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People of the Owl(151)

By:W. Michael Gear


I’m not sure I do either.

How can I tell this haunted boy that from the moment I decided my earthly duties to the People were more important than wings, I’ve never stopped dying?

Should I tell him? Would he even listen?

I wouldn’t have. The People were everything to me.

But he is stronger than I was.

He sees more clearly.

I pray with all my soul that he is brave enough to “abandon” his duties and fly away … .





Thirty-eight

A thick belt of clouds gave the winter day a dull cast. From the north blew a bitter wind that sucked a man’s heat from his bones and sent it whimpering away toward the gulf. Mud Stalker led the way as Speaker Thunder Tail and the other hunters followed a winding trail. The way led through the depths of the forest a half day’s journey north of Sun Town. The four younger men carried packs, atlatls, and darts. Their bodies were cloaked in deerskin, elkhide, and buffalo hide, giving them a thick and burly appearance as they trailed along behind the elders.

Mud Stalker squinted into the gray light. In the vacuum left by Wing Heart’s insanity, Snapping Turtle Clan had grown in influence among the clans and in the Council. To his irritation leadership of the Council had gone to Thunder Tail, but that, too, would change as the seasons passed.

Now it was time to solidify his clan’s position. Despite the overture of reaching out with Night Rain, Deep Hunter was playing his own games, seeking to limit Mud Stalker’s growing influence. That was to be expected. In time, he would deal with Deep Hunter.

Thunder Tail was another problem. As leader of the Council, he was still uncommitted when it came to a firm alliance with Snapping Turtle Clan. Mud Stalker would need the Eagle Clan Speaker’s goodwill before he moved on Salamander and the remnant of Owl Clan. Today he would begin the process; he would play on Thunder Tail’s one weakness: a bear hunt.

Mud Stalker glanced up at the trees, naked and black in their winter bones. Great vines wove up the trunks, stretching from one forest giant to another. Some were as thick as a man’s leg.

“There,” Mud Stalker pointed as he sighted the dead tree. The Eagle Clan hunters, Bitten Legs and Spread Thorn, pulled up grinning. The trunk was huge. Four men would have to stretch, fingertip to fingertip, to reach around the base. Rot had eaten the heart out of the dead forest giant. Then some past gale had cracked it, sheared off the top two-thirds, and sent it crashing down through the forest. Punky wood, cloaked in leaves, vines, and rising saplings marked the fallen remains.

The remaining trunk, barkless and gray from weather, stood five times the height of a tall man. At the top, jagged wood thrust up around the hollow center like stone knives.

Mud Stalker nodded, using his good arm to motion Eats Wood and Water Stinger forward. His two young kinsmen trotted ahead, each slinging a pack from his shoulder as he approached the trunk.

“He’s there?” Thunder Tail asked as he fingered his finely carved atlatl. “You’re sure?”

“He’s there. You can see the sign.” Mud Stalker stepped close, pointing to the weathered wood. Deep scars had been driven into the grain, bits and splinters crushed as if under a weight. “Those are not woodpecker holes.”

“From the size and spread, I’d say he’s a pretty good-size boar.” Thunder Tail placed his hand over the pattern of scars. A slow smile was spreading across his broad face. “A sow wouldn’t have this big a paw.”

Mud Stalker bent his head back, staring up at the jagged top. “I think it’s a boar, too. Too bad it’s not a sow. She’d have a cub by now. I wouldn’t mind taking a cub. The meat is delectable.”

“A boar will do just fine.”

Of all of life’s treats, Thunder Tail loved bear hunting the most. He had a fascination with the animals. Their meat, hides, organs, and fat were prized throughout Sun Town. Unlike most hunters who took bears only when the opportunity arose, Thunder Tail spent full hands of time in the study of bears. He had been known to lose himself for days stalking a bruin. Not one was brought back to Sun Town but that he didn’t go to see it, to measure the paws against his hand, to inspect the teeth and feel its muscles. His house was stuffed with skulls, bear bones, hides, claws, and other trophies he had taken over the turnings of the seasons.

When Water Stinger had come with news that he’d found a winter “bear tree,” Mud Stalker had been jubilant. It gave him the perfect lure to draw the Speaker out of Sun Town. Mud Stalker had Thunder Tail alone for the entire day—and in a very good mood, as his smile indicated.

“By the Snakes! He’s a big one if these claw marks are any indication.” Thunder Tail slapped a callused hand against the wood and grinned, his eyes shining as he shared a happy conspiratorial glance with Mud Stalker.