People of the Owl(34)

The dead Speaker lay on the raised bench built against the wall. Poles set in the ground supported the framework that was in turn lashed together to support a split-cane bed. A thick layer of hanging moss rested atop the cane, and a tanned buffalo hide atop the moss. All in all, it made for a comfortable and dry bed just high enough off the floor to stay warm in the winter but low enough that in summer the haze of smoke kept the hordes of humming mosquitoes at bay and allowed the sleeper some peace in his repose.

Not that Cloud Heron, Speaker of the Owl Clan, would ever need to worry about mosquitoes again.

Wing Heart bit her lip as she studied her brother’s body in the firelight. That he had lasted this long was a miracle. Now, after months of watching his muscular body waste into this frail husk of a man, her strained emotions only allowed her a soul-weary sigh. It was over. For that, and for her son’s return, she could be grateful.

“How is he?” Water Petal asked as she ducked through the low doorway. Her thick black hair was parted in the middle, indicating her marital status, and hung straight to her collarbones. She wore a brightly striped fabric shawl over her shoulders, its ends fringed. Her kirtle had been tied around her waist with a silky hemp cord, its girth relaxed now that her pregnancy was apparent.

Wing Heart added another piece of hickory to the crackling fire. “The Speaker is dead.”

Water Petal exhaled slowly, eyes raised involuntarily, as if she could see his Life Soul floating up in the smoky rafters. “He was a great leader, a man who never flinched in his duty.”

“Even in death,” Wing Heart whispered. “He waited until my son returned before surrendering his souls. When will we see another like him?”

“When your son assumes the mantle of Speaker,” Water Petal said firmly, eyes glittering with resolve. “Who in the other lineages could compare? Name anyone else in the clan—and surely not Half Thorn, no matter what Moccasin Leaf might say about him.”

Wing Heart stared absently at her dead brother’s face. The flesh had shrunk around it as though sucked down across the skull by the withering souls inside. His empty eyes lay deep in the hollow pits of his skull, the lips drawn back to expose peglike teeth. Sallow skin outlined the bones of his shoulders and chest. This man whom she had shared so much of her life with, whom she had loved with all of her heart … by the Sky Beings, how could Cloud Heron have faded into this wreck of bone and loosely stretched skin?

“Do you wish to be alone, Elder?” Water Petal asked. “To speak with his souls while they are still near?”

Wing Heart vented a weary sigh. “He has heard everything I have to say to him, Cousin. Over and over and over again until I’m sure he’s weary of it.” As I am weary of saying it.

Snakes take it, had she grown so caustic and cynical? She could imagine Cloud Heron in another time, giving her that measuring stare. His brow had risen to a half cock, questioning her as only he could.

Her throat tightened at the sudden welling emptiness inside.

“Elder?”

“I’d rather have cut off my leg,” Wing Heart whispered, barely aware of the tear that burned its way past her tightly clamped eyelids and traced down her cheek.

“I understand, Elder.”

“No. You don’t, Cousin.” She knotted her fists in her lap. “For ten and two winters now, my brother and I led the Council. For three tens and nine winters we have lived the same life, breathed each other’s air, shared each other’s thoughts, and bound our souls together. He was me. I was him. We were one. Like no two people I have ever known.”

“That was what made you great.”

Wing Heart nodded, hating the grief that rose as relentlessly as the spring floods; brutal and inevitable, she could feel it pooling around her lungs and heart, lapping at her ribs.

“How shall I continue?” she asked of the air. “Brother, what can I do? How can I do it? Without you, it seems …” Empty. So very empty.

“Your son is ready to step in at your side.” Water Petal sounded so sure of herself.

“My son is not my brother.” Her fists knotted, crumpling her white kirtle with its pattern of knots. “But he will do.” She bit back the urge to sob. “As I have trained him to.”

“Elder?” Hesitation was in Water Petal’s voice. “Would you like me to care for the Speaker? He must be cleaned, his clothes burned. The corpse must be prepared for the pyre.”

“Not yet.”

“As you wish, Elder.”

Wing Heart ground the heels of her palms into her eyes, twisting them as if to scrub her traitorous tears from her head. I thought I had myself under control. I have been so calm, so prepared, and now that he’s truly gone, I am broken like an old doll. Why didn’t I know this was coming? Why didn’t I understand I would hurt so badly? Why didn’t you tell me, Brother?