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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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Mud Puppy blinked against the tears and tried to understand the seemingly insane words the Serpent spoke. The slit skin oozed and pulsed in red—the flow of it down into his navel frightening and terrible. He barely registered the looks of uncertainty that passed from man to man, or comprehended how individuals were shifting warily, jaws working. The room roiled like water about to erupt into steam.
The Serpent pointed a gnarly blood-caked finger at Mud Puppy, and cried, “I give you Salamander, son of Wing Heart, of the Owl Clan! Nephew to the great Cloud Heron, brother to the late Speaker, White Bird. Greet him and praise him.”
With that, the Serpent pitched the bloody flake into the fire and strode toward the doorway. He walked as though possessed of a terrible purpose; then his thin body vanished into the night beyond the Men’s House.
Salamander
.
I am now called Salamander
.
That is my man’s name.
Through the agony in his chest, Mud Puppy was aware of one or two muttered greetings. One by one, the men seemed to shuffle to their feet, easing away as if they were tendrils of smoke. He barely noticed, his blurring vision fixed on blood that had begun to mat and dry on his chest. The throbbing pain was growing worse, and he could do nothing about it but endure.
“I don’t understand what happened here tonight,” Mud Stalker said as he bent down and met Mud Puppy’s gaze with hooded eyes. “But know that I am your friend, Salamander. Don’t forget that. In the coming days you are going to be in need of a friend.” He offered his good hand. “Come, let me help you up. Your mother and your late brother’s wives have prepared a feast for you.”
Yellow Spider appeared by his other elbow. “I don’t know what
you did, but it got everyone’s attention.” To Mud Stalker he added, “I’ll take his other arm. Let’s get him home.”
Salamander’s souls screamed in agony, but no sound passed his lips as Mud Stalker and Yellow Spider pulled him upright.
The room seemed to sway; and through the pain, an urge to throw up coiled in Salamander’s stomach. He fought it, struggling to keep his balance despite the weakness in his knees. Mud Stalker’s firm hand stabilized him.
“
They will fear you now,
” Many Colored Crow’s voice called through the haze of pain and blood, “ …
and people always seek to destroy what they fear.
”
S
alamander lay on a cane mat in the midday shade behind Water Petal’s house. The incisions on his chest burned and ached under the slathering of bear grease. Before rubbing it on, the Serpent had mixed it with a concoction of gumweed and pine resin. The latter, he said, promoted healing and kept the insects away.
So many things were wheeling through his head. From where he lay, he could see the smoking remains of his house. Or, rather, his old house. It had been torched the evening before, in full ceremony, and White Bird’s bones had been incinerated along with everything that had been Mud Puppy’s. Not only had his few possessions gone up in fire, but so had an entire lifetime. Nothing remained the same.
He kept stumbling over the inevitability of that, eyes focused on the smoking rubble. It was then that Hazel Fire and Jackdaw came trotting along the edge of the embankment, turned onto the ridge, and approached. Their bodies were lithe and lean in the midday sun, muscles flexing and sliding as they trotted forward. Their hair had been pinned to one side as was the manner of their people, and they carried atlatls and darts in their right hands. As they caught sight of Salamander, both waved and turned in his direction.
Salamander managed a smile, but the pain that accompanied the subsequent wave brought a grimace to his face. His chest skin might have been pulled apart given the way it felt.
“Greetings, Salamander,” Hazel Fire called as he slowed and led Jackdaw into the cool shade. “It is our pleasure to greet you as a man.”
“I am happy to receive you.” Salamander smiled at them. “Could I get you something? There’s water inside. I think some of the root bread is left.” He gasped as he started to sit up.
Jackdaw waved him down. “Don’t move, at least, not on our account.” The Wolf Trader was frowning at the swollen scabs and pustulant tattoos. “We have come to bid you farewell.”
“You are leaving?” Salamander asked. “I hope it’s not because of White Bird. He wouldn’t want you to go just because of what happened to him.”
“It isn’t just that,” Hazel Fire said as he hunched down and leaned his back against the wall. “The water in the swamp is beginning to drop. People have been more than generous. We can’t carry all that we’ve been given in Trade as it is.”
“White Bird was our partner,” Jackdaw added.
Hazel Fire gave Salamander a serious inspection. “He was more than that. He was married to my sister in my own village. That strengthens the tie between us. It is for that reason that we are leaving you all the goods we cannot carry. Some we have given to Yellow Spider. The rest are yours to dispose of as you will.”
Salamander frowned. “This isn’t necessary.”
“You will need it,” Jackdaw replied, squatting and resting his wrists on his knees. “You should hear the talk. People are saying all kinds of things about you, about your mother, and what Mud Stalker is planning.”
“I don’t want any part of it.” Salamander looked away, a sadness in his breast.
“No, but it is being thrust upon you.” Hazel Fire rubbed his back against the rough mud wattle, scratching between his shoulder blades. “We have learned a great many things while we have been here in your town. You were kind to us, Mud Puppy.”
“Salamander,” Jackdaw reminded. “They call him Salamander now.”
“Your brother spoke to us of you.” Hazel Fire studied the smoking ruins of Wing Heart’s house. “But I don’t think he understood who or what you are.”
Salamander cocked an eyebrow as Hazel Fire pulled the little red owl from his pouch.
“This owl has brought me Dreams.” He held it before his sober brown eyes, studying it thoughtfully. “I have thought about the day you talked to the alligator. You wear Power the way other men wear a cloak.”
“I’m just me.” But he wasn’t sure he wanted to be himself any longer. Nothing led him to believe that things were going to get better. Many Colored Crow speaking to him at his initiation had frightened him. As of that moment, the Spirit World had taken on a threatening quality.
“Your people see you through slitted eyes.” Hazel Fire turned the little polished owl in the light. “Sometimes it takes a stranger to look at a man with his eyes wide open. I speak for all of us when I tell you we are honored to know you.”
“I had a Dream last night,” Salamander said cautiously. “It concerned you.”
“I would hear your Dream.” Hazel Fire gave him a clear-eyed look.
“In it I saw you reach the mouth of a great river that fed in from the east. High bluffs rise on that eastern bank. Raiders lie in wait there. They have a camp on a stone outcrop that overlooks the Father Water. From there they can see who passes on the river.”
“You saw this?” Jackdaw asked uneasily. “From the river?”
“No, I was riding on Masked Owl’s wings. Circling high above. These raiders, they wear black stripes on their faces and do not honor the Power of Trade. In the Dream, you passed the mouth of that river at night and no harm came to you. Do you know this place?”
Hazel Fire nodded. “It sounds like the mouth of the Great Eastern River that feeds the Father Water. What if we were to pass during the day?”
“The raiders will sweep down on you. In loaded canoes, you will not be able to outrun them. On the open water, flooded as that place will be, you will make easy targets.”
“Why do you tell us this thing?” Jackdaw asked, clearly uneasy.
“You are my friends.” Salamander smiled. “You are good men. Kin to me through marriage. We are bound by the gift of that carved owl. I would have you return in safety to my brother’s wife and his little daughter.”
“You know that Lark had a girl?” Hazel Fire narrowed a skeptical eye.
“She has a birthmark, like a flower petal on her hip.” He pointed to the fleshy swell of his own hip to mark the place. “If you pass that place I have told you of with great care, you may yet see that mark on my brother’s daughter.”
“I would dearly like to see that.” Hazel Fire had turned his attention to the gleaming stone owl. “We will deliver those goods to your house, Mud Puppy.”
“They call him Salamander now,” Jackdaw reminded.
“Yes, yes.” Hazel Fire shot Salamander a sidelong gaze as he raised the small carved owl in his fingers. “We live far away, my friend. I know not what I can ever do for you, but by the Power in this owl, I will do what I can to help you.”
“I ask only for your Trade. That, and that you beware at the mouth of the Great Eastern River. They will be waiting for you there. It would pain my souls if they caught you.”
“We hear your words, Salamander. And are warned.” Hazel Fire gave him a wary scrutiny. “You are headed for great things, young friend.”
He smiled sadly. “Greatness and tragedy seem to embrace like lovers.”
W
reaths and streamers of rain cascaded from the low bank of afternoon clouds as Pine Drop, Night Rain, and Mud Stalker stood on the high embankment above the canoe landing. In silence they watched the Wolf Traders lean into their paddles, pushing their heavily laden canoes toward the channel that would take them east to the Father Water.
Yellow Spider accompanied them in his empty canoe, leading the way lest they get lost in the backswamps.
A number of people had come to wish the Traders off on their long journey homeward. The three Wolf canoes bulged with goods produced in Sun Town: woodwork, rope, netting, black drink, smoke-cured alligator meat, red snapper, black drum, smoked conch, and other delicacies from the gulf that were Traded through Sun Town via its extended clans.
“I wish it was Yellow Spider that we were going to marry,” Night Rain whispered. “He’s a handsome young man. He’s been to the north and has prospects for a great future.”
“That is precisely why Salamander is the one you must marry,” Mud Stalker replied. “I could not have planned better myself. You should have seen the young fool. He had half the Men’s House in a panic before his initiation was complete. Even the Serpent, who believes in the young fool, was driven away by the rantings.”
“Your words don’t inspire us with confidence,” Pine Drop noted sourly.
“You don’t need confidence,” Mud Stalker added in a precise tone. “All you need is to think of your future, and the clan’s.”
“How long will we have to endure this?” Night Rain asked.
“Just until Owl Clan is discredited,” Mud Stalker replied. “And, given the anger growing between Wing Heart and Moccasin Leaf, that may not be as long as I had originally thought.”
“So when do we marry this half-wit?” Pine Drop had crossed her arms under her pointed breasts.
“Today, if you’d like.” Mud Stalker turned to study his young kin. At the expression of dismay on their faces, he burst into laughter.
T
he forest rose tall and green. Interlocking branches heavy with the bright growth of spring leaves cast a perpetual gloom over the leaf-matted earth. Wraiths of mist, like ghost fingers, wove their way between moss-encrusted trunks whose thick girths were wrapped and wound with vines. Mushrooms poked colorful heads from the moldy soil and broke through the thick and spongy layer of leaf mat. Water dripped from above, pattering here and there. Occasional patches of heartleaf, mayapple, and native pipe lived in the gloom. Dead saplings, their battle for the light long lost, and rotting corpses of long-felled giants scattered the forest floor.
Salamander slipped silently through the trackless depths. The few sounds of his passing were immediately masked by the endless noises of living forest. Birds sang in a melodic cacophony. The chirring of insects and the chattering of the squirrels fought in direct competition with the rustle of the highest leaves. Occasional discarded flower petals came drifting down from the gum, ash, and maple as new seeds were born in swelling green pods.
Salamander stepped carefully, his bare feet rising and falling with the grace of a cat’s. He tightened his grip on his atlatl where it rested in his right hand. He wasn’t particularly good with the weapon, but only a fool wandered the forest unarmed. The danger posed by the occasional black bear or cougar, though slight, was not to be discounted; but nothing could make a young man feel more like an idiot than to watch a deer, raccoon, or porcupine walk out, present a perfect target, then fade away into the forest. Meat was forever at a premium.
He slowed, bending his head back to stare up at the high canopy. Sunlight filtered through layers of green, speckles of light but mere
pinpricks that glittered in the heights. The branches were interwoven with vines of honeysuckle, cross and trumpet vine, fox grape, and greenbrier until they resembled webs. Filling his lungs, Salamander took in the scents of the forest, damp, sweet, and perfumed.
No one would find him here. Salamander allowed his souls to relax and enjoy the solitude of the forest. In the dense isolation of the endless trees, he had time to sort out the painful vortex of the last few weeks.
Masked Owl and Many Colored Crow? I am caught between warring Powers
. The Serpent had as much as told him so when he incised that painful and deep cross in Salamander’s chest.
Why did they choose me? What do they want of me? Why do they call on a mere boy?
He still had trouble thinking of himself as a man. The name Salamander echoed oddly in his ears—but he still held hopes that one day the Earth Being might deign to become his Spirit Helper.
In the midst of horrific events young Mud Puppy had been plucked from obscurity by both the forces of Power and the dealings of the clans, and in one fell swoop thrust from a boy’s preoccupations into the role of an authoritative man. All this while Spirit Power loomed ever larger in his life.
Why, for instance, had he been given the vision of the Swamp Panther raid? Why had he been told to free the captive girl? Why had Mud Stalker insisted on becoming his mentor—and worse, remained intent on seeing him married to his brother’s widows? The sensation was similar to being held by the wrists and spun around so fast that his feet had flown off the ground. He was being spun faster and faster until the world was a blur and his arms were aching from the tug.
What if the Powers that held him suddenly let go? Would he fly off like a cast dart to land who knew where?
He swallowed hard, the fingers of his left hand prodding tenderly at the scabs on his chest. Where the wounds were swollen and inflamed, his touch produced yellow pus and a sting.
He took the faint trail down an embankment, crossed a sluggish creek, and climbed the other side. Figuring himself to be deep enough in the forest that no one would stumble upon him, he seated himself on a fallen beech tree, laid his weapons to one side, and removed a bit of red stone from his pouch. Using a chert flake he began the laborious process of carving the round body of another of his endless line of owls.
A thought startled him. Why owls? He had been carving them ever since he had been a child. Had it been happenstance that he had settled on the form, or was there more to it? Something he knew
down in his souls but had ignored on a higher level? He glanced up at the green canopy again.
How long have you been talking to me in my Dreams, Masked Owl? Have I only now started to remember?
No answer came to him, but he felt the short hairs on his neck prickling. Yes, he had been having Dreams, hadn’t he? Dreams he couldn’t quite remember during the waking moments.
Layers upon layers, deceit and guile, death and life, and him right in the middle of it—without a clue as to why, or what he was supposed to do. A sick feeling ate at his stomach. Was he, too, destined to be a pile of bones within a couple of weeks? Were his muscles, skin, and organs to be stripped away by the Serpent’s sharp chert knife and carried out beyond the ridges for the scavengers?
He could imagine his bones: red, raw, and bloody, with bits of tissue clinging to them. In the shadowed depths of the hut, they looked dark where they rested on the broken branches and other lengths of firewood. The thought amused him that his lineage within Owl Clan was running out of houses to burn. Only Water Petal’s remained, and she would need it when the baby came.
The whirring of the forest almost swallowed the knock of wood on wood. Salamander froze, his eyes searching the shadowed forest around him.
There, the faintest trace of movement! He barely caught a glimpse through the trees. Something moved on the trail he had just come up. With cautious hands he retrieved his atlatl and fingered a dart into the hook.
Bits of color and movement flickered between the boles, and then she stepped into the clear. Young, a newly made woman’s kirtle swaying at her hips, she plodded steadily forward, eyes on the trail before her. A tumpline crossed her forehead, the thick straps leading to a heavy pack that centered on her hips just above the buttocks. She poked at the ground with a walking stick in her right hand, her left swinging in time to her gait. Long black hair had been braided and curled at the side of her head, held in place with a striking blue feather from a jay’s tail. In the dim light, grease made her rounded breasts shine, the brown nipples conelike. Her pretty face expressed sadness and desperation.
“Spring Cypress?” Salamander asked softly.
She stopped short, eyes flashing this way and that until she discerned his form on the half-rotten log. “Mud Puppy?”
“It’s Salamander now,” he told her wearily. “They made me a man.” He indicated her kirtle. “And I see that you have just been released from the Women’s House.”
Her lips wiggled as if words were running in her head that she refused to say. In the end, looking wary, she asked, “What are you doing out here?”
“Escaping.”
A weight might have lifted from her, relief rising to be mimicked in a smile. “You, too? I’m so glad to hear that.” She swung the heavy pack down and walked over to him, her shining eyes on his. “We could go together. Anywhere. I thought I’d go north. Follow the White Mud River up into the mountains. I don’t know what we’d do there, but I’m sure we could find a valley, someplace out of the way where the hunting was good and enough plants grew that we could feed ourselves.”
Salamander blinked hard, trying to fathom what she was saying. “You mean, you’re running away? Leaving Sun Town? For good?”
Her mouth hung open for a moment, the words forgotten, then she blurted, “You said you were escaping!”
“I am. But just for the day. I needed to get away! My chest hurts, my brother and uncle are dead, and everyone wants to marry me off to those horrible Snapping Turtle women.”
A sudden fear brightened her eyes. “I just told you where I was going.”
Salamander sighed and returned to his work on the little red owl. He had the head mostly right. The two triangular ears, the round eyes and pinched beak were visible. From the neck down, however, the wings and protruding belly were owl-like only if the viewer had a good imagination.
“You’ll tell!” Spring Cypress looked crestfallen. “It means I have to go somewhere else.”
“People are going to be very concerned about you. What about Clay Fat and Graywood Snake? They are your relatives. If you just up and disappear, they’ll be worried sick.”
The way her probing brown eyes were watching him made him nervous. “Mud Puppy?”
“Salamander.”
“Salamander? Would you come with me?”
“Why?”
“They want me to marry Copperhead.”
“He’s a cruel old man!”
“I don’t want to marry
anyone
! I wanted to marry White Bird. I loved him!” Her fists were knotted, her pretty face strained as tears edged her eyes.
“Tell them no.”
“I
can’t
! My uncle, Clay Fat, has made some kind of agreement
with Mud Stalker. The Elder, my grandmother, has agreed.” She shook her head, staring down at the damp carpet of fallen leaves under her small brown feet. “My life is ruined, Mu—Salamander. First the Snapping Turtle Clan took White Bird from me, then the lightning made it final.”
“You’re not the only one who lost him.”
She sniffed and squared her shoulders as she looked at him. “I couldn’t stand it the night he was married.”
“I saw you paddle off in your canoe.”
She nodded. “I went away, out into the swamp. I just wanted to be alone. I stayed away all night, but the cramps started at dawn, so I came back. Announced myself, and Aunt Turtle Mist took me straightaway to the Women’s House until my moon passed. That’s where they told me that I would marry Copperhead. Tonight.”
Salamander shifted uneasily, wondering what to say, what to do to help her. Snakes, a young man didn’t just interfere with another clan’s internal affairs. Worse, when he looked up at her, something deep in his souls was terribly aware of her slim body and the way her woman’s kirtle hung slightly askew below the indent of her navel. Even when he looked away the eyes of his souls retraced her thin waist and shapely stomach. The curve of her firm breasts gleamed in the light.
BOOK: People of the Owl: A Novel of Prehistoric North America (North America's Forgotten Past)
9.51Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
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