgraced for years. He brokered the marriage with White Bird and placed me right in line to succeed my brother if anything happened. It’s as if he knew White Bird was going to die.”
“Salamander, no one can foretell a lightning strike.”
“No, but having seen the things I have, it makes me wonder.”
“What? That Mud Stalker would have killed White Bird? Do you know what an awful chance he would have been taking? Murdering another clan’s Speaker would destroy Sun Town, split the clans right down the middle! It would mean war … between us! At best he would be hunted down and murdered! His family and lineage cast into exile, or maybe even killed!”
Salamander stopped short, images reeling in his souls. “Blessed Owl,” he whispered.
“Yes? What?”
“It’s me!”
“What’s you, Salamander?” She was focused on him now, the canoe drifting listlessly toward a lush green bank. As the spring flood had receded, it had left behind a braided web of channels like this one that crisscrossed the wide Father Water’s floodplain.
“It’s me that he’s been counting on. He’s been ahead of me all along. He is counting on me to be a failure.”
Water Petal said nothing, her expression pinched.
Reading it, Salamander smiled sadly. “I know, Cousin. We’re relatives: you, Yellow Spider, and me. Outside of Mother, we are the last of our lineage.”
“It’s not your fault, Salamander.” Water Petal turned away, her hands slipping up and down the paddle as if agitated.
“It isn’t time yet,” Salamander said gently.
She turned, caught off guard. “Time for what?”
“To take back what is ours.”
“I don’t understand you.”
“I’m not sure I do, either. Cousin, I am going to need an ally.”
“Salamander, what are you talking about?”
“I’m not sure yet. But when I know, I’ll tell you, all right?”
“You’re starting to sound as crazy as your mother.”
“Let’s hope the rest of the clans think so.” He smiled for the first time, pitching the fish trap atop the pile. “The next float is just up there. That’s the last one that Pine Drop and I set. I say we cut up this crappie for bait and make another set in the next channel.”
For the first time since he had caught his cricket the night White Bird returned from the north, he actually felt tendrils of hope.
Accompanied by six of the enemy’s canoes, Jaguar Hide and Anhinga paddled ever closer to Sun Town. It had been a trial for Anhinga, meeting those canoes full of Sun People and traveling side by side with them. In the narrow channels, the enemy were so close that she could reach out with her paddle and tap them. They were propelled by muscular young men, their bodies greased and wearing their best. Colorful feathers were tucked into armbands, hair was done up in high buns and pinned with bone skewers. They wore layers of necklaces across their swelling chests that proclaimed Sun Town’s immense wealth. Curiosity and danger reflected in their hard gazes as they paralleled her course.
To keep her nerve, she ignored their called questions, allowed Uncle to do the talking, and kept her back straight, eyes on the channel before her.
She considered it her first challenge, one that she had met, smiling, but remaining aloof enough to keep them at bay. She was, after all, Swamp Panther, the niece of the most noted warrior in the history of her people.
Two other canoes had shot ahead to carry word to Wing Heart that Jaguar Hide was nearing. In spite of her vow of self-control, Anhinga felt a quickening, a thrill and fear mixing within her. She was entering the camp of the enemy to take up a new and secret life.
“Easy,” her uncle whispered behind her as they followed a winding channel past a stand of bald cypress, the boles knotted and thick where they rose from the still water. There lay Sun Town, dominating the high bluff across a sun-silvered lake. Dark soil was exposed on either side of the canoe landing, and up high she could see the Father Mound topped by the dreaded Men’s House.