“Raise the infants to the god in the sky.
Earth, hey, Earth, from it spread,
Raise the Underworld of the Dead.”
A rattle sounded in his throat before he added:
“Flight of the bird, so big so loud.
Calls the lightning from the cloud.”
“What is he saying?” Bobcat watched the old man as his mouth opened and closed, the tongue moving pink and silent behind his toothless gums.
Salamander leaned forward. “Serpent, are you saying that Masked Owl calls the lightning?” Coldness ran through him. “Did Masked Owl kill my brother?”
“Yes … coming … for the seeds …”
“The goosefoot seeds?”
The old man’s eyes flickered weakly from side to side, the muscles spasming this way and that. “Not time …”
“Not time for what?” Salamander asked.
“We don’t understand, Elder,” Bobcat cried. “What are you trying to tell us?”
Muscles tensed in the Serpent’s legs, his limbs pumping weakly then going still. His fingers nibbled, like a dog after a louse.
“Take … care, Salamander … between the gods.” The Serpent shuddered, a croaking in his throat. “To see … mushrooms …”
The eyes rolled back, whites showing a tracery of blood vessels as the old man’s shallow breathing came in weak gasps.
“Mushrooms?” Bobcat turned uneasy eyes on Salamander. “You have journeyed?”
“I rode the clouds with Masked Owl,” Salamander replied absently, his souls locked on the Serpent’s revelation. “My Spirit Helper? He killed my brother?”
Bobcat had a sick look on his face. “You should be the next Serpent, Salamander. The Elder always favored you.”
“You know I cannot, Bobcat. Nothing has changed since the last time we had this conversation. I don’t know the Songs, the ceremonies, or the rites. Power wants something different from me.” He looked across at the young man, seeing the uncertainty in his eyes, the fear of the future falling so rapidly toward them. “You are the Serpent.”
“But this thing between you and Masked Owl? You ride the sky with his wings? You are touched, Salamander. Power has woven itself through your life. You are part of things I cannot comprehend.”
“Nor can I. However, I can tell you from my souls, you must be the Serpent. For all I know, I may be dead soon.”
“Dead?”
Salamander rubbed his face wearily. “When one is caught between warring Powers, one can’t count on digesting supper, let alone savoring its taste.”
“What do you know?”
Salamander shook his head. “I can feel Death, sense it stalking me. In bits and fragments of Dreams, I am dead, Bobcat. It is coming so quickly—and I have only recently discovered what it means to be alive.”
“You look frightened. I’m not used to that in you.”
“I just don’t know, Bobcat. That is the part that is driving me crazy! What am I supposed to do? What does Power want with me? Why me, of all the people to chose from?”
“If the Serpent knows, he’s taking the answer with him to the Land of the Dead.” Bobcat reached for the smelly cloth and cleaned the old man’s anus again.
“The Land of the Dead,” Salamander mused, his eyes straying to the lines of pots, stone bowls, and bags with their carefully tended herbs. Reaching over he lifted a thin bit of dried plant from one of the stone bowls, and stared at it with worried eyes.
“You’re not thinking of going after him, are you?” Bobcat asked as he recognized the dried mushroom cap.
“I need answers, Bobcat.”
“Are you willing to take the risk of losing your souls to get them?”
The Serpent whispered, “ … Sing, Sun God, blood rises … stingers … in the sky …”
Stingers in the sky? The words rolled around Salamander’s soul as he fingered the desiccated mushroom cap. Do the answers lie there? Is that what you are trying to tell me, Serpent?
A softening of the rattle in the Serpent’s lungs was accompanied by a relaxation of his arms and legs.
The old man died.
Rain slanted at an angle. Bobcat’s breath fogged as he pranced around the Serpent’s house and shook his painted-turtle rattle. He Sang in the old tongue. In better weather he would have carried a torch with him, but the constant drizzle and intermittent rain hadn’t let up for days. Clouds hung low overhead, heavy and dark with moisture.
Clan Elders and Speakers were gathered in the front of the crowd, breath misting as they stamped their cold feet in the mud. Cane Frog, Thunder Tail, Sweet Root, Clay Fat: they were all here, clustered around Pine Drop and Salamander to mourn the passing of the Serpent.