People of the Owl(19)

“What about your uncle?” Hazel Fire watched the interplay of emotions on White Bird’s handsome face. “You were worried that he might have died while you were gone.”

“He wasn’t well when I left last spring.” White Bird pursed his lips for a moment. “It was a gamble that Yellow Spider and I made. My mother is Clan Elder, her brother, my uncle, is Speaker for the clan when in Council. I told you, Power is passed through the mother in my people. When my uncle dies, my mother, as Elder, has the right to nominate another Speaker. I hope to be that Speaker.”

“Then what is the problem? Why can’t she just put your name forward?”

White Bird thumped his chest. “I’m young. Not even married.”

“You are to Lark. And, if I don’t miss my guess, the father of her child.”

“On my soul, take no offense from this, but she isn’t here, and none of my people recognize her clan. Formally, among the clans, she wouldn’t be recognized as a real wife.”

Hazel Fire nodded. “No offense is taken. So, let’s say you marry that pretty young thing I Dreamed about all night. Marry her and be Speaker.”

“Not that easy.” White Bird waved a cautionary finger. “Most men live all of their lives before they are nominated to be Speaker. It’s different for a wet-nosed boy like they consider me to be. That’s why Yellow Spider and I had to go so far north. That’s why we needed so much Trade. That’s why I had to risk so much. I had to do something spectacular, Hazel Fire. I may not have gone farther than any of our people have gone before, but I brought more Trade back from that distance than anyone else has.”

“For that alone they should name you Speaker.” Hazel Fire made a gesture with his fingers. “But what about your uncle? What if he would have been dead?”

“Mother would have had to nominate another Speaker. I’m the only one left in her lineage. She had no sisters, just brothers. And Cloud Heron is the last of her brothers who is alive.”

“What about Cloud Heron’s children? Why don’t they qualify?”

“You forget, we trace descent through the woman. Uncle Cloud Heron’s children belong to his wife. Her name was Laced Fern, and she is a member of the Eagle Clan. So all of Cloud Heron’s children belong to the … ?” He cocked his head, an eyebrow raised to provoke the answer.

“The children are all Eagle Clan,” Hazel Fire supplied. “I understand.” He pressed his fingertips together. “Is it so bad for your lineage to lose the Speaker? Couldn’t some other clansman serve just as well?”

White Bird shrugged as he dug some of the silty mud from his drawing. Black and slick it stuck to his fingers. “Perhaps. This is difficult to explain, but neither my mother nor I wish to see another take over leadership of the clan. It has been in our lineage for three generations. I am the last. After me, it will go elsewhere because my children will belong to my wife’s clan.”

“Not the ones from Lark, if you’ll recall.”

“But Lark is a long way from here.”

“Yes, yes, I know, and your people probably consider her to be some kind of wild animal or something.”

“I never said that.”

“You didn’t have to.” Hazel Fire laughed. “That’s how my people would think of that pretty Spring Cypress if I carried her home; why wouldn’t it be the other way around?” In a more serious voice, he said, “Besides, there’s your little brother. What’s his name?”

White Bird made a face as he rolled the black silt into a small round ball. “We call him Mud Puppy.”

“Like a dog covered with mud?”

“No, a mud puppy is our name for immature brown salamanders. You know, before they are mature, when they still have those star-shaped gills sticking out behind their heads.” White Bird rubbed the silt ball between his hands. “Perhaps he’ll grow out of this stage he’s in, just like a mud puppy grows into a salamander.”

“He’s how old?”

“Just ten and five winters now.” He reached up to finger the fetishes on his necklace. “Mud Puppy as Speaker, now there’s a thought for amusement. They would destroy him.”

“Destroy?” Hazel Fire cocked his head. “What about all that talk about harmony?”

White Bird gave him a sober look, his dark eyes haunted. In a low voice, he said, “Why do you think we work so hard at it? Prominence of the clans is everything to us. We give things to place people in our debt. Owing something to someone else holds us together like water holds this mud.” He lifted the silt ball. “Without gift giving and the obligation it implies, we are nothing. Barbarians. We need Trade to overcome our real nature. Without it, we would be at each other’s throats. I swear, within a generation, we would destroy ourselves.”