People of the Owl(17)
“Thought what?” White Bird asked in heavily accented Trade pidgin. His head poked up from the painted buffalo hide he had slept under.
“That I’d really be here.” Hazel Fire turned and gestured back at the town, now hidden behind the mist like an eclipsed vision. “Is it really as you said? I mean now that we’re here, are we going to be disappointed? Are we going to find out that everything you told us is, well, shall we say, something of a story? A bit of imagination?”
White Bird laughed, a twinkle in his eyes. “No, my friend.” The young man threw back his painted hide and stood, stretching. Once again Hazel Fire admired his muscular body and the character reflected in that handsome face. Something about those shining black eyes made a man instinctively trust White Bird. No wonder Lark had fallen so deeply in love. Despite what Hazel Fire’s father, Acorn Cup, might have told White Bird, it had taken all of his Hickory Clan’s influence to keep Lark from running off to this magical southern land.
White Bird stepped down to stand beside Hazel Fire. “If anything, Sun Town is grander than I have told you.” White Bird placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder. “I’ve been gone a complete turning of the seasons, my friend. I wager a great deal more has been built in that time. It will almost be as new to me as it will be to you.”
“When do I get to see this mythical place? Three days? It will take a whole three days?”
White Bird’s smile remained infectious. “If all goes well.”
“Why so long?” Hazel Fire raised an eyebrow.
“We have come a long way.” White Bird pointed northward with his right hand. “Across many lands. We have been exposed to a great many evils. Spirits can attach themselves to us, or to our Trade. You know this. So before we enter the city’s protection we must drive them off, cleanse our souls.”
“Cleanse how?” He crossed his arms. “Some magician isn’t going to steal my souls, is he?”
White Bird laughed, his white teeth shining. “I sincerely hope not. I’m as fond of my souls as you are of yours. No. I know you, know all of you. We have shared too many trials, Hazel Fire. All of us have done something marvelous. No one has ever brought so much Trade to Sun Town at once, or from so far away. There is Power in that, good friend. Instead of six days, they will cleanse us in three.”
“Six? Three? What is the difference?”
“Three.” White Bird held up three fingers, touching each fingertip as he talked. “The worlds of Creation: Sky, Earth, and Underworld. Sky is the domain of Father Moon and Mother Sun, the place of sunlight, clouds, and birds. Earth is the surface where we live and the trees grow and the water flows. Third is the Underworld, home of the fish, the roots, moles, and badgers, the place where all things originated. We are born of the underworlds, raised into the light to walk the land, and doomed to forever Dream of flying through the Sky.”
“Hmm.” Hazel Fire rubbed his chin. “Among my people …”
“Yes, the Magicians can leave their bodies and fly. Here, too, though we call them the Serpents. You’ll meet one soon enough.”
“He won’t try and steal my Power?” Hazel Fire reached for the small leather pouch that hung from his neck.
“Your umbilical cord is safe.” White Bird referred to the dried loop of tissue that all Wolf People carried with them from birth to death. And woe unto he who through flood, fire, or accident lost his. The stories among the Wolf People told of sudden insanity, debilitating illness, and often a wasting death that came within days. It had been a matter of no little awe to Lark that White Bird and Yellow Spider could live, thrive in fact, without one.
“And yours.” Hazel Fire pointed to the necklace that draped around White Bird’s neck. “I always wondered about those tokens, but thought it rude to ask. I noticed that your necklace never left your neck. Is it magic?”
White Bird reached up, fingering the small stone fetishes hung there. Though some were cubes, others were sections of slate incised with geometric designs, but his fingers went to the little fat-bellied owl carved out of a bloodred stone. “Perhaps it is magic. A protection of sorts. My little brother, Mud Puppy, made this. Can you imagine? He carved each of the pieces, and him barely past ten and four winters when I saw him last.”
“I look forward to meeting him.” Hazel Fire saw the sudden reserve in White Bird’s eyes. “Is that a problem?”
“Hmm? Oh, no. He’s just strange, that’s all. A different child. Always has been.” The Trader’s eyes had focused on something in the distance beyond the fog.