People of the Owl(210)
“I would go back and change that if I could.”
From the darkness, Night Rain said softly, “Me too.”
“I never expected to fall in love with him.” She shook her head. “What is it about him? He’s not even a single turning of the seasons past boyhood, but he seems so much older. Why did Masked Owl choose him?”
“You really think that Salamander talks to Masked Owl, don’t you?”
“Night Rain, I’ve seen things that I haven’t told you about. I wasn’t supposed to see him with Masked Owl, but I have.”
“You were spying?”
“No. It’s not that. I don’t know how to explain it, but I know that Salamander is in great danger. I just don’t know what to do about it. Night Rain, what if something happens to him? I’ve lost two husbands already. As much as I loved Blue Feather, I have come to love Salamander more. He is greater than any of us know. The Power that fills him frightens me at the same time it thrills me. When I look into his eyes, there is something there, some patient caring that makes my souls yearn.”
“I’m happy for you, Sister.”
“I’m scared, Night Rain. Scared that something is going to take him away from me. I can feel it.”
“Well, walk over to Salamander’s and crawl into bed with him and Anhinga. At least you’ll sleep.”
“In the Dream, he was trying to tell me something. Why would he be in the Land of the Dead? That makes no sense.”
After a long silence, Night Rain said, “Our husband isn’t very popular these days.”
Pine Drop asked sharply, “What do you know?”
“The same thing you do, Pine Drop. That something terrible is coming.”
“Is Uncle behind it?”
“Uncle is behind a lot of things, but no. Everything is going to be all right. Either go to Salamander’s or go back to sleep, Sister.”
Pine Drop laid her head back against the wall and cuddled her daughter. Night Rain had never been any good at hiding things.
Fifty-six
Mud Stalker seated himself across the fire from Cane Frog and Three Moss. He studied the old woman in the flickering yellow light. Not for the first time, he wondered what it was like to have darkness for a constant companion. The old woman’s remaining white eye stared off into the night beyond the ramada; the empty pit of her other eye was a grime-rimmed hole. He had never had the courage to ask her what her souls saw. Did they only replay visions from the past, or did they make new images woven out of past and future, a sort of skewed pattern like a blind weaver might conjure?
Three Moss sat on the fabric blanket she shared with her mother and measured Mud Stalker with her flat brown eyes. She was intent on his expression as if she might decipher the real purpose of his visit to their ramada—and unfortunately there was nothing wrong with her vision. Three Moss wore a fabric shawl over her shoulders, her skin greased against the mosquitoes that hovered in the air around them.
“What have you come to ask us for?” Cane Frog asked bluntly. She extended a hand, feeling for the warmth cast by the fire. “Can you see him, Daughter? Is the firelight good enough?”
“Yes, Mother.” Three Moss reached out and placed her hand on her mother’s bare shoulder.
“It has been a long time, Elder,” Mud Stalker began in a noncommittal voice. “I thought it was high time that we visited, got caught up on things. I hear that the crawfish harvest has been exceptional this spring. I saw the latest catch down at the canoe landing this afternoon. Three Stomachs and Copper Toad brought it in. And then earlier this evening I could smell the aroma as they were boiled. I thought about sneaking in like a naughty child and spooning some out of the boiling pot when no one was looking.” Frog Clan had a shallow lake in one of their holdings that reliably produced more crawfish than any other place known in the region.
“Yes, it has been good. We would be happy to provide you with some, Speaker.” Cane Frog rubbed her wrinkled hand down the top of her leathery thigh. “It will be my pleasure to send a youngster over with a couple of bags full when the boiling is finished. We seasoned them with honeysuckle blossoms and some of those mustard leaves. It gives them a sweet and tangy taste.”
“Snapping Turtle Clan will be obligated. For your fine gift we would reciprocate and send you a sack of hematite net sinkers. Some of my young men have just finished shaping a batch. We have a few more than we can use. It has been rumored that some of your fishermen are having trouble anchoring their nets. I saw some of Copper Toad’s. He has ordinary rocks tied on with string.”