“It must be something.” Water Petal sighed, reaching down to scoop up her sleeping baby. “You’ve turned the clan on its ear with this marriage. I swear, Moccasin Leaf begins to foam at the mouth if I pass within a stone’s throw of her.”
“She is what she is, Cousin.”
Water Petal turned, eyes flashing. “So you say, but I believe that she has found the votes to remove Wing Heart as Elder.”
Salamander’s smile tightened. “All things in their time. You must trust me. That’s all.”
“And wait until they remove you, too?” Water Petal’s voice tightened. “We’re the last of our lineage, Salamander.”
“What we are is never as important as who we are. We must wait and be smart.”
But for the baby in her arms, she would have thrown her hands up in despair. “You exasperate me, Salamander.” Then a slow smile crossed her lips. “But what else can I do? You’re family.” She turned. “I’ll see you this evening.”
“Thank you for your help, Cousin.”
A final wave was all he got as she disappeared between the houses on her way home.
Anhinga had watched the exchange silently, her arms crossed under her high breasts. “Is it not enough that you are Speaker?”
“She had thought to follow my mother.”
Anhinga glanced sidelong at Wing Heart. “I have heard the stories. Your mother was once a great leader. Even Uncle respected her.”
He frowned. “Perhaps she will be yet again. It is up to her souls to decide whether they will return or not. Not even the Serpent has been able to help her.”
She turned those probing eyes on him again, her expression still guarded. The breeze was toying with her long black hair, dancing it around her slim shoulders with their faded scars. “What about Masked Owl?”
He stopped short, startled. “What do you know about Masked Owl?”
“You talk to him in your sleep.”
“I do?”
“Not everyone talks to a Sky Being when they sleep.” A suspicious look crossed her face. “Does he say anything about me?”
“Sometimes.” He bent and began to work on the knots that held his two-pole ladder together. The rope would be reused, the poles cut into firewood when they dried.
“What?” she asked, stepping to the other end of the ladder and using an awl to loosen the knots.
Did he dare tell her? She was giving him that look, the slightly arrogant and dangerous one. “He said that you came here to kill me.”
She stopped short, fingers frozen, eyes widening. Then, smoothly, coolly, she smiled, flashing her teeth at him. “I will not kill you anytime soon.” A pause. “Unless your heart stops tonight when we share that new bed in there.” She jerked her head toward the house, shining black hair flowing with the motion.
It was, he thought, a most challenging affirmation of his suspicions.
Night’s soft dark cloak still covered the skies as Pine Drop climbed the last several steps to the rounded summit of the Bird’s Head. Her lungs were pulling, her muscles warm from the climb. She turned back to stare out at the charcoal east. Silence, as deep as the night itself, met her ears. She had left early, desperate to be at this place first. Would he come? She seated herself and clutched her jay-feather cloak about her shoulders.
Darkness smothered her.
Then the stillness stirred. She could feel Power gathering. Her skin reacted as it would to the faintest touch of flower petals. The air grew heavy, pressing down from above. She would have sworn she felt giant wings passing silently above. Her heart tripped, hammering at her chest. Every nerve in her body demanded that she rise and charge headlong down the steep incline that led to the open plazas below.
She closed her eyes and forced herself to sit. With all of her will she remained motionless, taking deep breaths of the night. It might indeed be late summer, but she drew the jay-feather cloak more tightly about her shoulders. The breeze that skipped out of the southwest chilled her to the very bones. It ruffled the bright blue feathers, teased at locks that had come loose from her head, and prickled the hair on her arms. Born of the chill or the spirits that hovered around her, a shiver tightened her spine.
Snakes! Where is he? Or had this been a fool’s errand? One fool for another, her souls answered. Only an idiot would come here to this place on the edge of darkness and death. She swallowed hard. An idiot, or a man of Power.
He had sat on this very spot that morning. Curious, she tested the soil, finding a loose spot. Her questing fingers parted the dirt, feeling around until, yes, right there. She picked up the irregular stone. No bigger than a large pebble, it lay cool on her palm. Rubbing the clinging dirt away, her fingertips traced the recognizable shape of a little potbellied owl. The same one he had been working on that day, or another? How many of these had he crafted?