People of the Owl(228)

Sweet Root lifted Eats Wood’s skull, saying, “If you will look, you can see the fatal wound. Here.” Her brown finger pointed to the oblong hole in the round dome of the skull. “Not only was Eats Wood murdered by this ax, but if you will notice, he had to have been struck down from behind!”

Mud Stalker aligned the ax just so, while Sweet Root placed the skull so that all could see the perfect fit. At Clay Fat’s scowl, Mud Stalker said, “Oh, don’t worry. You will all have plenty of time to see how well this fits.”

Clay Fat shook his head. “You might have used Anhinga’s ax after you found the skull. This proves nothing!”

“Look at the mud in the wound!” Sweet Root cried. “If you crush a dirty skull, the bone breaks cleanly and has a different color. You know that.” She pointed at Saw Back. “It’s not as if we don’t know this woman’s handiwork with an ax!”

“Agreed! Agreed!” Deep Hunter cried. “We would have dealt with this once before, but for certain interference with this Council.”

Again, all eyes turned to Salamander. His expression was thoughtful, his eyes almost dreamy, as if he had seen this all before.

Clay Fat muttered under his breath and shot a worried look at Salamander.

“Does the Speaker for Owl Clan have anything to say about this?” Thunder Tail asked gravely.

In his preoccupied manner, Salamander stepped forward. He paused for a moment, studied the ax in Mud Stalker’s hand. The way he smiled it might have been a private joke. In a firm voice, he said, “That is not Anhinga’s ax.”

Mud Stalker realized he was staring—dumbfounded as the rest. “What? Night Rain herself took this ax from your house!”

“That is not Anhinga’s ax,” Salamander repeated. “If you are familiar with her ax, it has a series of panthers carved into the handle in an interlocking design.”

“Then whose ax is it?” Deep Hunter demanded.

“It is my ax,” Salamander said casually. “For reasons of her own, Night Rain took my ax from the house that day.”

“Anhinga killed Eats Wood with your ax?” Mud Stalker wondered.

Salamander smiled as if in benevolence to a simple fool. “Anhinga killed no one, Speaker.”

“Wait!” cried Clay Fat as he stepped out, one hand up. “Yes, that ax fits the hole in the skull. But, let us keep in mind, there are many axes! Axes, by their nature, are all roughly the same size. What if we tried fitting every ax in Sun Town to that wound? How many matches would we have? Tens of tens? More? This proves nothing!”

“It proves everything!” Mud Stalker thundered back.

“Speakers, please!” Salamander stepped forward, his hands up. “Let me speak.”

Thunder Tail jerked a nod. “The Owl Clan Speaker has the right to speak.”

Salamander threw a fond smile in Clay Fat’s direction. “I thank you for your open mind, Speaker Clay Fat. It is refreshing to find yet another individual who thinks in terms of the People before he thinks of his own personal gain. For that, I am truly obliged in my souls.”

“Who killed Eats Wood?” Mud Stalker shouted.

“Hush!” Thunder Tail ordered.

Salamander turned, his head cocked. In the open circle he didn’t look like much—just a short skinny young man with large dreamy eyes and a knowing expression. “For reasons which need not concern this Council, I killed Eats Wood, Speaker.”

Mud Stalker stopped short. “Why?”

“As I said, my reasons do not concern this Council. Further, I take full responsibility for my actions. Speaker Mud Stalker, I will see you later to discuss a mutual settlement for Eats Wood’s death.” He looked at Thunder Tail. “May I continue and address the other more serious charge of witchcraft?”

“You may,” Thunder Tail said with a wary gravity.

Salamander walked around the fire pit in slow steps, expression pinched, as though searching for the right words.

When he finally looked up, he said, “Speakers, Elders, there are those among you who will be anxious, sit here in Council for hours telling stories about the reasons for my brother’s death, about my mother’s curious soul loss, about my dealings with Jaguar Hide, and so many other things. If we go through with this, you will hear how I sit atop the Bird’s Head every morning to watch the sun rise. You will hear that I helped the Serpent with the care and preparation of the dead. Depending on how far some people are willing to go in pursuit of my destruction, there may be even wilder stories to be told.” He looked at them, one by one, and added, “I don’t care.”