People of the Owl(33)

“Very good. Can you tell me how that happened?”

“First Woman had her regular bleeding while she was bathing in the river. The blood draining from her womb mixed with the river water and the dark twin was conceived. It was Raven who plucked him from the water as he floated past. That’s why women are not to enter the water during their bleeding. Instead, they must secret themselves in the Women’s House.” He pointed at the Mother Mound now barely visible at the eastern edge of the plaza.

“You are here”—the Serpent gestured at the mound top—“to reflect on that story, boy. You are here, at the highest point of the Bird’s Head. Symbolic of the place where people were brought out into the light. But your mother wants you to learn another lesson up here.”

“She does?”

The Serpent chuckled, the sound like the clattering of cane slats. “Oh, indeed. But I’m not sure if she understands what you are—or the Truth that you will learn here.” He filled his lungs, the ribs sticking out on his thin chest as he looked up at the cloud-choked sky. “Remember this, boy: You cannot know the light until you have been blinded by the darkness. Just like this place, opposites crossed. She has never understood that.”

“I don’t think I do, either.”

“Your mother, boy.” He knotted a fist of gnarly bone. “She doesn’t understand what’s coming. She has lost the harmony, never set her feet to the Dance. They are going to destroy her.”

“Who is?”

“She is caught between the Twins. Strong, yes, that she is. But the mighty Wing Heart is brittle inside. Her souls hang in the balance.” His voice had gone far away, worried by the wind. “The lightning is coming.” A pause. Then he clapped his hands together, shouting, “Bang!”

Mud Puppy jumped in spite of himself, his heart racing again. The fear that had ebbed with the magic of the place came rushing back to strangle the breath in his lungs.

The Serpent gave Mud Puppy a sad look. The intensity of those dark eyes sent worry pumping through Mud Puppy’s veins with each beat of his heart.

“Take this, boy. Eat it.” The old man reached into his pouch. When he withdrew his hand it clutched some shriveled thing.

“What is it?”

“The future, boy.” The Serpent extended his hand as if it held something dangerous. “If you’re strong enough.”

Mud Puppy felt it drop onto his palm, surprised by the lightness. It had the feel of desiccated bark. He lifted it to his nose, smelling must and dust.

“Eat it,” the old man said. “He told me to give it to you.”

“Who?”

“Eat!”

Mud Puppy placed the bit of desiccated plant matter on his tongue. Dry and flaky it crumbled under his teeth. The taste made him think of rotting logs and leaf mold.

“What did you make me eat?”

The old man smiled sourly. “You ate a tunnel, boy. A hole. Through it you will pass into other worlds. See other places and talk with other beings. But I must warn you: Do not leave this place. Most of all, do not let loose of your souls. Do you hear me?”

“Let loose of my souls? How can I do that?”

“You will know, boy. He told me to make you do this. It was his will, not mine.”

“Who is he?”

“What did I tell you not to do?”

“Not to leave this place and not to let my souls loose.”

“That is correct. I will add one more thing. You must be brave, boy. Braver than you have ever been before. If you are not, if you surrender to fear, he will eat you alive. When that happens, you will die here, Mud Puppy.”

Mud Puppy blinked, bits of soggy mold still floating around his tongue. “I don’t know if I can be brave.”

The Serpent pulled his shawl up over his shoulder, hitched it, and pointed to the thatch-covered ramada just down from the summit. “If it rains, you can go there.” His sharp eyes searched the scudding clouds that had darkened overhead. “But otherwise I want you sitting here. At the highest spot. It will be dark tonight. Very, dark.”





Eight

Firelight flickered in yellow phantoms on the inside of the house walls and cast a shadow outline of Speaker Cloud Heron’s dead body. It gave the wattle and daub a golden sheen, accenting the cracks that had appeared in fine tracery through the fire-hardened clay. Overhead, the ceiling was a latticework of soot-stained cane poles and bundles of thatch. Net bags hung from the larger poles, the contents bathed by the rising smoke. Such was the gift of fire. Not only did it heat, light, cook, and purify, but its smoke preserved, kept roots, dried fish, nuts, and thinly sliced meat from molding in the damp climate of Sun Town.