My old teacher once told me,
When you are running, just run.
When you are walking, just walk.
When you are standing, just stand.
But never ever wobble.
That’s when the Sky Beings see you.
Thick patches of black cloud came sliding up from the gulf, accompanied by low rolling thunder. The moon after equinox was a time for storms. Wing Heart glanced up at rain-swollen heavens as she wondered whether to take down her loom and move it, and the half-finished fabric, into the shelter of her house. Faint teasings of a southerly breeze toyed with her hair and the fine strands of glossy hemp that she played through the warp, knotting the strands on certain threads to create a pattern before pressing it tight with her fine-toothed deer-scapula comb.
As she glanced up at the sky again, she noticed White Bird coming across the plaza, his sack of goosefoot seeds hanging from one hand, a use-hardened digging stick from the other. Hazel Fire stepped out from the Men’s House, crossing to intercept him. Across the distance she could see the two men wave in greeting, Hazel Fire breaking into a trot to catch his friend.
A satisfied smile crossed Wing Heart’s lips. Her son was married, fresh from his first night in his wives’ house. He was the talk of Sun
Town, the culmination of years of her hopes and ambitions. His name was on everyone’s lips—which meant her name was close behind, followed, of course, by that of Owl Clan.
Wing Heart filled her lungs, her breast fit to burst with an ecstasy she could scarcely contain. Had it been but two weeks past that she had been wallowing in misery, sure that her noble son was dead, and her only heir was the simple Mud Puppy?
“Hello, Wing Heart,” Moccasin Leaf greeted as she stepped around the house wall. She carried a wicker basket in which lay several bass, their mouths gaping, dead eyes staring up at the dark clouds as though in last hope for water.
“Moccasin Leaf.” Wing Heart nodded. “Good day to you.”
Gray-haired Moccasin Leaf had lived nearly four tens of winters. She had a wrinkled round face with a jaw that sucked up squat against her nose, the teeth being long gone. Aged and frail, her dark eyes had lost none of the quick wit that had so long bedeviled Wing Heart and her lineage. The old woman wore a light brown kirtle today, the shape of an owl woven into the material. She lowered herself, grunting, and placed the wicker basket with the fish on the ground beside Wing Heart.
“I have come to make amends.” Moccasin Leaf worked her wide shallow mouth and placed her hands on her withered thighs. “You were right, I was wrong. White Bird has returned, and in the space of days, proven his worth not only to the clan, but to the moiety and our people. No one has been voted into the Council at such a young age. He will be twice the man his uncle was.” She paused, looking out to where White Bird had stopped a dart’s cast to the south. He and Hazel Fire were involved in some sort of passionate discussion.
“I was just lucky,” Wing Heart conceded. “It could very easily have gone the other way. He might have been killed upriver.” She paused. “Had he been, I would have declared Half Thorn to be the Speaker.”
“As well he should have been,” Moccasin Leaf muttered, her eyes on White Bird as he gestured a passionate negation in his conversation with the Wolf Trader. “No matter, the good of the clan has been served. I just came by to tell you that I will support you, and your son. So will the rest of my lineage.”
“Half Thorn bears no ill will?”
Moccasin Leaf snorted through her short nose. “What do you think? Leadership of the clan has rested in your lineage for three generations. You have only sons for heirs, and one was missing while the other … well … Half Thorn was already addressing the
Council in his dreams. People in the other lineages had begun to accord him a greater authority. Now that is gone. Of course he is upset, but it will pass.” She gave Wing Heart a sharp look. “It would help if he were consulted on certain matters important to the clan. Especially given the youth of the current Speaker.”
The old woman left the hint dangling like bait. Wing Heart considered. On the one hand, she had authority and prestige right now simply to squash her old rival the same way she would a carrion beetle. Perhaps, in another time, she would have. Something stayed her. Am I grown maudlin? Softened by Cloud Heron’s death? Or simply careless in the afterglow of victory?
“Very well, Moccasin Leaf, I accept your offer of support. The Speaker and I shall be calling on Half Thorn. We look forward to sharing his knowledge and expertise.” As if he had any.
She smiled at Moccasin Leaf the way a sister would at the resolution of a petty argument. It was a small price to pay for clan unity. What she and White Bird would spend in time and irritation for the short term would be countered by increased goodwill and the long-term ability to expose Half Thorn for the fool that he was. The man had been too long a fisherman and hunter in the swamp. He had no idea about the complexities of interclan politics or the layers of deception that leaders like Stone Talon, Mud Stalker, and Deep Hunter resorted to. Half Thorn took everyone at their word, thinking in his naïveté that they said what they meant and meant what they said. The idea that a circuitously implied promise might be easily ignored or offered deceitfully had never found even a casual resting place in the man’s souls. Even Mud Puppy was smarter than that, or at least, she hoped so.
“Very good.” Moccasin Leaf sighed, slapping her thin thighs. “Then we understand each other.” She looked out at White Bird, who was gesturing with the digging stick, indicating the sack of goosefoot seeds he held. Resignation lay in the old woman’s eyes. “You have a great Power in your lineage. It is as if your blood has been blessed by the Sky Beings. To stand against you is to be like a forest in the path of a hurricane. In the end, only broken trunks and litter are left.”
Wing Heart waited long enough to be politic, then said, “I have given my life to the betterment of my clan. Under my lineage’s leadership, Owl Clan has risen above the others. All people look to us. All of our lineages, not just mine.” Thunder boomed across the sky, and the southern breeze stiffened. “If White Bird succeeds, we all succeed.”
Moccasin Leaf tucked a strand of gray hair back where the wind had worried it loose. “Indeed. What you say is true. But know this, Elder: Some of us worry about the risks you take to maintain your prestige. It is said that Water Petal will take your place when you follow your brother to the Spirit World. And if she carries a female child, or bears one in the future, that your lineage will be assured the leadership onward forever.”
“That is a matter for the future, Moccasin Leaf. In the time you talk about, neither you nor I will be in a position to influence who is Elder or Speaker. That is for our grandchildren and their grandchildren.”
“True. But know this as well: Many are disturbed that in marrying White Bird to the Snapping Turtles you also committed Mud Puppy. You may indeed have found a new ally and blunted other clans’ ambitions, but many within our clan think that including Mud Puppy in the bargain went too far.”
She smiled. “Mud Stalker insisted. Understand, Moccasin Leaf, in all dealings with the clans, there is an element of risk. Just as you, coming here today, gambled that I, being in a position of strength, would accept your offer of support and fish”—she gestured at the drying bass—“rather than turn you down cold. And it worked out to our mutual benefit. The Speaker and I will do our best to ensure your lineage’s position while you support us.” Lightning flashed across the sky, followed several seconds later by thunder.
Moccasin Leaf still watched White Bird. The Wolf Trader had turned, looking somewhat upset as he stalked off for the Men’s House again. White Bird resumed his course toward the clan grounds, face rigid in anger, the sack of seeds clutched in his strong hand.
The old woman said, “So, what would Mud Stalker gain by placing Mud Puppy in line for the Speaker’s position? Why would he insist upon that? He has to know that it would be the decision of Owl Clan to approve him as Speaker. Snapping Turtle Clan cannot tell us who our Speaker must be.”
“Exactly. He and his allies are working on many levels,” she said thoughtfully, fully aware of her own complicity in the deal. “He has always been a crafty one, Moccasin Leaf, and, finding himself beaten, he has done the best thing he could.”
“Which is what? Hope that White Bird dies mysteriously and that he can place Mud Puppy on the Council to humiliate us?”
“That is how it is supposed to look on the surface, but as you and I both know, it wouldn’t be the thing to gamble on. No, what appears to be an act of desperation is but the covering to conceal
the fact that he is buying time. More than that, he has gained a great deal of prestige, moving to block Rattlesnake and Eagle Clans from strengthening their position with us. Our crafty Mud Stalker now has more room to maneuver, the ability to broker different deals with the clans depending on how the future plays out.” She nodded, half to herself. “It was a smart move, daring and rapid, given the sudden turn of events. Our clans come out ahead, the others lose.”
“Then he is a very dangerous man.” Moccasin Leaf seemed to have forgotten their antagonistic relationship for the moment.
“Yes, very,” Wing Heart agreed.
“What is he doing?” Moccasin Leaf indicated White Bird. The young man had stopped at the edge of the borrow ditch, laying his sack down before vigorously punching the digging stick into the damp brown soil. He used his chest, pressing down to drive the stick deep, and then levering the soil to break it.
“He has some idea about those goosefoot seeds. Have you seen them? Larger than the ones we collect around here. White Bird thinks that by growing them, we can tap the plant’s Power. That these larger seeds will be produced here.”
“Looks like a lot of hard work.” Moccasin Leaf shook her head. “Why go to all that effort when the plants grow wild everywhere. For all the work he’s going to have to put into it, he could just wait and collect the wild seeds with half the effort. And not only that, when you go around and collect the wild seeds, you find other things: turtles, rabbits, squash, hickory nuts. It looks like foolishness to me.”
Wing Heart bit her lip, aware of the darkening clouds. Black stringers of rain could be seen where they whisked down from the closing storm bank in the south. “It may well be. He saw it work among the Wolf Traders to the north and wants to try it here, that’s all. He just wishes to see.”
“I had better get home,” Moccasin Leaf mused, her eyes on the storm front with its flashing lightning.
“Would you help me move my loom inside first?” Wing Heart asked, standing.
The old woman took the other end of the loom. “That boy of yours, I should say, the Speaker, he’s going to get wet planting all those seeds of his. From the look on his face, he’s determined.”
“That is what makes a good Speaker,” Wing Heart agreed, casting a glance over her shoulder. White Bird’s body bent and swayed as he continued driving the sharp stick into the dirt, breaking the grassy sod, turning the soil. The expression on his face hadn’t changed, as if it were a matter of honor that he plant his seeds.
The notion that it was a little silly lodged in Wing Heart’s souls, but then young people acted on whims on occasion; Snakes knew, she had as a young woman.
Together, she and Moccasin Leaf maneuvered the loom into the shelter of the house and propped it against the wall beside the doorway. In the shadow of the storm, the interior was dark, inky.
“Thank you for your help,” Wing Heart began. A sudden white flash lit the interior, rendering the beds, pots, and fire pit in brilliant contrast to the sharp black shadows. A split heartbeat later, a bang! fit to deafen exploded outside. The closeness of the lightning bolt left Wing Heart breathless, half-scared out of her wits.
She glanced at Moccasin Leaf, seeing the old woman’s shadowy form, panting, her hand to her heart. “Close one,” she gasped.
“Good thing we weren’t outside,” Moccasin Leaf agreed. “It might have scared the souls out of our bodies.”
Wing Heart led the way out into the open. The first large drops of rain came pattering down. She could see people ducking out of houses or peering out from under ramadas. They were owl-eyed, wary, postures half-crouched. Some stared, eyes locked, a look of horror on their faces.
Wing Heart turned, following their gazes. Her thoughts stumbled for a moment, unable to fathom what she was seeing. A faint blue streamer of smoke rose from the lump, rapidly tugged away by the gusty wind. The shape confused her for a moment. A human body didn’t smoke like that; it shouldn’t be lying so stiff and … and … Her souls froze. She couldn’t move, couldn’t think. The word “no” echoed hollowly inside her as if she were but an infinite emptiness.
“Snakes take us,” Moccasin Leaf whispered as she stared through the increasing rain at White Bird’s smoldering body. The digging stick had splintered; yellow flames flickered on the seed sack beside the body. The rain came in a pounding rush to extinguish it.