“Night Rain,” he agreed, “daughters of Sweet Root, who is the daughter of … of the great Clan Elder, Back Scratch. My clan is now their clan, their clan is now mine. I accept these women …”—he seemed to pause forever—“ … as my wives, to share with equally, to comfort and care for.”
In the now-familiar ritual, Pine Drop and Night Rain held their hands demurely before their kirtles, and cried out in unison, “We accept this man, Salamander, of the Owl Clan, as our husband. In doing this, we bind ourselves to him and to his clan. Let it be known among all people that we are married.”
“Let it be known!” Mud Stalker called from his place. He carried a war club for the occasion, and Pine Drop wasn’t sure if it was for ceremony or to whack Salamander should he suddenly bolt from the proceedings.
“Let it be known!” Wing Heart mumbled absently from her place on the east. The Clan Elder’s eyes were oddly glazed, her expression remote, as if lost in other memories. Something about her sent a shiver down Pine Drop’s spine.
Salamander’s cousin, Water Petal, stood to Wing Heart’s right. The woman looked worried, her stare darting back and forth between Salamander and Wing Heart. She had worn a small hat against the rain. It barely shielded her face, let alone her protruding pregnant belly, which was now rain-streaked over her kirtle. The woman’s time was close, her belly button protruding.
How long until I look like that? Pine Drop glanced sidelong at Salamander and used all of her will to keep from showing her disgust. Not only was he scrawny, but he still looked like the foolish boy he had been but a week ago. Him? Sharing my bed? After the likes of Blue Feather—and even his brother? Never! But she knew it was a lie.
“Let it be known!” the gathered people shouted. This time there was no smiling and slapping each other on the back. Despite the promise of food, people seemed to slip away like stringers of mist.
Wing Heart, her face still a mask, simply strode off, heading northward across the clan grounds for her own territory. To Pine Drop’s surprise, it was the cousin, Water Petal, who leaned over to Salamander, and said, “If you need to talk, Cousin, come see me.” And with that she gave him a sympathetic pat and started after Wing Heart, her gait more of a waddle to compensate for that enormous belly.
Pine Drop shot her uncle a hard look, but his expression urged caution in return.
“Come,” Pine Drop said, as the last of the observers turned for their own dry homes or the protection of ramadas. “That food is getting soaked.”
“Let it,” Night Rain muttered, sharing her unease as her glance stole back and forth between Pine Drop and Mud Stalker. Salamander stood as if roots had grown out of his feet. She took the tray from his hands and ducked into the house she had shared with White Bird for only one night. Now the form of his little brother darkened the doorway. A moment later Night Rain ducked in and made irritated sounds as she wrung the water from her hair. “You’d think we could have waited until the sun came out.”
“Uncle wanted this done,” Pine Drop retorted as she seated herself behind the fire and dropped two pieces of wood into it. As the flames rose and cast yellow light over the interior, she studied her new husband. He was standing like a bulge on a pot, hands nervously twisting above his breechcloth.
“Sit.” Pine Drop pointed to her right. “You, too, Night Rain. Come sit here beside me.”
Night Rain at least did as she was told. Salamander seemed not to have heard, his eyes fixed on the fire. She caught his horrified look as he shot a glimpse at the pole beds behind her.
“Will you sit, Husband!” she chided, and slapped the floor to her right. “We have things to discuss.”
He swallowed hard and lowered himself the way he might if a nest of red ants were near.
“What things?” he asked.
She could see his pulse jumping at the base of his thin neck. The oddly cut cross on his chest looked infected, swollen and angry.
“First, there are rules to be followed in this household.” She took the tray from behind her and handed it to him. “Eat. Or do you want to mock the marriage ritual the way you mock everything else?”
“I don’t mock everything.”
“Oh?” she arched a brow, aware that Night Rain was watching silently, her lips twitching. “You didn’t giggle during your initiation?”
“What happens in the Men’s House is not to be spoken of to women.” He looked sullen.
“Don’t be a fool.” She reached back for a buffalo-horn spoon and used it to scoop up some of the mashed squash. This she handed to Night Rain, indicating that she eat. “I suppose that men never hear the gossip from the Women’s House, either.”