Salamander gave her a short nod. “If you would be more comfortable. Up ahead are the Owl Clan grounds. There, that first ridge, is where my lineage lives. I am building your house there, next to Mother’s. It is a good location. From the front door you can see straight out across the lake to the east. Every morning the sun shines right through the doorway.”
“There was no house there?”
“There was. My brother was burned in it after lightning killed him. It happened right there.” He indicated a place on the edge of the borrow pit. Several wispy goosefoot plants stood on the spot, the trilobed leaves insect-chewed. “He was planting that goosefoot when he died. We don’t touch it.” He gave her a serious look. “It is not for us, do you understand? It belongs to the Sky Beings.”
After dark I shall be sure to urinate upon the spot. “Who am I to question the Sky Beings?” she asked.
He led her around the borrow pit to the toe of the ridge. It was a stunning location. The view was the finest she had ever seen. At her feet the bluff dropped away to the shores of the lake, a moderatesized body of water. Two canoes were trolling a net behind them, or so she assumed given that the occupants were paddling mightily, their bows pointed outward, and each trailed a rope into the water. Beyond them an endless vista of sweetgum, tupelo, bald cypress, and water oak stretched in a vast forest that merged into the distant horizon.
Looking northward, she counted out the five ridges to a low bank of trees. “What is there, beyond the sixth ridge?”
“A deep gully,” Salamander told her. “Beyond that a wide trail runs to the north, to the Star Mound. There, at the summer solstice, we thank Mother Sun for returning to us again and bringing the world to life. For the rest of the year it is a guardian against the Dark Powers.”
She nodded, thinking how similar their beliefs were to her own. At the Panther’s Bones, her people retreated to the high rise at the north end of the village to conduct their summer solstice ceremonies.
“Our house will be there.” He pointed, a hesitation in his voice.
She looked behind her, seeing a collection of building material beside a burned circle. Charred posts still protruded from the ground. Grass had grown around the black outline where the heat from the burning house hadn’t killed the roots.
“My brother’s bones were burned there.” Salamander looked even more frail.
Good! May his souls watch as I couple with his brother. May he scream his warnings from the Spirit World onto deaf ears. May he wail as I avenge my people upon his family.
She could feel the Serpent’s piercing gaze boring into her back. She realized that a grim smile had come to her lips. Salamander was watching her, brown eyes large. “It was the way of Power,” he said simply. “Everything is.”
To cover herself, she said, “It will make a wonderful house, husband. The sooner we finish, the better. Who is that?” She pointed to the elderly woman who sat under a ramada not ten paces beyond, her body bent over a loom.
“That is Elder Wing Heart, my mother.”
She heard the worry in his voice. “You say her souls are loose?” Before he could answer, she added, “I would meet your mother. Your family is now mine, husband. Introduce me.”
Reluctantly, he led her forward. A wooden pestle and mortar stood halfway between the house locations. Charcoal and old cooking clays were scattered about, as were bits of stone: flakes and crumbled sandstone, the latter looted from her own lands, no doubt. She cataloged the belongings under the ramada: cordage and fibers, several soapstone bowls, bark plates, a ceramic pot half-full of cloudy water, and an array of bone needles and combs.
The woman held her attention; she looked used up, wrung out, and discarded by life. Despite the drawn lines in her face, she still carried a regal air. She would have been attractive once, could be again if her eyes weren’t lost and roving. She still sat erect, her strong fingers caressing the fibers with a lover’s touch.
“Mother?” Salamander asked softly as he bent down beside her. She seemed oblivious to his presence, her head tilting back and forth, smiles rising and falling on her lips. Her expression kept changing, as if she were having silent conversations inside her head. “I have come to introduce you to Anhinga. The niece of Jaguar Hide. Elder, we have a new daughter for you.”
Wing Heart continued her weaving. Her son’s words might have been the droning of insects for all the attention she paid.
“Mother?” Salamander touched her shoulder, looked unhappily back at Anhinga. “I want you to meet my wife.”
“Yes, yes, White Bird. Go tell your uncle. And don’t let that idiot little brother of yours miss supper tonight. He’s probably off looking under logs or something. Now, go on, and don’t bother me. The Speaker and I have things to do. Plans to make before the next Council.”