“Correct.”
After a pause, he added, “You could always name Mud Puppy Speaker. Then it wouldn’t matter if White Bird didn’t come back.” He laughed one of those deep belly laughs.
“You find that funny, do you?”
He straightened his face; the attempt failed in the slightest to mask his amusement. “He’s young. He might change. You know, grow out of it.”
She arched an eyebrow. “Mud Puppy, grow out of it?”
“Boys do. When they step into the world of men they can’t help but change.”
Snakes! He’s almost a man now, but you’d never know it. “He thinks differently than any boy I ever knew. I’m at my wit’s end. Water Petal has him in the sweat lodge. I’ve made an appointment to have the Serpent take him up to spend the night atop the Bird’s Head. Maybe that will scare some sense into his witless noggin. He’s completely hopeless! His brother returns, the most important event in the lineage in how many winters, and he’s looking at a cricket in a jar!”
Clay Fat nodded, his head oddly cocked. “In the last few moons I have come to discover how important leadership of the Council is to you, Wing Heart. Tell me, if it came right down to it, would you declare him Speaker?”
“Perhaps if I’d been hit in the head too hard, or if lightning struck me.”
“I’ve stood with you through the last moons, Wing Heart. Stood with you when many urged me to look elsewhere for obligations. Your clan and mine have made a good alliance through the endless turnings of the seasons.”
“What are you getting at?”
“All jesting aside, I need to know something.”
“Very well.” She had ceased spinning her cord. “What is that thing, old friend?”
“What would you do to retain Owl Clan’s hegemony? What would you do to keep your leadership?”
She felt trapped in his wary brown-eyed stare. The universe might have narrowed to the two of them. “I’d do anything, Clay Fat. I’ve lived all of my life preparing for the leadership. I don’t want to give that up. I won’t give it up.”
“Then you’d do anything to keep it?”
She nodded, wondering what this was going to cost her, wondering where it had come from. What did he suspect? Worse, what did he know?
“Anything,” she reaffirmed.
He contemplated her in silence, his eyes prying into her souls, as though to see what she really meant. In the end, he sighed, relaxing, his smooth smile returning. “Then you will understand when I tell you that I … my clan cannot allow Spring Cypress to marry White Bird. Your son will insist. You must refuse.”
Mind racing, she asked, “Why?”
Clay Fat’s expression had turned bland again. “I almost made a terrible mistake, Wing Heart. But for the return of your son, I could have lost a great deal and found myself and my clan in the same position as Frog Clan is in today. At the bottom, mucking about in the silt for scraps. Obliged to everyone. I will support you, do what I must to maintain your leadership, but I want you to understand that I am going to strengthen the position of my lineage.”
“And who were you thinking of?”
“Copperhead.”
“Mud Stalker’s cousin? He’s twice her age.” Her mind wrapped around the implications of Rattlesnake Clan brokering an alliance with Snapping Turtle Clan.
“Copperhead is freshly widowed.”
“He used to beat Red Gourd when she was his wife. Some people think he killed her.”
“That was never proven by her clan.” Clay Fat seemed nonplussed.
Her voice dropped. “You’d do that to Spring Cypress?”
The corners of his mouth twitched. “Let’s just say there is a compelling reason, shall we?”
“What does Graywood Snake say about this?”
“The Rattlesnake Clan Elder understands and agrees.”
She studied him thoughtfully. So, you, too, had abandoned me. White Bird’s return caught you off guard, didn’t it? Now I catch you scrambling to reclaim your balance.
As if he could read her thoughts, he said, “Make this thing easy for me, and I shall give you my obligation for the future.” He paused. “Besides, it might not be so bad, having an ear close to Mud Stalker. As you well know, Elder, the future is a very uncertain place.”
Seven
No son of mine has the luxury of fear. The words echoed around in Mud Puppy’s head as he followed the Serpent up the long steep slope of the Bird’s Head. Having almost completed White Bird’s cleansing, the old Serpent had finally come for Mud Puppy.
The old man wore a simple fabric breechcloth bound to his waist by a cord. From it hung several small leather sacks that held who knew what kind of magic potions. A patchwork cloak made of muskrat hides draped the old man’s shoulders. He might have been a walking skeleton, thin muscles hanging from his old bones. Mud Puppy couldn’t help but notice how the old man’s knees and feet seemed so big in comparison with his skinny legs. In all, the Serpent was the most frightening man Mud Puppy had ever known.