People of the Sea(163)
“To talk to Catchstraw. If he’s there.”
“Oxbalm,” Sumac murmured as she rose, “don’t do this. What if the wolf sees you and comes back?”
“Then I will take it as a great favor, wife, if you would scream to call out all of our warriors.”
Balsam said, “Don’t worry, Grandfather, I’m a very fast runner. I’ll have our warriors out of the lodges and with atlatls in their hands before Grandmother can yell twice.”
Oxbalm nodded proudly. “Yes, you are a fast runner. The fastest in the village. Keep watch on us, Grandson.”
“I will.” Balsam picked up his atlatl and went to stand by Sumac.
Oxbalm turned to Dizzy Seal and Horseweed. “Come. Let’s get this done.”
Horseweed had gripped his atlatl in his right hand, while a long dart lay balanced in the fingers of his left. As if anxious to fly, the dart twirled as he rolled it in his fingers.
They took the trail that led off the eastern side of the hill and wound down around the base through a blaze of pink snowberry flowers. The shrubs sent trailing tendrils across the path. Oxbalm took his time, avoiding them so he wouldn’t trip. He doubted that his bad knees could take such a jolt. They would probably snap in two just to spite him.
And wouldn’t Catchstraw like that!
As they curved around the base of the hill, the sweat lodge came back into view. Catchstraw had built it large enough to hold ten men, though he’d invited no one to participate
in the purification ceremonies with him. A shimmering haze of steam haloed the structure.
Oxbalm sucked in a deep breath, fortifying himself, as he stepped around the woodpile and stopped before the door flap. Dizzy Seal and Horseweed flanked him. Horseweed held his atlatl in a death grip, the dart nocked and ready. Dizzy Seal’s elderly eyes roved about frantically. In the orange firelight, he looked like a dying man.
“Catchstraw?” Oxbalm called. “I’m sorry to bother you, but I would like to speak to you. It’s urgent.”
No answer.
“The two men who are looking for the woman named Kestrel have arrived…. Did you hear me?”
Oxbalm hobbled closer and put his ear close to the door flap. Hot rocks sizzled inside, but nothing else could be heard. No movements, no breathing. “Catchstraw? Are you in there? It’s Oxbalm.” Gingerly, Oxbalm pulled the door flap aside and peered into utter darkness. He couldn’t see a thing. “Horseweed? Please throw more wood on the fire out there.”
Horseweed did so, and as the flames leaped higher, the interior of the lodge glowed faintly. Steam shimmered like sunlit fog. Oxbalm hooked the flap on its peg and stepped inside.
A dozen colored baskets sat in a neat line along the back wall, and Catchstraw’s’ bedding of hides lay piled on the south side of the central fire pit. A mound of hot rocks currently filled the pit, but a fire had been in it earlier. White ashes ringed the rocks. On a log that ran the length of the north wall, abalone-shell bowls stood heaped high with acorns, walnuts and strips of jerked venison.
Oxbalm shook his head. Catchstraw was such an old fool. Didn’t he realize that in the damp environment of a sweat lodge, nuts and meats were sure to mold? And leaving them close to the ground was an open invitation to every rodent within two days’ walk. His bedding, too, would mildew and harden.
Oxbalm frowned. But… of course Catchstraw knew these things. Why would he make such obvious errors?
Unless he’s not thinking right. Not thinking like a human because he’s filled with Spirit Plants.
Oxbalm fingered his chin as he studied the baskets, damp hides and hot rocks. Dizzy Seal’s breathing sounded half strangled as he peered into the dark lodge. Sumac had told Oxbalm days ago that Catchstraw spent half of every morning out prowling the meadows, collecting plants he would let no one see.
“No wonder Catchstraw built this so big,” Oxbalm said. “He’s moved all of his belongings down. This isn’t just a sweat lodge. He’s going to live here.”
Dizzy Seal bravely ducked in behind Oxbalm and in a hoarse voice, said, “Careful. See the maze on the floor?” He pointed.
Oxbalm stopped dead in his tracks and looked down. The red, black and white lines wove an intricate labyrinth to the rear of the fire pit. Carefully, he hobbled forward and hunched down. As he extended his hand to touch the painting, he saw the sparse scatter of wolf hair that sprinkled the maze. His hand began to shake so badly that Dizzy Seal ran around the opposite side of the pit and hissed, “What’s wrong?”
“Do you see them?” Oxbalm indicated several of the closest hairs.
Dizzy Seal stumbled backward. “He … it was him!”