He glanced at Two Petals. She might be a real problem. Who knew what might fly out of her mouth at the most inappropriate time? Or, did it matter? Was her Spirit vision so precise that she knew the ramifications of what she said? Thinking back to the discomfort she’d driven Trader to, he wasn’t sure. The man had been long gone come morning.
That, he decided, was a shame. The young man was from Split Sky City. Like himself, condemned to a life of running. He would have liked to have known Trader better. Who knew, perhaps they were of the same clan? Trader likely would know the fates of family, old friends, clan leaders, and the like.
“Different,” Two Petals told him. “Totally different.”
“Who, me and Trader?”
She glanced up at the cloudy sky, her hands making those intricate patterns she seemed disposed to. “Do you think it hurts when clouds run into each other?”
“Maybe. I don’t know. I’ve never been a cloud.”
“We are all clouds. Puffy, white, and sailing through blue time.”
He knotted his souls around that, trying to find the relationship, and finally gave up. The gods alone knew what twists and bends a Contrary’s thoughts took.
“I don’t want to hear about the bearded white man,” Two Petals said offhandedly.
That caught him by surprise. “Well, I saw him. He’s a man, just like any other, but his skin is definitely white. And I swear, he did have dark brown hair all over his face. His eyes were blue, funniest thing. He was about my size, but his hair was a light brown. Unlike any hair I’ve ever seen. He was pleasant enough—a bit sad, though. Because with his boat wrecked, he could never go back across the sea. He’d taken a Pequot wife … had two children.”
Old White chuckled. “One of the old men translated for me. You wouldn’t believe the stories he tells. Weapons that clap like thunder and shoot fire. Great wooden boats with hundreds of men aboard. He told of how his people ride big animals, sort of like buffalo.” He shook his head. “Now, I’ve seen some things, believe me. But the things he said were beyond belief.”
“Lies, all lies,” Two Petals told him.
Old White studied her thoughtfully. “Too bad no one can cross the sea. I’d like to see those things.”
“Yes, you would. Such friendly people.” She trailed her fingers in the water. “How does it do that?”
He dismissed that latter. “I don’t know. That white man seemed all right.”
“They’ll never come here.”
He raised an eyebrow. “Indeed? Given the fact his boat wrecked, it doesn’t bode well for their abilities to cross the sea, either. Now, that I’d like to see. One of their big floating boats.”
“Oh, you will.”
“Too bad.” He sighed. “Besides, there’s other white men. I’ve seen some on occasion. They’ve got red eyes, can’t see very well, and most avoid going out in the sun.”
“Just the same,” she told him, frowning down at the water. “Just why does it do that?”
“What?”
“It’s always standing still.”
“We’re moving.” Then he thought about it. “But so is the river.”
“It always stays in one place.”
“What about a lake?”
“The waves are busy trying to stay home.”
“Maybe it’s happy.” He tried to put a Contrary’s twist to the idea.
“That’s crazy.” She gave him the sort of look she’d give a backward child.
He sighed, turning their bow toward the lowlands that marked the confluence of the rivers.
With plenty of time to consider her words, he stroked them forward, but cast occasional glances at the high town. He could only catch glimpses between the trees now.
So, one day the white men would come to his world. But he wouldn’t live to see it. Could the stories the white man had told him really be true? Two Petals said they were. Imagine the things they could tell him.
And her notion of water—it had never occurred to him before. Were waves just water trying to escape from a lake? When he thought about it, water was always moving. Springs seeping from the ground, rivers running to the sea. The only time water was still was when it was captured in a pot, caged.
Suddenly, he burst out laughing. Two Petals gave him a probing look.
“Even at my age, I’m still learning about myself.”
“You know everything,” she agreed.
“Yes, I do. The world is still full of surprises. Two Petals, you make me young.”
They were rounding the point now, and far to the south, past the trees, he could see the southern bluffs. That was Michigamea territory, and it would be wise to avoid it. His paddle working rhythmically; he nosed them into the broad waters of the Mother River, seeing the color change: clearer, greener.