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Authors: Kathleen O'Neal Gear,W. Michael Gear

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BOOK: People of the Owl: A Novel of Prehistoric North America (North America's Forgotten Past)

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She remembered the accident when Slit Nose had been running full tilt across Water Lily Camp, and fallen to slice his nose open on a discarded stone flake. The scar had never fully healed—and now never would. Until she died she would remember the way one of the Sun People propped his severed head onto the flames of that crackling bonfire. How it had sizzled as his face was blackened and burned, the scarred nose curling into ash while the eyeballs popped like overinflated bladders.

Spider Fire had always been a wit and a tease. Sharp of tongue, a bit irreverent, his puns had often left her incapacitated with laughter. Not more than two winters past, she had held him as he mourned his big brother’s untimely death. In a freakish accident, a wind-lashed tree had fallen on him. It was to her that Spider Fire had come for comfort. Then, yesterday, she had seen his muscles carved away and fed to camp dogs until only the blood-streaked bones remained.

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

M
ud 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.

It is short-lived, Mother. Enjoy this day while it lasts. You are lost
…
we are lost.

Mud Stalker raised his good arm high. “Not only does Snapping Turtle Clan vote to accept this new Speaker to the Council, but it is with pleasure that we announce to all that he is promised to marry two sisters from my own lineage.”

Mud Puppy watched the surprised looks, curious that only Thunder Tail and Stone Talon appeared surprised.

“They play a devious game,”
Masked Owl’s voice echoed in Mud Puppy’s head.
“Like a snake swallowing its own tail, it shall consume them in the end.”

“Tomorrow, White Bird shall be joined with Pine Drop and Night Rain.” Mud Stalker raised his good hand, palm up in a gesture of satisfaction. “And in further demonstration of the faith that Snapping Turtle Clan has in Owl Clan’s leadership, we make this marriage in perpetuity.”

That brought looks of astonishment to everyone’s faces except Wing Heart’s. Even Clay Fat appeared to be stunned.

“You what?” Cane Frog cried, blinking her one white eye.

“Should anything happen to White Bird,” Mud Stalker continued, “the sisters shall go to White Bird’s brother. An uninterrupted alliance between our clans.”

“You mean … they would go to Mud Puppy?” Clay Fat cried incredulously.

“
No!
” Mud Puppy lurched to his feet. In the sudden silence, he was aware of all eyes turning his direction, seeking him out.

In a blind panic, he turned on his heel, almost bowling Little Needle over in his horrified flight. Careening off people, he broke free and sprinted toward the Bird’s Head and the dark safety of the summit.

It was all going wrong. This night would lead to a future he wanted to refuse with all of his heart. “Please, Masked Owl? Make it go away! Leave it the way it was.
Please?
”

W
hite Bird stretched, blinking himself awake. Morning light cast a blue shaft through the doorway to illuminate the inside of his mother’s house. The central fire still smoldered, smoke rising to collect in a dusky haze that filled the low roof just above his bed. From the angle of the sun entering the door, he knew it was still early. He should have been dead tired. It couldn’t have been two hands of time past since he’d crawled into bed, his stomach bloated from the feasts he’d attended. After the breaking of the Council, he and his mother had made the rounds, walking from clan ground to clan ground, shaking hands, eating what was offered, and accepting gifts and accolades wherever they passed.

The worst jolt had come when he finally faced Spring Cypress. The broken look in her eyes had wounded his souls as had nothing he had ever experienced.

“You want this?” she had asked in a quavering voice, her eyes searching his, desperate for any hint of negation.

“I must.”

She surprised him with the rapidity in which she pivoted on a heel and raced off into the night. That momentary glimpse of the betrayal she had felt stung the space between his souls.

How do I ever make it up to her?
The question rolled around the inside of his head as he studied the smoke-filled rafters.
What are the clans up to?
Even in the glow of his success he could feel the net cast about him, unseen hands ready to draw it tight. His mother’s role was apparent enough. Her single purpose in life was to be the Clan Elder. From the time he had been a small boy he had understood that she would do anything, sacrifice anything, to maintain that position. And were she ever to be stripped of that duty? What then?

He shuddered at the thought, then glanced over to where she slept under a thin deerskin robe. Even in the softly filtered morning light her lined face betrayed its age. Her mouth hung open, and he could see missing molars in the back. Deep wrinkles surrounded her sagging breast, and loose skin had folded around her armpits. Tyrant that she was when awake, in sleep she looked pitifully vulnerable.

She couldn’t stand it if she weren’t Clan Elder.
Relieve her of the title, and she would destroy herself rather than accept a lesser role.

For the moment he was unsure what to think about that. It all had been placed on his shoulders—all of her dreams and aspirations—as he had always known it would be.

Am I good enough? Strong enough? Can I meet all these expectations?

“We need to talk.” The soft voice caught him by surprise. Startled, he could just make out Mud Puppy’s form where it sat in the half darkness behind the shaft of morning light.

“Mud Puppy?”

“Not here.”

“But I—”

“Come.” Mud Puppy stood, allowing the thin fabric blanket to fall from his skinny shoulders. Without another glance at White Bird, he stepped into the shaft of sunlight and ducked out into the morning.

Swinging his legs over the bed poles, White Bird got to his feet, checked to make sure his breechcloth was hanging straight, and ducked out into the cool dawn. Mud Puppy stood awkwardly several steps from the door, his vacant gaze fixed on the blackened ring of ash that marked Uncle Cloud Heron’s house site. Fragments of gray-white bone could still be seen among the smoldering ashes, a reminder that their uncle’s Dream Soul was still present, watching.

“What is it? What did you want?” White Bird asked, irritably unnerved by Mud Puppy’s manner.

“What are you going to do with that sack of goosefoot seeds you brought from the north?”

The question caught him by surprise. “Plant them. Why?”

“I would ask you the same question, Brother.” Mud Puppy slid his haunted eyes toward White Bird. Fear glistened behind the glassy brown depths.

Shaking off misgivings the way he would cold rain water, White Bird stiffened his back. “To grow them, my silly young brother. When I was up in the north I discovered that the Wolf People grow goosefoot. They do it on purpose, not just nurturing stands of the plants the way we do, but they actually plant the best seeds to grow. They take special care of these fields, keeping out the grasshoppers and birds. The end result is that they have made bigger seeds, Brother. The advantage to these bigger seeds is a larger harvest per plant. Unlike leaving Sun Town to travel around to different places … uh, Ground Cherry Camp, for example, we can grow these bigger and better plants here, right around Sun Town. If we choose nothing but the best plants to replant, over the years we will have larger and larger harvests. Do you see what I’m after? We won’t have to worry so much, or travel so far in the poor years, or when the flood isn’t as beneficent as it is this spring. By storing what’s left over, bellies won’t be so thin during the hard times.”

If anything, the haunted look had deepened in Mud Puppy’s eyes. “Don’t do this thing.”

“What do you mean, don’t?” White Bird crossed his arms.

“Don’t plant the seeds. Make a feast for everyone instead.” Mud Puppy’s voice sounded as if from far away. “If you feed them to the People, it will be all right.”

“What? What will be all right? You’re sounding like you’ve been hit in the head! You expect me to give up on the seeds? Of all the things I brought from the north, Brother, they are the most important! Why do you think I haven’t given any away? Why do you think I’ve ignored them? It’s to show people. I’m going to plant them within the next couple of days. When I harvest them from the earth right there”—he pointed at the rich black soil near the bottom of the borrow pit—“I am going to make everyone understand.”

“Please don’t.”

White Bird shook his head. “I swear, you’re half-witted. What’s wrong with you? Stop being a child. You are ready to become a man, but you act more like a boy than that pesky Little Needle—and he’s winters younger than you are.”

“Why can’t you let this idea go?”

“Because it is better for the People, better for our clan. When they understand, everyone will look up to us.”

“He’ll kill you.” Mud Puppy’s voice had dropped to a whisper, his eyes shifting back to the burnt house.

“Who? You can’t mean Mud Stalker? He’s come over to our side, Brother. We’ve beaten him. Forced him to make an incredible deal to gain our patronage. He is
obligating
Snapping Turtle Clan to us. Don’t you understand what that means? We’re the preeminent clan in all the world!”

“If you defy his warning, he’ll kill you.”

White Bird narrowed his eyes. “Who?”

“Masked Owl.”

“Oh, Snakes take us! How can you be so stupid and still be my brother? Today I am marrying Pine Drop and her sister, Night Rain. Name another man of my age to make such a match.”

“If you do this, I will be stuck with them. I don’t know if I can turn them. They are controlled by their uncle.”

“You?” The tone in the boy’s voice left him half-hysterical. “You only inherit them if I die!”

“You will,” Mud Puppy replied woodenly, “if you don’t destroy those seeds.”

BOOK: People of the Owl: A Novel of Prehistoric North America (North America's Forgotten Past)

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