People of the Owl(61)

Right Talon had been the sober one, the youth of whom no one had expected great things. Instead, he had been carried away by dreams that would never come true. One day he was going to be a great Trader, the next he would become a most holy Serpent. Later that same afternoon he had been sure that a warrior’s fame lay ahead of him. Dreams. All Dreams. They had died, locked away behind his sightless eyes, unable to escape past the tongue protruding from his gaping mouth. She could see his disbelieving face, wet and witless as a Sun warrior urinated on it.

The bumping of the canoe jarred her back to the present. She blinked at the swelling knot of pain that grief placed under her tongue. No tears remained to leak past her raw eyes. The canoe had fetched up alongside the trunk of a sweetgum tree. Patterns of green mottled the gray bark where wrist-thick vines twisted their way up into the canopy. A lizard skittered upward, disturbed by her arrival.

Where am I going? How am I ever going to live? The answers eluded her. When she glanced down, no less than a dozen mosquitoes dotted her arms. Their abdomens were dark and swollen, their back legs lifted as they drank deeply of her blood.

She would have to face the families of the dead. How did she explain what had happened to them? How did she put the terror she had observed into words?

One by one she watched the mosquitoes rise and fly off, their blood-swollen bodies heavy on the hot, still air. As they went others landed on airy feet, probing with their spiky snouts until they tapped her veins. Let them. She no longer needed her blood.

She no longer needed anything.





Fourteen

Mud Puppy crouched on the grass and fingered the tasseled ends of the fabric breechcloth his mother had made for him. The knotted hemp fibers rolled roughly under his fingers as he watched the proceedings beneath the roofed Council House ramada. He was but one of the large crowd that had gathered around the circular ramada to watch this historic session. Tens of tens of people ringed the open-sided enclosure, all watching with excitement as a new Speaker was voted on.

The packed crowd reassured Mud Puppy, provided him with the anonymity he desperately desired. Unlike the others who had come to watch, he felt an increasing sense of despair. This was going to doom them all. He couldn’t say why he knew that, where it came from. Something that was spun out of forgotten Dreams lay just beyond his ability to grasp.

The Council was a reflection of Sun Town in miniature. Under the northeast portion sat Owl Clan, then Alligator Clan to the north, with Frog Clan in the northwest. In the southwest was Rattlesnake Clan. Eagle Clan sat in the south, and Snapping Turtle Clan in the southeast portion.

The ritual entryway in the east and the exit on the west were left open. A crackling fire burned in a pit at the center of the ring.

Mud Puppy watched with a heavy heart. Masked Owl had come to him in a Dream the night before, telling him exactly how it would come about. But what was the rest? The part that eluded his memory?

Mud Stalker stood by the fire in the center of the Council, his mangled arm covered by a white fabric with an artistic rendering of a snapping turtle woven into the warp and weft. His head was back, expression thoughtful, as he stated, “It has been a long time since such a young man has walked among us. Do we need any more proof of White Bird’s abilities? Have we not all seen the wealth that has spread among us from the north over the last couple of days? Do we need to remind ourselves that this young man killed one of the Swamp People’s raiders, and took another alive? Have we not heard his thoughtful words, spoken as if from the lips of his departed uncle?” Mud Stalker smiled when he met White Bird’s eyes. “It is, therefore, my pleasure, as Speaker of Snapping Turtle Clan, to cast the majority vote in accepting White Bird to this Council.”

He stepped forward, offering his left hand to White Bird, saying, “We have often been adversaries, White Bird. Now, with this gesture, I welcome you as my friend, and offer my clan’s and this Council’s most sincere support.”

Don’t do this thing, Brother! The words boomed through Mud Puppy’s head, but he couldn’t make himself stand, couldn’t make himself shout them out for the world to hear. Instead, he seemed as impotent as a cooking clay, watching with a kind of mute horror.

White Bird sealed his fate as he rose to take Mud Stalker’s hand in both of his, and said, “I thank you, Speaker. I am honored, and will do my best to serve my people and this Council.”

Since Mud Stalker held the floor, White Bird reseated himself next to Wing Heart.

Across the distance, Mud Puppy could see his mother’s expression—a look of satisfaction that seemed to radiate from the center of her souls. But when he looked deeply into her eyes he saw an unfamiliar bitterness, like a clay pot stressed beyond its limits.