People of the Owl(91)

Salamander said nothing, but did manage to at least plop a soggy bit of cattail-root bread into his mouth.

“As to the rules,” Pine Drop continued, “they are as follows: First, you will not speak of the things that happen inside this house. Second, what you hear of Snapping Turtle Clan dealings are not to be shared with your relatives from Owl Clan. Third, neither I nor my sister will be made into fools. Do you understand?”

He shook his head, looking clearly uncomfortable.

“People are already talking out there.” She gestured with her hand toward Sun Town. “Night Rain and I are laughingstocks. They are saying, ‘Married to that half-wit, can you imagine?’ Well, I won’t have that. My sister and I will not be singled out for their pity or their ridicule.”

Salamander swallowed his bit of bread.

“When you are asked about our marriage, you will simply answer that things are fine, do you understand?”

He nodded again.

“I want to remind you that you married into Snapping Turtle Clan. You have come here, to our territory, to live in our house. While you are here you will obey my instructions, is that clear? If not, well, it won’t be a pleasant thing. Do you understand?”

What was it about his innocent face? He looked like a child with his hand caught in the stewpot. “Well, can you speak, except to spout nonsense?”

He nodded again.

Pine Drop rolled her eyes and glanced at Night Rain. Her sister looked absolutely miserable.

“One last rule, Salamander.” She gave him a hard squint. “I understand that you have obligations to your clan. I don’t expect you to sit around here, lazy as a bead on a necklace. Go off and do what you need to do. We would appreciate it if you could bring back some fish, game, or roots on occasion. It would make things look normal here. But you come home every night, do you understand?”

He frowned at her, obviously confused.

Snakes! Did she have to sound everything out for him? “One of us will always be here. So you come home. We would not like to find out that you were slipping off and spending the night at some other woman’s house.” She steepled her fingers and smiled. “Like I said, we will not be humiliated by you, so hear this, and remember it: If we find out that you’ve been slipping your hard little worm into some other woman, we’ll use a serrated stone knife to cut it off. Are we understood?”

He gulped and nodded, looking as if he’d grown gills.

She sighed in resignation then. “Very well, Night Rain, hand me that cloth. Those wounds on his chest are oozing, and I will not have him dripping all over my breasts while we finish this marriage business.”

At his increasing panic, she added, “You can carry out that part of your obligations, can’t you?”

He was looking longingly at the door. Sweat, or was it old raindrops, beaded on his forehead.





The air was hot and muggy, one of those early-summer days when the sun burns down out of a white-hot cloudless sky. Heat rolled across the grassy plaza to the east of the Council ramada, where Salamander stood next to his mother. He didn’t want to be here, listening to Mud Stalker singing his praises to the Council. He wished he were far away, deep in the swamp, floating with the alligators.

He stared thoughtfully out past the crowded people beyond the Council House. They had come to watch his appointment as Speaker for Owl Clan. The crowd was huge, many of them from distant camps who had come for the solstice ceremonies and heard the amazing news that a mere boy was being made Speaker for the influential Owl Clan. They hadn’t come out of respect for him or his clan. They were here for the spectacle.

By turning his head he could catch occasional glimpses of the ball game practice through the press of spectators. The Northern Moiety team practiced pitching in their half of the plaza.

On the last day of the solstice ceremonies, after the masked processions, the Dances, and feasts, the ritual game would be played. To win, one side had to score four goals. A deerskin ball was flipped or batted back and forth between the players by means of a long stick, flattened on one end. The object was to fling the ball across the borrow pit and onto the first ridge of the opposing moiety.

The stakes were high. Clans, lineages, and families bet huge piles of food and possessions against the outcome. Losing could leave entire clans destitute. It was such a loss that had first led Frog Clan into their slow spiral of decay. During the last two years the Southern Moiety had achieved victory, and, given the looks of the Northern team’s practice, it would happen again this year.

The games were the culmination of the annual summer solstice ceremony, which in turn was one of the most important observances of the year. People came from all of the dispersed camps as far away as the gulf coast. They brought canoe-loads of food and locally manufactured goods to be wagered on the great ball game. It was a time of gift giving, fulfilling obligations, feasting, and socializing. Marriages were brokered between widely scattered clanspeople, and news was dispensed.