People of the Owl(115)
The words caught the Sun People by complete surprise, but before the Elders could speak, the skinny boy cried, “Owl Clan accepts your offer, great Jaguar Hide.”
The boy stepped boldly forward, and for an instant, Anhinga expected his mother to leap from wherever she had been hidden in the crowd to drag him back.
“No, you don’t,” Mud Stalker growled, narrowing an eye as he studied the boy.
“Owl Clan accepts!” the boy fired back, effectively silencing Mud Stalker. The tension between them couldn’t be mistaken.
“Who are you, boy?” Jaguar Hide asked, obviously surprised.
“I am Salamander, son of Clan Elder Wing Heart and Speaker for the Owl Clan.”
Laughter broke out, and Anhinga could only stare as a cold shiver, like a whisper of Power, coursed in her veins. Mud Stalker was glaring daggers at the boy.
“Where is Wing Heart?” Jaguar Hide demanded.
“The Elder is ill,” the boy replied, his dark eyes fixed intently on Jaguar Hide. “I have offered to accept your conditions. Yes, or no, revered Elder? Will you marry your daughter to Wing Heart’s son, or were your brave words something else?”
Anhinga turned, seeing her uncle’s eyes glitter as he said, “I meant what I said! I came here seeking peace!” He looked as if he had just pulled his arm from a hole and found a water moccasin wrapped around it.
The boy took another step forward, offering his hand to Anhinga. “Then, as of this moment, I accept this woman for my wife.”
“Salamander!” a young woman cried from the crowd. “What are you doing?”
He ignored her, his gaze burning through Anhinga’s shock as he said, “Do you agree to take me as your husband?”
“Yes.” Her reply came involuntarily.
Salamander glanced at Jaguar Hide. “I presume that you have brought the traditional gifts of food. If you will distribute it to the assembled guests here, it will formalize the arrangement between us.”
Anhinga stared at Salamander’s extended hand, frozen in the moment.
The young woman from the crowd—a baby at her breast—elbowed her way forward, panic on her face. “Salamander, what did you just do?”
“Water Petal, I just cast myself adrift in the Dream,” he replied with a weary smile. “I just wish I knew where it will carry me.”
Anhinga placed a hand to her throat. She couldn’t breathe. Chaos seemed to erupt as the stunned crowd realized what had just occurred. Everyone began talking at once, crowding around her and the skinny youth who took his place so naturally at her side.
Blessed Panther, what have I done to myself?
Twenty-eight
Shouts of disbelief drowned the questions being called by others. Aware that he had trapped himself, but unsure how, Jaguar Hide reached into the sack of smoked fish and began handing it out. The boy, first in line, stared into his eyes, taking an oily chunk and thrusting it into his mouth as if in defiance.
Those eyes! Jaguar Hide shook his head. He had seen eyes like that, but never before in a child’s face. A child’s? The boy—the young man—was Speaker for Owl Clan? Had that been a joke? It was only later, in the milling swelter of people, that he had learned about White Bird’s death and the dissolution of Elder Wing Heart’s souls.
White Bird died over three moons ago! Elder Wing Heart discredited and soul sick? Why haven’t we heard? The question shifted back and forth between his souls.
At times the remoteness of their swamp, safe as it was, left them far removed from the activities of other peoples. Nor, obviously, would the young Owl Clan man he had contacted have admitted to these scandalous happenings within his clan.
Jaguar Hide returned his attention to the present, listening as he handed out gifts of smoked fish. He kept an eye on his niece, watching her as she stood, half in shock, at the youth’s side.
“How can Salamander just up and marry her?” a woman was asking her companion. “He didn’t even ask his clan!”
“He’s the Speaker, that’s how.”
“But his mother, she should have been consulted,” another declared hotly.
“Who? Wing Heart? She’s lost her souls: all she does is sit at her loom and Dream of the past.”
“You think Wing Heart retains enough of her wits to tell him no?” another asked.
“I’ll tell you what,” a man insisted, “when Mud Stalker insisted that Salamander follow his brother, he dealt a deathblow to Owl Clan.”
So it went, people passing him, collecting pieces of the rapidly vanishing fish, and through it all, he had no time to discuss this unsettling turn of affairs with Anhinga. She looked as if her own souls were floating, white-faced, back stiff, while the skinny manboy who stood beside her accepted the well-wishing of individuals.