They paddled in silence for a while, accompanied by the sounds of the swamp, splashing fish, the lonely call of the nightjar and the chirring of insects. Overhead the wind continued to slash at the spring green trees, rustling the leaves and creaking the branches.
Spider Fire finally said, “You’re right, it’s our territory, given to us by the Creator, but they have been raiding our land since the beginning of time. I will help you end this once and for all.”
“Will you?” Mist Finger asked wryly.
She had been glad when Mist Finger volunteered to accompany her. For the past several moons she had been alternately delighted and annoyed by the way he kept creeping into her thoughts. At odd times of the day, she’d remember his smile, or the way the muscles rippled in his back. The sparkle in his eyes seemed to have fixed itself between her souls.
“Branch!” Cooter sang out. “Duck, everyone.”
The canoe rocked as they bent their heads low to drift under a low-hanging branch. Anhinga felt trailing bits of spiderweb dust her face, crackling and tearing as the canoe’s momentum carried them past. She reached up and wiped it away, hoping the angry spider wasn’t trapped in her hair. The thought of those eight milling legs tangling in her black locks made her scalp tingle.
Slit Nose broke the silence. “That doesn’t mean it’s acceptable. Anhinga’s right. It’s got to stop sometime. It might just as well be now.”
Mist Finger laughed, the sound musical in the windblown night. “You don’t think it’s been tried? How many of our ancestors, no matter what the clan, have died fighting with the Sun People? How many stories can you recall? You know, the ones about great-uncle so-and-so, or cousin what’s-his-name who was killed in a raid on the Sun People, or who, like Bowfin, was skewered by a dart, or smacked in the head with a war club. Is there any clan, any lineage that you can name that doesn’t have a story? In all that time, all those generations going back to the Creation, don’t you think that others have tried to teach them a lesson?”
“Does this have a point?” Spider Fire asked.
“Of course,” Mist Finger answered easily. “The point is that nothing is going to change. Our war is eternal. No one is going to win.”
“Then why are you here?” Anhinga asked, anger festering at the bottom of her throat.
“I’m here for you.” Mist Finger’s voice carried an unsettling undercurrent. “As are the rest of us. Bowfin was our friend and your kinsman. We would indeed see his ghost given a little peace.”
“But you don’t think this is going to do any good?” Anhinga tried to stifle her irritation.
“In the long run, no.” Mist Finger sounded so sure of himself.
“But you came anyway?”
“Of course.” Where did that reasonable tone come from? He might have been discussing the relative merit of fishnets rather than a raid against the Sun People. “Like my companions, Anhinga, I am here for you. As I said.”
For me? “I don’t understand.”
“Then I shall lay it out for you like a string of beads.” Humor laced Mist Finger’s voice. “Though I doubt my friends will admit to it out loud. We are here to prove ourselves to you. Oh, to be sure, we wouldn’t mind killing a couple of Sun People in the process. Bowfin was a good friend. We share your anger over his death. But, most of all, when this is over, each of us wants you to think well of us, to admire our courage and skill.”
Her thoughts stumbled. “What are you talking about? Prove yourselves?”
“Shut up, Mist Finger,” Spider Fire growled unhappily.
His admonition brought another laugh from Mist Finger, who added, “Anhinga? Are you not planning on marrying soon? And when you do, which of your suitors would you choose? Some simpleminded fisherman who worried more over the set of his gill nets, or one of the five dashing young warriors in this canoe?”
“Be quiet, Mist Finger,” Slit Nose muttered.
Anhinga started, considering his words, ever more unsettled by them. “Why are you telling me this?”
Mist Finger calmly replied, “So that my companions here know that they have no chance.”
Chuckles and guffaws broke out from the others while Anhinga felt her face redden. Snakes take him, he’d embarrassed her, and in the middle of this most important strike against the Sun People.
“Well,” she told him hotly, “if and when I marry, it won’t be to you, Mist Finger! And for now, it would do all of you good to think about what we’re doing. This isn’t about courting. It’s about revenge.”