People of the Owl(117)

Night Rain’s gasping had slowed to deep breathing. “Sister, this isn’t good, is it?”

“I don’t know,” Pine Drop said softly, her gaze growing absent. “Maybe I just need time to think, that’s all.”





The sun had dipped below the high embankment of Sun Town to cast a blue-green shadow across Morning Lake. Puffs of cloud gleamed as they continued their endless march north from the gulf.

People slowly trickled away, taking to their canoes to paddle back to the landing. Salamander paused for a moment to gather his thoughts. The afternoon had passed like one of the whirlwinds that ripped out of late-summer thunderheads.

Several clumps of young men stood in furtive groups by the shore, talking over the day’s events as they studied their canoes and shot curious glances back at Jaguar Hide. Salamander couldn’t help notice the stacked atlatls and darts lying inside those narrow hulls. Something about the way they waited, the way they stood, quickened his souls.

Jaguar Hide stood to one side, his head bowed as he studied the charcoal-stained dirt at his feet. His face was a deeply lined mask, the thoughts hidden, almost brooding. If Salamander could read the set of his shoulders, a terrible nagging worry lay within the man.

Salamander glanced at his new wife. Jaguar Hide had every reason to be worried, most likely about his current situation. His life was under the protection of a broken and impotent clan. Anhinga, however, looked absolutely miserable and terrified, as if she were once again some sort of captive.

“Do not be frightened,” he said as he turned to her. “I think this was meant to be.”

Her eyes were partially hidden by the fall of her long black hair. She stood with her arms crossed under her breasts, the nipples like darts pointed at his souls. “Who are you?” Her voice was laced with frustration.

“I am Salamander, Speaker for the Owl Clan, as you have heard over and over this day.”

“Who are you?” she repeated more vehemently. “Why did you step out today? You’re no Speaker. The Sun People only choose old men for Speakers.”

“This time they chose me. It happens, but very rarely.”

“Why you?”

“Because my brother was killed. He was struck by lightning. I was made Speaker in his place.”

“That makes no sense.” Her beautiful face trembled as if she were fighting sudden tears.

“It wasn’t supposed to.” He narrowed an eye. “They made me Speaker in order to discredit my clan.”

“It worked.”

He smiled. “Yes. For the moment. Come, we must talk with your uncle.” But she didn’t move as Salamander walked over to where Jaguar Hide stood lost in his musings. “Elder? Are you staying the night on the island?”

“I think not.” He lifted his head to scan the sky. “It will be dark in a couple of fingers’ time. That will be good enough.” His smile turned predatory. “Were I to stay here, boy, I’m not sure my souls would find my body alive in the morning. There are men here who wouldn’t trouble themselves over a silly little agreement made between you and me. And, as I have discovered, the great Wing Heart’s authority is a thing of the past, so I doubt she could protect me.” He shook his head, eyes taking in the waiting youths. “No, better that I take my leave as dark is falling. By the time a pursuer catches up, I will have vanished into the channels like the fog.”

“As you wish, Elder.”

The old warrior studied him as if he were a piece of meat. “Are you a fool, or a joke, boy?”

“I am Speaker for the Owl Clan.” He couldn’t help meeting that gaze. “I am supposed to be a joke. The spirits will decide who laughs longest.”

“I see.” He turned his attention to Anhinga. “I will be going. Take care of my niece. If you don’t, I will hear about it; when I do, it will take you a long, long time to die.”

The way he said it made Salamander’s blood chill. This man had been raiding from the swamps when Salamander’s mother was but a suckling. It took no stretch of imagination to believe the stories about the number of men Jaguar Hide had killed.

The Swamp Panther Elder turned and walked toward the shore. He bent over the canoe, laying out what Salamander determined were sandstone slabs. Then, without a word, he pushed the canoe out, jumping lithely into it. The craft didn’t even rock as the old warrior settled in the stern, picked up his paddle, and pulled the canoe around.

“Wait!” The cry strangled in Anhinga’s throat as she rushed up, staring in disbelief, a slim hand to her throat. In a louder voice, she called, “Uncle?”