“You all right?” Always Fat whispered.
“What if that had been a water moccasin?”
“We would have apologized when it bent its fangs on your tough hide.”
At the sound of their voices, a dark shadow shifted in the Y of a tree. The panther cast a yellow-eyed glance their way, then leaped to the packed leaf mat, vanishing like a silent shadow into the gloom.
“Gods, that was a big cat!” Green Crane felt for his atlatl and darts. The fine white chert points had been chipped to an edge sharp enough to cut, but would he have time to prepare before some swamp monster plucked him from the canoe?
Always Fat swatted something off his head. “A centipede,” he muttered. “I swear it dropped right on top of me.”
“Precious Striking Eagle, just get me through this and I’ll stay home, love my wife, and treasure my children.”
“You haven’t got a wife,” Always Fat reminded. “Just the promise of a wife. Until you pay for her, you can’t have children. You can’t pay until you trade all this stuff with the Sun People for exotic goods we can’t get at home.”
“Must you be so cursedly pragmatic.” He craned his neck, gaze following the winding vegetation up into the murky heights of the trees. Had there ever been a sky up there?
“I think it’s a little brighter up ahead.” Even as he spoke the watercourse widened. Within moments they were pushing the pointed bow of their canoe through a tangle of marsh ferns and out into the light.
“Pumpkin soup!” Always Fat cried. “Now where are we?”
Green Crane noted the shadows. “That way is west.”
“Which way is Sun Town?”
“I have no idea.”
“We could figure out where up and down are again.”
“You think that would help?”
“Did it help last time? Wait. Who’s this?”
Green Crane turned his head seeing a low-slung dugout canoe heading his way. The center was heaped with long pointed baskets that he recognized as fish traps. A skinny youth sat in the rear, his hair parted in the middle. His greased skin caught the light as he paddled steadily toward them.
Thirty-five
“Hello!” Green Crane called in Trade pidgin as he carefully stood in the bow and waved.
The youth raised an arm, apparently unconcerned as he paddled closer.
“Trusting sort,” Always Fat noted. “Maybe strangers pop out of the hidden channel all the time.”
“We are Wash’ta,” Green Crane called. “Come to make Trade.” He dare not say more until he found who the youth was, where he was, and if he were friendly. Green Crane could almost sense Always Fat’s fingers as they surreptitiously rearranged his atlatl and a dart for quick utilization.
The youth dragged his paddle like a rudder to steer as his canoe glided toward them. He turned large brown eyes on Green Crane and nodded. Thin and reedy, he looked little more than a boy. A smudged white breechcloth was wadded around his waist, at his feet lay a pile of fish. An atlatl and darts rested close at hand. “I had hoped to find you.”
That set Green Crane back. “You did? You knew we were lost?”
The youth cocked his head, those odd eyes seeming to enlarge. “Did you see an owl watching you?”
“We saw many things,” Always Fat answered. “Alligators, snakes, and one very big panther.” He jerked his thumb back at the bruised ferns they had just passed between. “Was that one of your spirits?”
“That might have been one of my wife’s,” the youth replied, an ironic smile on his lips.
“Where is your wife now?” Green Crane asked. What terrible thing had he led them into? He and Always Fat were lost in the swamp. Witches could capture them, devour their souls, and no one would ever find their remains in the maze of this terrible place.
“She has gone back to her people. I am to think she is in the middle of her moon. It is all right. She is lonely and homesick and needs time to plot with Jaguar Hide.”
Green Crane shook his head, unable to quite grasp the meaning behind the words.
The youth stood then, balancing in the rear of the dugout. “I am Salamander, Speaker for the Owl Clan, son of Wing Heart.”
“Of Sun Town!” Green Crane cried, his worry evaporating. “We made it!”
“We came to Trade,” Always Fat repeated.
“I was told to seek out Owl Clan,” Green Crane added, taking the skinny kid’s measure. “Do you know a boy named Mud Puppy?”
The wry smile had a mocking quality. “I knew him very well.”
“Knew? As in the past?” Green Crane felt a sinking in his breast. “My Trade pidgin isn’t very good. You mean he’s … what? Dead?”