People of the Owl(113)

Once before she had been brought here to be carried up that slope, degraded and bound—and there, during that foul day, she had suffered while her life was destroyed.

“Are you all right?” Jaguar Hide asked gently. “You haven’t taken a stroke in half a dozen heartbeats.”

“I was just seeing the past, Uncle.” She speared her paddle into the water, driving them forward. She watched as an incredible number of people began to spill down the bank, a host of them launching canoes. The slim craft pointed in their direction, sunlight flashing on paddles as they pushed their craft forward.

“Sobering, isn’t it?” Jaguar Hide asked from behind. “That is a lesson, Anhinga. Look at their numbers. And you and your fellows thought to bloody their nose?”

“Does this have a point, Uncle?”

“It does. When you are setting out to harm a great beast, the only way you can deal it a mortal blow is to strike at its heart. Swiftly, without remorse or pity. You must drive your blade true and straight, lest it kill you before you can escape.”

“I have already figured that out, Uncle.”

One of the lead canoes had closed and was turning sideways, a tall man in the bow, his right arm oddly cradled. “Greetings, Jaguar Hide,” the fellow called. “I am Mud Stalker, Speaker of the Snapping Turtle Clan. I am to direct you to the Turtle’s Back.” He pointed with a muscular left arm. “It is that hump of land there with the gum trees. We shall have our council there.”

“Snapping Turtle Clan?” Jaguar Hide muttered. “What do they have to do with anything?”

“Beware, Uncle. A great many things may be happening that we are unaware of. Just get me to Owl Clan, and all will be made right in time.”

In a loud voice, Jaguar Hide called, “Accompany us to that place. We have come in peace to see the great Elder, Wing Heart. It is time to bring an end to this senseless killing and raiding.”

“Especially as it has cost you so dearly,” Mud Stalker agreed in a jocular tone.

“I will drive a dart into his body myself,” Anhinga swore under her breath.

“Careful, Niece.” Jaguar Hide’s smooth voice warned. “Patience is the straightest dart in a hunter’s quiver.”

When they landed at the small island, it was to encounter a mob. “Not quite what we had expected, is it?” Anhinga asked.

“No, indeed,” he replied as he shipped his paddle and stepped out into the warm water. In one hand he retrieved a sack of smoked fish as an offering. In the other he carried his stone-headed ax. A tool equally useful in felling a tree or a man.

Anhinga nerved herself and reached for the sack that contained her personal possessions. The crowd parted, the way leading up to the shadowed base of the sweetgum tree. There a contingent stood, all dressed in finery, bodies greased, colorful feathers adorning their bodies.

“Courage,” Jaguar Hide whispered as he passed.

“You, too,” she shot back as she fell into step at his side. That short walk, surrounded on both sides by ranks of the enemy, every eye on her, was one of the most terrifying moments of her life. If this were a trap, they would be prisoners before either could react. Death was not nearly as frightening as the prospect of having her tendons cut and having to live the rest of her miserable life here as a slave.

By the time they reached the standing Elders, Anhinga was more than ready to run. Snakes and rot, could they see how scared she was? Even her tongue had stuck in her mouth. But for the grease on her skin, sweat would have beaded and gleamed as it ran.

“Greetings, Elders,” Jaguar Hide cried smoothly as he came to a stop. In that instant, he was the noblest man Anhinga had ever seen. Not a sliver of fear was visible in his demeanor or expression. The sunlight played in his silver hair and danced on his broad shoulders. “I am Jaguar Hide. You know me.”

“Indeed we do,” the tall man, Mud Stalker, replied as he stepped through the crowd to stand beside a middle-aged woman. “We have come to hear what you want from us.”

“Peace!” Jaguar Hide cried. “Nothing more, nothing less.”

“Peace?” A chubby man asked. He had a moony face, his belly like a giant smooth brown squash. What would have normally been pleasant eyes looked skeptical.

“Peace,” Jaguar Hide answered. “In the last several cycles, we have had too many of our young people murdered.”

“That is a strong word,” a grizzled old woman stepped forward. “I am Elder Stone Talon, of the Eagle Clan. My son and several of my cousins were butchered by you and your sneaky warriors, and over what? A couple of flats of sandstone?”