Water Petal ducked out of the interior and looked up, satisfaction on her face. “We are finished.”
“Tonight we shall conduct the proper ceremonies to bless it.” Salamander turned himself on the wooden ladder they had manufactured—two poles lashed together with thick rope—and balanced carefully, his toes seeking a purchase as he backed down. Water Petal and Anhinga reached up to steady him as he clambered down the last steps.
He helped them lower the ladder and looked up at the dull green thatch. Freshly cut grass couldn’t be used; moist, it would rot and disintegrate. The cuttings had to be seasoned, dried to just the right consistency before being bundled.
“I feel better seeing a house there,” Water Petal told them with a sigh. “It reminds me of better days.” She turned to look at her baby where it lay in wrap of moss-lined fabric.
“How is he?” Anhinga asked, pointing at the child.
“Still asleep, thank the Sky Beings,” she answered. “He cried all night. I dabbed a bit of nightshade paste on my finger and touched it to his tongue before coming over here.”
Anhinga narrowed one of her eyes. “That must be done with care.” She was inspecting the little baby.
“He has to sleep,” Water Petal answered, turning back. “Perhaps it will keep his bowels quiet. For the last couple of days milk goes in and moments later, water comes out. I’ve wiped his bottom until it’s raw.”
To Salamander’s eyes, his little cousin didn’t look healthy; the delicate skin around the infant’s face had shrunk and taken on a dark cast. The baby fat had disappeared from sticklike arms.
“My best thoughts are for him,” Anhinga said.
Salamander watched the interplay between the two women. Anhinga and Water Petal had reached some sort of uneasy coexistence. Not friends, not enemies, but during the hard days since the completion of Anhinga’s cleansing, a careful toleration had developed as they had labored together to build Anhinga’s house.
Looking toward the ramada, Salamander could see his mother, oblivious, her hands working the shuttle as she talked to herself. He dared not step closer, or he would hear her carrying on a conversation with her dead brother. He wondered if she could hear his Dream Soul talking in reply. If so, what was his dead uncle saying? Why didn’t he send her souls back to her?
Instead, he inspected the turtle. It’s once-yellow belly had mottled. The black spots that marked the scoots were now blotched with ash. “He’s about cooked. Every new house must have turtle for the first meal.”
“Why?” Anhinga asked.
Salamander was admiring the way her long black hair hung over her round breast, to be teased aside by the wind. “Among our people it is said that Turtle’s Power is imparted to the new house. Wherever Turtle goes, his house protects him, keeps him from harm.”
She frowned. “My people eat snails as a feast when a new house is occupied. For the same reasons. Snail always has a house, no matter where he travels.” She pointed. “Your turtle there, his house didn’t keep him safe from your fire.”
Water Petal’s lips twitched with irritation. Salamander, however, smiled, replying, “And I’ll bet your snails’ shells don’t save them from your boiling pot, either.”
“I have sassafras and cedar root,” Water Petal told him as she hid her expression by inspecting the cuts on her hands. “I’ll bring them tonight for the first fire.”
“Why?” Anhinga asked.
“Cedar smoke cleanses,” Salamander told her. “And my people believe that sassafras-root smoke brings good luck. For the same reason, we must not reenter the house until we have made necklaces of flowers, so that all the thoughts and words that people share inside will be sweet.”
Anhinga studied him through sultry brown eyes, the look barely masking the turbulence within her. His souls thrilled. Not only was she the most beautiful woman he had ever seen, but the danger communicated by her large dark eyes drew him like a spell.
“What is it with you two?” Water Petal asked, sensing the tension between them. “I swear, when you look at each other it’s like rubbing fox fur on a winter day. The very air crackles and sparks.”
“It is the Power between us, Cousin.” Salamander turned toward Water Petal. “Anhinga and I are tied by a curious bond.” The secrets of their relationship would be beyond her, and he dared not try to explain about what happened under their blankets. His aunt might be young and adventurous herself, but somehow, Salamander doubted that anyone could comprehend the intensity of his matings with Anhinga.