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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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“Elder, it is plain that your souls are aching. Can I help you?”
Of course it was hard on Wing Heart. This was the second such feast she had prepared for in the last five days. Nor did she risk so much as a glance at her gloom-shrouded house, where White Bird’s body, or at least his bones, lay. The dull vacancy in the woman’s face sent a shiver up Moccasin Leaf’s spine.
“Elder, since I came here, you haven’t spoken a word. It might help if you talked about it. Sometimes words can free the grief from where it is lodged between the souls.”
That morning the Serpent and Bobcat—their faces streaked with charcoal—had come by with their sharp chert knives. White Bird’s flesh had been cleanly removed from the bones and carted off in baskets. By now it had been carried outside the protection of the ridges and laid out at Owl Clan’s little hollow in the forest. There, crows, feral dogs, and other carrion eaters would dispose of it. Only
the bones remained in the house for White Bird’s Dream Soul to watch over.
Wing Heart closed her eyes, and a faint smile graced her lips.
“Are you seeing him, Elder?” Moccasin Leaf asked. “White Bird is alive, his eyes sparkling and brown. I see him that way, too.”
Wing Heart said nothing.
Moccasin Leaf shook her head. She deserved some sort of a response. “What are those Snapping Turtle women bringing?”
Wing Heart eyes opened and she stared absently at the ring of blackened ash where her brother’s house had once stood. By tomorrow night, her house, too, would be nothing more than that. A second ring of ash. Tomorrow, witnessed by the entire town, she would raise her torch to that roof and incinerate her son.
Then what, Wing Heart? Where does the clan go from there?
Did she dare broach the subject? Wing Heart was obviously wounded, her natural craftiness blunted by grief.
“We need to talk.”
Silence.
“Despite your grief, someone must attend to the business of replacing the Speaker.”
Wing Heart gave her a dull glare.
Moccasin Leaf’s gaze slid away. “Half Thorn is ready to represent the clan. He has been preparing for the role of Speaker for years. But for Mud Puppy’s coming initiation, he would be here, ready to discuss matters with you.”
Wing Heart’s eyes seemed to lose focus.
Moccasin Leaf stiffened. “Wing Heart, it is time that you began to place the needs of the clan above your own.”
The Clan Elder’s lips twitched.
“I think you are hurting, the loss of your brother and son, along with worry about your youngest, has clouded your abilities. It is with this in mind that I have come to offer my services. Perhaps you should take some time for yourself, allow your souls to heal before you resume your duties. You need not face the coming trials alone. We are ready to …” At the glittering intensity that suddenly burned in the older woman’s eyes, her words went dry.
Wing Heart drew herself up, back stiff; she looked ready to lash out.
“Do not fight me over this, Elder,” Moccasin Leaf crossed her arms. “You and your lineage have dominated this clan for three generations. You have done well for us.”
Wing Heart’s lips moved, her voice little more than an unintelligible mumble.
“Those days are over. You have no heir.”
Wing Heart’s glazed eyes wavered as she said, “The Speaker will deal with you. The Speaker …” The rest trailed away into babble.
“Give it up!” Moccasin Leaf stepped forward. “Half Thorn is the logical choice for the next Speaker. He has the age, maturity, and respect of the clan.”
Wing Heart blinked, expression turning empty as she shook her head.
Moccasin Leaf smiled sourly. “Ah, I see. You will do anything to maintain your authority.”
Her features sharpened as though she had just awakened. “My concerns are for the best interests of the clan.”
“She lies.” Wing Heart worked her hands, stepping forward. “We must deal with her, Speaker. This is intolerable.”
Moccasin Leaf watched, seeing Wing Heart’s souls begin to fray, her control shredding.
Snakes! What is she thinking?
“Yes, Cloud Heron, I agree. Let’s wipe that arrogant face clean of that nasty smug look,” Wing Heart muttered. She had balled her fists, back arching, and taken another step forward.
A sudden panic flushed Moccasin Leaf. She swallowed, retreating a step. Panic spurred her as she read Wing Heart’s breaking rage in those glittering black eyes.
Don’t do this!
a pleading voice called from down in the hollowness in Moccasin Leaf’s breast. She lifted placating hands. But Wing Heart wouldn’t stop, the threshold had been breached. In one more step she would …
“Good evening,” a pleasant male voice interrupted. Wing Heart stopped short, trembling. Moccasin Leaf spun to find Mud Stalker standing beside Water Petal’s house. His mangled arm was cradled in his good left. A smirk bent his lips as his face reflected amusement.
“How long have you been standing there?” Moccasin Leaf demanded tartly to cover her fear-shaken relief.
“Long enough to decide it would be prudent to announce my presence. Bloodshed is always a nasty business. It upsets my stomach, and I’m expecting a delightful feast in honor of a newly made man later tonight.” He stepped forward, greased skin gleaming in the fading evening light. “Elder, I have come to collect your son, Mud Puppy. We are ready for his initiation.” He nodded at the bark-covered pit, where the first threads of steam carried the odor of baking. “That smells exquisite.”
“The boy is up on the Bird’s Head with the Serpent.” Wing Heart waved absently at the distant mound. She seemed to half stumble
as she dropped to a sitting position. Her back against the ramada pole, Wing Heart’s expression slowly grew blank, as if when the rage leaked away, it took her souls with it.
Moccasin Leaf stared in fascination.
What is happening to her?
Mud Stalker, too, seemed amazed at Wing Heart’s behavior. Unwilling to be caught gawking, he glanced toward the high mound. “Good. I’m sure the Serpent has prepared him for the ordeal much better than I could.”
“And what do
you
care for an Owl Clan boy’s initiation?” Moccasin Leaf demanded. “What is he to you?”
Mud Stalker’s eyes were half-lidded, his smile neutral and pleasant. “He is about to marry my cousins.”
She couldn’t stop the shocked look. “You mean to go through with that?”
He studied Wing Heart thoughtfully, then replied, “Oh, yes. Snapping Turtle Clan’s alliance with Owl Clan is still solid and irrevocable. Which, if you will excuse me, brings up the matter of Half Thorn’s appropriateness as a Speaker.”
“You have no business meddling in our clan’s decisions.” Moccasin Leaf wagged her finger back and forth in chastisement.
“Of course not.” Mud Stalker yawned, stifling it with his good hand. “But I do want you to understand that
should
Half Thorn be nominated to the Council as Speaker, his confirmation would be heatedly disputed.” A grizzled eyebrow lifted. “It would be unpleasant for him, especially since I believe that Eagle, Rattlesnake, and Frog Clans will vote with me. As to Alligator Clan, well, perhaps, Moccasin Leaf, with the appropriate incentive, you might manage to sway them to your side. Have anything in mind? I’d be happy to mention it to Deep Hunter and Elder Colored Paint, just to see if they’d be receptive. Call it a personal favor to you.”
Moccasin Leaf stood frozen. In horror, she shot a look at Wing Heart, but the Clan Elder seemed oblivious.
Saluting with a finger, Mud Stalker said, “Good evening, Elder, and to you, too, Moccasin Leaf. I shall be looking forward to sharing that loaf with you after Mud Puppy’s initiation.” With that he turned and strode off down the ridge, his course set for the Bird’s Head.
“You and he
planned
this? Did you do this to humiliate me?” Moccasin Leaf was shaking, her face working.
Wing Heart’s tumbling expressions were her only reaction. She should have been angered, should have lashed out at Mud Stalker for intruding on Owl Clan business. But she had done nothing! They had to have planned this whole performance. The silent grief,
the vacant looks, they were all an act, a way of laying Moccasin Leaf and Half Thorn low.
“You are a foul woman, Wing Heart. I came here to help you. For the good of the clan.”
“Witch, witch, you’re a witch!” Wing Heart began in a singsong voice, her head nodding in time. “Take a war club, break her head. Leave her body for the Dead. Witch, witch, you’re a witch, throw her body in a ditch.”
Cold fear traced its way down Moccasin Leaf’s back as she stiffened her resolve. “I hope you know what you’re doing. Because tonight you have made an enemy whom you will never vanquish.” She stalked off, stiff-legged, in barely suppressed rage.
Wing Heart watched her go, then flinched as if touched with the whisper of wings in the still air above her. But when the old woman looked up, only the translucent skies of evening extended to infinity.
T
his was the event that boys most eagerly anticipated and desperately feared. Unlike most, who had time to prepare, the initiation into manhood was being thrust on Mud Puppy at a moment’s notice. He lay on his back on the split-cane matting beside the great fire in the Men’s House.
Normally, he would have been excited to see the interior. Until this moment, it had been forbidden to him. Upon being led within, he had the briefest glance of the colorful masks that hung on the walls, the atlatls, darts, and smooth skulls. The latter, trophies of hard-fought battles, watched him with empty black eyes and grinning brown teeth.
All of the Speakers and lineage heads had come to the Men’s House for his initiation. His only relative, Yellow Spider, sat just to his right, a sober concern in his eyes as Mud Puppy had undergone the ritual lashing with palmetto whips. They beat him to drive the child from his body. Then his smarting skin was splashed with salt water to begin the healing.
After that, he had been ordered to lie down on the floor, his head facing the West—symbolic of the fact that one day he, too, would die. The sharp cane cut into his raw back as the Serpent began the process of tattooing his chest. He closed his eyes against the pain. His jaw ached and knotted, and his teeth hurt as he clamped them against the stinging fire that prickled his chest.
Don’t be afraid. You cannot show fear. They can kill you if they think
you are unworthy
. He hadn’t wanted to do this. His heart had been thumping like a shrunken drumhead as the Serpent and Mud Stalker led him here. It had taken all of his courage to keep from breaking and running. But for the surprise of the moment, he would have.
Around him the irregular chanting of the men kept time with the clacking of rhythm sticks and thumping of a hide-covered drum. They were all here: the leaders of the clans, prominent men, and lineage leaders. They had dressed in their finery, brightly colored feathers in their hair, faces painted in red, white, blue, yellow, and black. Many had slathered alligator or bear grease on their skin, the mixture containing crushed honeysuckle, redbud, or other flowers to scent their bodies.
The last image before he’d squeezed his eyes closed was of the Serpent bending over him, blotting out the sight of the sootgrimed thatch roof. The copper needle in the old man’s hand had gleamed in the firelight. A smile had split the Serpent’s flat face as he stared affectionately down at Mud Puppy.
Again and again the copper prick was twirled into Mud Puppy’s skin, only to be followed by the old man’s blood-caked fingertips as he dipped them in charcoal and rubbed the black color into the wounds.
Mud Puppy would not receive the intricate pattern of dots his brother had been given. He had achieved no accolades in war or Trade. No one sang of his great deeds during the hunt. Instead, only a line of dots running down from the notch between his collarbones to the end of his breastbone and simple arches over each breast were being tattooed into his skin: the marks of manhood.
“
You must make no noise, no sound. You must not show the least sign of fear or pain. If you do, they will beat you with clubs and chase you out of the Men’s House. You will live the rest of your life in shame. If you cry like a baby, they will be forced to kill you to cleanse the shame from inside the Men’s House.
” The Serpent’s words echoed in his head. “
But you do not worry me, Mud Puppy. This is nothing compared to the terrors of that night on the Bird’s Head. After Dancing with the mushroom and walking hand in hand with the spirits, this will pass like a dream.
”
A whimper rose unbidden in his throat; he swallowed hard to stifle it before it could be heard. No, he must not allow them to see any trace of pain or fear. But how? The pricking needle, the rubbing fingers, the line of fire crossing his chest was growing worse. Panic curled and flexed under his ribs. Within heartbeats, he would be screaming his fear and pain.
“
Talk to me!
” the voice came echoing from deep in his souls.
“Masked Owl?” he asked, hardly aware that he’d spoken aloud. The faintest break in the rhythmic chanting and clacking could be heard.
“Hush!” the Serpent muttered angrily.
The voice told him: “
Keep your eyes closed
.
Concentrate. I am here
.
Hovering above you, around you, my wings beating away the pain
.
Look with your souls. Do you see me?
”
Mud Puppy tried to see Masked Owl’s familiar form, but a glowing blackness, a hovering dark shape, flew around him on midnight wings that traced rainbows through the air.
“Many Colored Crow?” Mud Puppy asked. “Is that you?”
“Hush!” the Serpent’s voice chastised again.
“
Yes, I have come to watch you be made into a man. You are important to me, young friend. The future lies with you.
” A pause. “
Your brother is here
.
He says you look like a splayed worm, wiggling and jiggling
.”
At that, Mud Puppy laughed and spoke from his Dream, “That’s like you, isn’t it, White Bird? You always made me laugh when you teased me.”
“
He says to tell you he misses you
.”
“And I miss you, Brother.”
“
He asks, Do you remember the time you greased the log bridge across the gully?
”
“We thought Yellow Spider was supposed to come home that way, but it was Uncle Cloud Heron who appeared on the trail. He started across, carrying a sack of poison sumac cuttings to make fish poison out of.” His uncle had slipped, and plunged headfirst into the sticky black mud. The subsequent rash had deviled him for weeks. Mud Puppy chuckled out loud, remembering his uncle’s mad roars as he and White Bird cowered in the modest concealment of a cane patch and hoped they wouldn’t be discovered.
From somewhere in the distance he heard the Serpent make a shushing sound.
“And the worst thing was, we did it to him again, not a year later,” Mud Puppy added silently, then burst into giggles.
“Quit that!” the Serpent’s voice intruded.
Mud Puppy blinked his eyes open, the last of the giggles dying on his lips. He realized that the room was silent, that the pain in his chest was returning. The Serpent had a puzzled look on his face.
“I was talking to Many Colored Crow,” Mud Puppy blurted. In panic he realized that the men lining the walls were staring at him
with uneasy brown eyes. “Did I do something wrong?” He tried not to wince at the returning pain.
“No one laughs,” the Serpent muttered. “It is supposed to be a test of courage. To be taken seriously.”
“I’m sorry.” Mud Puppy glanced around nervously. “Forgive me.”
He nodded for the Serpent to go ahead, and couldn’t help but hear the soft whispering as the chanting began again. The words didn’t carry the conviction this time, and Mud Puppy could feel the difference in the air: uncertainty, hesitation. He screwed up his face to mask the renewed pain as the Serpent twisted the needle in the seemingly endless process of making him a man.
Can’t I do anything right?
When he opened his eyes again, it was to see Mud Stalker staring hard at him from one side, something dangerous and provocative behind his eyes.
“
Beware
,” Many Colored Crow whispered to his souls. “
They will begin to fear you now.
”
Fear me?
The notion took him off guard. Since when had anyone feared Mud Puppy?
“
You laughed during your initiation,
” Many Colored Crow reminded. “
They will remember that
.
And the fact that you talked to me.
”
A sudden fear ran through him.
“
From this night forward,
” Many Colored Crow whispered, “
you must live differently, Mud Puppy. Everything has changed. Hear my words: After tonight they will try to destroy you. Place your trust in your Spirit Helpers, in the animals, and in the plants. Look beyond the skin. See into the souls. You will not find allies in the usual places.
”
“Masked Owl said—”
“
Has he promised you the One? Promised you the Dance? Are you just another of his playthings like your brother, White Bird? A thing to be broken and discarded if you disappoint him?
”
“What?”
“
Let me show you what Masked Owl has in mind for you.
”
The vision came spinning out of the darkness behind his eyes. Death swirled around like a charcoal wind. The odor of putrefaction wafted past his nostrils, while coldness touched his skin. He could sense the huge black shape of a malignant bird hovering above, feel the cold strokes of the spirit bird’s midnight wings.
Mud Puppy bolted into a sitting position, pointing up at the charred rafters. “
There!
”
“What?” The Serpent stumbled backward, clawed for balance, and craned his thin neck to peer up at the smoke-hazed ceiling of
the Men’s House. The clacking music died along with the chanting on everyone’s lips. Heads craned, wide eyes fixed on the ceiling.
“A big black crow!” Mud Puppy blinked, his chest pulsing with agony. He could feel blood trickling down the sides of his ribs as he searched the ceiling. “Up there,” he sputtered lamely. “Dark, and … smelling of death.”
In the deepening silence, only the crackle of logs in the fire could be heard.
“Yes, I feel him up there.” The Serpent drew a wary breath, letting it out as a hiss. “Leave here!” He pointed a finger at the dark roof. “This place is not for you. This boy is not for you! Go back! Back to the darkness of the West and your lair of corruption.”
Mud Puppy could feel the rising tension in the room. He was acutely aware of the stares going from him, to the ceiling, to the Serpent, and back to the ceiling again.
Mud Stalker broke the silence, hardly masking his impatience. “I don’t see anything.”
“You wouldn’t,” the Serpent replied softly, his eyes still fixed above.
Mud Puppy cocked his head. “Did you hear that?”
The Serpent frowned. “What?”
“Giant wings beating the air,” Mud Puppy told him. “Like the whistling a crow makes when it takes off fast.”
The Serpent nodded, as if this made perfect sense.
“What is going on here?” Mud Stalker demanded, stepping forward. “Is this the way a man is made?”
“It is tonight.” The Serpent shot him a hot glance. “Power is loose! It is shifting and curling, surrounding us—held back only by these four walls!” Silence filled the room. “Now, watch, you men. Study this boy! Your futures are borne upon his blood!”
The Serpent slipped a hand into the sack hanging from his waist thong and removed a sliver of milky gray chert. “This stone comes from the far north. There, the Earth Beings deposited their semen and it hardened, became this stone.” He straddled Mud Puppy’s legs, pushed him flat again, and squatted. In two quick motions, the old man slashed a deep cross on the middle of Mud Puppy’s breastbone over his heart. “With it, I mark you.”
Mud Puppy’s souls twisted, and his lungs jumped and pulled at the bottom on his throat. Tears silvered the edges of his vision.
The Serpent raised the bloody flake of stone for all to see, and cried, “Know all, that this man, whom I today name Salamander, is marked with two crossing lines. The cross on his chest reminds us of the four directions. It is the place where things come together,
an intersection between Power and the world. From now on, when you see this man, you will think of things coming together, crossing.”
“This isn’t right,” Clay Fat muttered from his clan seat along the south wall.
“No, it isn’t,” Deep Hunter agreed. “This boy isn’t acting right.”
The Serpent stalked forward; his hard eyes challenged the Speakers. “It is
very
right. More right than you could know. What has happened here tonight isn’t about you, or your scheming clans. This new man, this place where we live, is caught between warring Powers. I will tell you this thing once, knowing you will not understand or heed my warning. This man we have made tonight, Salamander, will have to fight for you all. He will have to do it alone, for most of you will betray him!”
BOOK: People of the Owl: A Novel of Prehistoric North America (North America's Forgotten Past)
6.25Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
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