A thick belt of clouds gave the winter day a dull cast. From the north blew a bitter wind that sucked a man’s heat from his bones and sent it whimpering away toward the gulf. Mud Stalker led the way as Speaker Thunder Tail and the other hunters followed a winding trail. The way led through the depths of the forest a half day’s journey north of Sun Town. The four younger men carried packs, atlatls, and darts. Their bodies were cloaked in deerskin, elkhide, and buffalo hide, giving them a thick and burly appearance as they trailed along behind the elders.
Mud Stalker squinted into the gray light. In the vacuum left by Wing Heart’s insanity, Snapping Turtle Clan had grown in influence among the clans and in the Council. To his irritation leadership of the Council had gone to Thunder Tail, but that, too, would change as the seasons passed.
Now it was time to solidify his clan’s position. Despite the overture of reaching out with Night Rain, Deep Hunter was playing his own games, seeking to limit Mud Stalker’s growing influence. That was to be expected. In time, he would deal with Deep Hunter.
Thunder Tail was another problem. As leader of the Council, he was still uncommitted when it came to a firm alliance with Snapping Turtle Clan. Mud Stalker would need the Eagle Clan Speaker’s goodwill before he moved on Salamander and the remnant of Owl Clan. Today he would begin the process; he would play on Thunder Tail’s one weakness: a bear hunt.
Mud Stalker glanced up at the trees, naked and black in their winter bones. Great vines wove up the trunks, stretching from one forest giant to another. Some were as thick as a man’s leg.
“There,” Mud Stalker pointed as he sighted the dead tree. The Eagle Clan hunters, Bitten Legs and Spread Thorn, pulled up grinning. The trunk was huge. Four men would have to stretch, fingertip to fingertip, to reach around the base. Rot had eaten the heart out of the dead forest giant. Then some past gale had cracked it, sheared off the top two-thirds, and sent it crashing down through the forest. Punky wood, cloaked in leaves, vines, and rising saplings marked the fallen remains.
The remaining trunk, barkless and gray from weather, stood five times the height of a tall man. At the top, jagged wood thrust up around the hollow center like stone knives.
Mud Stalker nodded, using his good arm to motion Eats Wood and Water Stinger forward. His two young kinsmen trotted ahead, each slinging a pack from his shoulder as he approached the trunk.
“He’s there?” Thunder Tail asked as he fingered his finely carved atlatl. “You’re sure?”
“He’s there. You can see the sign.” Mud Stalker stepped close, pointing to the weathered wood. Deep scars had been driven into the grain, bits and splinters crushed as if under a weight. “Those are not woodpecker holes.”
“From the size and spread, I’d say he’s a pretty good-size boar.” Thunder Tail placed his hand over the pattern of scars. A slow smile was spreading across his broad face. “A sow wouldn’t have this big a paw.”
Mud Stalker bent his head back, staring up at the jagged top. “I think it’s a boar, too. Too bad it’s not a sow. She’d have a cub by now. I wouldn’t mind taking a cub. The meat is delectable.”
“A boar will do just fine.”
Of all of life’s treats, Thunder Tail loved bear hunting the most. He had a fascination with the animals. Their meat, hides, organs, and fat were prized throughout Sun Town. Unlike most hunters who took bears only when the opportunity arose, Thunder Tail spent full hands of time in the study of bears. He had been known to lose himself for days stalking a bruin. Not one was brought back to Sun Town but that he didn’t go to see it, to measure the paws against his hand, to inspect the teeth and feel its muscles. His house was stuffed with skulls, bear bones, hides, claws, and other trophies he had taken over the turnings of the seasons.
When Water Stinger had come with news that he’d found a winter “bear tree,” Mud Stalker had been jubilant. It gave him the perfect
lure to draw the Speaker out of Sun Town. Mud Stalker had Thunder Tail alone for the entire day—and in a very good mood, as his smile indicated.
“By the Snakes! He’s a big one if these claw marks are any indication.” Thunder Tail slapped a callused hand against the wood and grinned, his eyes shining as he shared a happy conspiratorial glance with Mud Stalker.
“I hope you find him worth your while,” Mud Stalker said with a casual shrug. He and Sweet Root had begun planning the moment they had learned of the bear tree. Though they had an uneasy alliance for the moment, Deep Hunter’s Alligator Clan would eventually challenge Mud Stalker’s growing influence. Thunder Tail’s Eagle Clan was now the unpredictable element—the clan could vote either way in Council.
“I have worked all of my life to achieve this!” Mud Stalker had declared to Sweet Root, his good hand clenched into a hard fist. “I am going to leave nothing to chance. Those I cannot cow, like Thunder Tail and Clay Fat, I will seduce!”
Sweet Root had nodded, smiling her encouragement. Night Rain, sitting to one side, had given him a curious look as she plucked feathers from a duck.
“Green Beetle remains unmarried,” Sweet Root had reminded. “Eats Wood needs a wife. No one else wants him. Given his attitude toward women, he doesn’t make himself particularly attractive.”
Night Rain had said, “I wouldn’t want him for a husband, and neither would anyone else I know. If you will recall, we were warned as girls never to be alone with him. Remember? You didn’t even trust him alone near his own kin.”
Sweet Root had shaken her head. “He talks too much about that Swamp Panther woman. He’s obsessed with her.”
“We need to bring Thunder Tail under our influence,” Mud Stalker had insisted. “I will have a talk with Eats Wood before we take Thunder Tail to the bear tree. If we can sway the Speaker to our perspective, Deep Hunter will have nowhere to go.”
“Eats Wood isn’t the sort of man to pin many hopes on,” Sweet Root reminded.
That might be true, but the young man was the closest unmarried male relative he had. Next was Water Stinger, a distant cousin whose family spent most of the turning of the seasons two days’ journey to the east over at Yellow Mud Camp. So, here he was, with two eligible young hunters for Thunder Tail to inspect. At Mud Stalker’s insistence, Eats Wood had been on his best behavior and doing a creditable job of entertaining Thunder Tail. To his relief,
Eats Wood hadn’t made a single rude comment about either Salamander or his barbarian wife.
From their packs, Eats Wood and Water Stinger had taken a fire drill, tinder, and kindling. On the other side of the tree, Bitten Legs and Spread Thorn had likewise laid their atlatls and darts to one side, producing their own fire-making kits. While Eats Wood and Spread Thorn twirled the spindle in a hardwood block, Water Stinger and Bitten Legs dragged up old branches.
In moments, puffy gray smoke rose and was blown to flame in the tinder. Mud Stalker stepped back, cradling his maimed arm as the hunters added wood, spreading the fire around the tree bottom. He enjoyed the expression on Thunder Tail’s face, reading the Speaker’s growing excitement.
Winter bear hunting was always exciting. Bears tended to hibernate in standing dead trees like this one. The hollow centers, soft with rotten wood, made warm nests, protected from the worst of the weather. Setting fire to the bottom of the tree awakened the bear, causing the groggy animal to emerge at the top. There, clinging to the wood as smoke billowed past, he was an easy target.
Yellow tongues of flame licked up around the wood, popping and crackling.
“We need more wood,” Mud Stalker called. “Eats Wood, go drag in some of those big branches.” He pointed to the wreckage left by the fallen treetop. “We want this fire a lot hotter.”
“He’s a good young man.” Thunder Tail watched Eats Wood as he trotted off with Bitten Legs for more fuel.
“It is high time he was married. His mother, my cousin, is loath to turn him loose. He keeps her in birds, fish, and meat. When he marries, she loses that surplus. The excess in her household keeps the rest of the lineage obligated.” He said it offhandedly, watching Thunder Tail’s expression from the corner of his eye.
“Hmm, a young man like that is quite an asset.” Thunder Tail answered, his eyes on the top of the bear tree. Smoke was curling upward along the wood.
“You have a young woman, don’t you? The one who finds pearls.”
“Green Beetle.” Thunder Tail squinted up at the treetop as he fingered his atlatl and darts. One by one he fitted them to the spur in the back of the atlatl, testing their balance in anticipation of a cast. “The bear won’t know what’s happening for some time yet. The heat is still too far away, and the smoke going up the outside isn’t being drawn in with this wind blowing.”
“Green Beetle, that’s right,” Mud Stalker mused. “She’s an attractive thing. I’d have thought you’d have married her by now.”
“I have.”
The simple pronouncement stopped Mud Stalker short. “You have?”
“Yes. It’s odd that you should mention her. Deep Hunter and Stone Talon came to see my mother and me last night. To our surprise they made us a very good offer. Needs Two will marry Green Beetle.”
“He will?” Mud Stalker fought to keep his voice conversational. “You got good terms?”
“Green Beetle’s lineage is allowed access to those smilax-root grounds over by the sassafras grove. You know the ones I mean?”
“I do.” Mud Stalker felt his heart sink. Deep Hunter guarded those grounds jealously.
“I am very fond of Green Beetle,” Thunder Tail continued, apparently oblivious. He only had eyes for the treetop. “I almost married her to White Bird, you know. Good thing that I didn’t. Look what happened there.”
Mud Stalker studied the man through slitted eyes. “You were an old lover of Wing Heart’s, weren’t you?”
“Yes. It’s a shame. She used be as sharp as a chert blade.” Thunder Tail shot him a measuring glance, his dark eyes veiling the thoughts in his mind. “Curious, isn’t it, old friend, that even the strongest of us can lose our souls?”
“Yes. Curious indeed.” Mud Stalker stepped back, fingers running along the scars on his arm. How on earth had Deep Hunter managed to pull the catch out of his nets like this?
Enjoy your bear hunt, Speaker.
Anhinga wedged a thick branch between two closely spaced trees and threw her weight against it. She flinched at the crack as the dry wood gave. It took a well-placed kick to knock the piece loose. The process of bending over to retrieve it proved laborious. She no longer even attempted to hide the swelling of her belly. She puffed against the cold and placed the short lengths of firewood in her irregular stack. Satisfied, she bound them with a braided leather thong.
The desperate need to escape had been brewing like black drink
within her. Using their need of firewood as an excuse, she had come here, deep in the forest west of Sun Town. She needed time to think. Her souls had gone to war with each other.
Salamander lay at the bottom of it. He knew she was pregnant—so obvious had it become—but indulged her in her need to get away. He hadn’t said a word about her absences each moon.
She glanced up at the sky, trying to decide what sort of man he really was. Clouds rolled out of the northwest, keeping the chill in the air. During the night, fog had settled over the land. A light mist had fallen, adding to the chill. By morning everything had been sheathed in ice.
She resettled her fox-hide cloak against the cold. A gift from Pine Drop, it was nicely done. Tanned to soft perfection and sewn with care, the rich red fur gleamed in the light. She began knotting a leather strap to create a yoke to be used for a tumpline.
Bending down, she positioned the cord on her forehead and wrapped several lengths of furry rabbit hide around it for a cushion. She grabbed up her ax, positioned the load, and straightened. The wrap of rabbit hide pressed into her forehead as she balanced the load on her hips and leaned forward. Straightening her legs, she stood.
Looking down she could barely see over her belly.
Three moons had passed since that day his gaze had fixed on her swollen belly. She had said, “I’m pregnant.”
“You have been for many moons.” He had just looked at her with those fathomless brown eyes, and said, “It’s all right, Anhinga. Go to them. The four or five days you spend away harms nothing. But perhaps, as the child comes to term, you might not travel so far? I think your uncle would understand.”
The words had struck fear into her in a way that no threat, no angry denunciation could have. Deep in her heart she had the distinct feeling that Salamander knew her every plan. Why, then, hadn’t he taken some action against her?
Logic might have led her to believe that the sandstone was worth it to him, but her worried souls knew better. No, he was playing some complex and terrible game, betting on her. How? To do what? Thinking that she wouldn’t go through with her plan to kill the father of her child?
Then you are wrong, husband. When Uncle tells me the time is right, I shall strike the Sun People in a way that will shiver their hearts for ages!
She need only remember that terrible day she had watched her friends butchered, their bodies cut to pieces and fed to the dogs. That nightmare lived and ached in her souls.
Knowing that he knew had changed something in their relationship. Salamander continued to treat her with respect and kindness. He had stopped coupling with her, fearful of damaging the child, and that, oddly, concerned her. Pine Drop was several moons behind her and just beginning to show. A worry had begun to form down in Anhinga’s souls. Was he going to spend all of his nights at his first wife’s house now that he could only couple with Night Rain? Not that she was any kind of a faultless wife.
Why do you care what they say about her? You are going to kill them in the end anyway!
It took all of her concentration to remember her uncle’s warning. “You cannot see them as people, Anhinga. That is the single greatest threat to your success.”
Some subtle reflex caused her to look up. There, perched on a high branch, a huge barred owl stared down at her. She almost missed a step. The bird’s penetrating stare ate clear through her, probing like shafts of dark light. The round head bobbed slightly, accenting the facial disks. He might have been peering at her through a mask.
Unease crept up her spine. She hadn’t known they could grow so big. Despite the bird’s size, it triggered a memory. With its white-spotted red feathers puffed against the cold, she couldn’t help but think of Salamander’s carvings, of the potbellied owls he made.
“I have nothing to do with you,” she called over her shoulder as she hurried away. A prickling of danger rode lightly on her nerves. She could almost feel Power crackling along the ice-shrouded branches. Hear it throbbing in the winter depths of the forest. Only after passing beyond the bird’s sight did she slow down again.
Sighing with relief, she picked her way with care, watching her deerhide moccasins crush the frosted grass underfoot. Overhead, bare black branches webbed the sky. The ground, covered with icecoated leaves, required all of her concentration. Her moccasins, while warm, made each step a tricky proposition. The smooth soles had no grip on ice-slick leaves.
She picked her way past gray vines that hung from the trees, seeking the trail she knew led the way back, past the hunter’s blind. Rounding the thick bole of a beech tree, she stopped short. A naked man stood in the trail, steam rising from a fresh puddle of urine.
As their eyes met, she recognized him: Saw Back. The youth who had been sent to kill her uncle. The one Salamander had tricked on the Turtle’s Back. He was holding his dripping penis, naked but for a necklace made of two sections of a human jawbone. Naked? A curious state considering the breath whitening before the young
man’s mouth. They stared at each other in disbelief.
“Saw Back? Are you coming back?” a familiar female voice asked from the low hunter’s blind at the side of the trail.
“It’s you!” Saw Back cried, finding his voice. “What are you doing here, you barbarian bitch? Come to spy on me?”
“Anhinga?” A face appeared in the blind’s shadowed doorway, “Here?”
“Night Rain?” Anhinga asked. She saw the hatred rising in Saw Back’s eyes. “Slipping out to part your legs for just any camp dog?”
“Camp dog?” Saw Back cried, stepping forward, his dark skin prickling against the cold. “You call me a camp dog? You’re nothing but a murdering barbarian weasel. They sent me away because of you! You and that skinny joke of a Speaker.”
Anhinga ducked out of the tumpline, letting the firewood bundle drop with a clatter. She groped for her ax handle, quartering as she backed away, keeping it out of his sight behind her kirtle. If this turned nasty, her only hope lay in his belief that she was defenseless.
“It’s me she’s spying on!” Night Rain declared as she scuttled out of the blind. Her mussed black hair fell around her bare shoulders in tangles. Cold had hardened the nipples on her round breasts and coaxed a faint mist from the damp tuft of her pubic hair.
“I spy on no one,” Anhinga answered hotly. “You can part your legs for every flea-infested cur in camp for all I care, fool.”
“Fool? You’re calling me a fool?” Night Rain thrust out a slim finger. “At least I find satisfaction with a real man.”
“Look at my tattoos, barbarian bitch!” Saw Back thumped his chest. “I am a warrior! Not like that child who shares your bed.” He stepped closer, a dangerous gleam in his eyes as he lifted the jawbone necklace. “These I made from the Swamp Panther slime I drove a dart through at Ground Cherry Camp!”
Her vision swam for a moment. Which of her friends was it? Cooter? Spider Fire? Slit Nose? From the way the bone had been ground, she couldn’t be sure. The teeth gleamed whitely in the gray light.
“I could add yours,” he told her, tapping the polished bone. “I could tie them under right here so they would hang under your dead kinsman’s.”
“You are a sneaking cur.” She could feel the danger settling around her like haze, see it in his sharpened eyes, in the tensing of his muscles.
Through gritted teeth, he said, “I am a warrior. My Spirit Helpers have brought you to me.” He danced a half step toward her. “My ancestors are watching, crying for your blood, and now you have
stepped into my hands. After I am done with you, no one is going to find your body.”
By the Panther’s bones, he is going to kill me! The revelation blew through her like a winter wind.