People of the Owl(218)

“He knows that Uncle would have let me divorce. He knows that Salamander kept him from taking his revenge out on Anhinga by defusing that Council meeting. But the irony this morning was that he made such a big thing about Salamander being nothing more than a boy promoted beyond his means.”

“Salamander’s age baffles us all,” Pine Drop agreed.

“Saw Back called him a coward, said that he’d faint if he ever had to really fight another warrior for his life. That he couldn’t kill a beetle with a pestle.”

“Salamander isn’t a warrior,” Pine Drop agreed.

Night Rain gave her a hooded look. “Isn’t he?”

“What are you talking about?”

“Red Finger found Eats Wood’s body. He was in his canoe, sunk under some roots down in the Swamp Panther country. Salamander’s ax fits the hole in Eats Wood’s head. Our husband killed our cousin, Sister. That’s why Uncle has called the Council meeting for tomorrow. He is going to accuse Salamander of murder and witchcraft.”

“We have to go. Warn him.”

“No, Sister. Uncle and Mother both have ordered us to stay here. At this house, until tomorrow when the Council convenes.”

“Rot eat them, Salamander is our husband. I’m going to warn him!” Pine Drop stood on aching legs, swinging her daughter up to her hip.

From the darkness, Water Stinger stepped out, calling, “Pine Drop, I am here on both the Elder’s and Speaker’s orders to see that you stay home tonight.”





Fifty-eight

Over the past turning of the seasons, Anhinga had become used to Sun Town and its marvels. She had never expected to be awed by the place again, but this was her first experience with the summer solstice ceremonies.

She sat in the shadows of the ramada and watched the tens of tens of tens of fires winking around the span of Sun Town. A thousand yellow eyes flickered and filled the air with the scent of smoke. The reddish tint they cast into the hazy sky amazed her. Sun Town was shining its own light into the night. She could imagine the Sky Beings circling, looking down, and gasping with delight as night and day blurred.

Wing Heart sat at her loom, humming to herself as she worked the threads and continued her endless weaving. How she produced perfect fabric in the faint reflection of firelight never ceased to amaze Anhinga.

People passed in a constant stream, most of them strangers, clan members from outlying camps and distant settlements, many of them from as far away as the gulf, two tens of days distant by canoe. They came bearing gifts: feathers, meat, and bones from pelicans; or plumage from rosy spoonbills, red egret, and purple gallinue; fish like black drum, red snapper, barracuda, and even one odd flat specimen that had both eyes on one side of its head. Some came with the smoked crab, conch, and whelk meat, and some came to Trade tanned sharkskin. Other canoes arrived filled with dried yaupon leaves for making black drink, and others with items like stingray spines to be used as needles and awls.

Trade flourished everywhere. She had seen no less than five marriages brokered between the different clans. No sooner had she gone back to work before another greeting was called between old friends who hadn’t seen each other for seasons. Until this day, she would never have believed so many people lived in the whole world! The numbers of the Sun People left her dumbfounded.

And I thought I could fight them? That by the six of us raiding them, we would pay them back for Bowfin’s death?

What a fool she had been, and how wise her uncle was. Old weathered Jaguar Hide had truly understood. And now, so did she, in a way she wasn’t sure that even her uncle could.

She nodded, remembering his wisdom in sending her back to stay. He had said something about learning their ways, not just for the moment, but for the future when she returned to the Panther’s Bones for good. Yes, she knew them now. Knew their strengths and weaknesses. Most of all, she knew that the Swamp Panthers could never challenge such immense strength.

So how did her people prevail against so many?

She recognized Salamander before she could make out his features. It was the way he walked, the set of his shoulders, his movements. He had grown so familiar to her, become part of her in a most unsettling way. Panther’s blood, wouldn’t it be so much simpler if he just left with her? She could make a place for him among her people. He could be happy with her. They could live out the rest of their lives together, raise their children, and love each other until they grew old, knotty, and decrepit.

“Greetings, Husband.” She rose, seeing that he labored under a burden. “What have you brought?”

“We made a good catch. Filled the canoe,” he told her, fatigue riding his voice.