Anhinga was wrapping clean moss around the baby’s bottom when Salamander ducked through the door. He stepped over and smiled down at his daughter. Anhinga tied the thongs that bound the little girl in the fabric wrap.
“She’s beautiful, isn’t she?” Salamander said with longing.
“She has her mother’s looks and her father’s souls,” Anhinga replied, and straightened. She lifted an eyebrow at the roll of clothing in his hands.
“For you.” He extended them. “If you would put this on before you leave, anyone who sees you, even from a distance, will believe you to be a member of Owl Clan.”
She read the tension he tried so hard to hide. “It has really come to that?”
Hating to, he gave her a short nod.
“You and I, Husband, are not like the others. We know that life is neither fair nor predictable.” She ran her fingers along his face as she stared into his eyes. “Perhaps Power places us where we are for specific reasons, as your Masked Owl would have you believe. I will go the moment Yellow Spider assures me that Saw Back is otherwise occupied.”
“Thank you,” he said unsteadily.
“You made me promise,” she recalled. “And now I will make you promise something.”
“What is that?”
“Come to me.” She bent down and kissed him gently on the lips. “You are the bravest man I know. If you live through this, I will be waiting for you at the Panther’s Bones.”
“I promise. If I live, I will come to you,” he whispered. “Never forget my love for you.”
From outside, Yellow Spider’s worried voice called, “Salamander?”
“It is time.” He turned reluctantly, then looked back, haunted eyes pleading with hers.
“Go, my husband,” she told him simply. “Or come with me now, and we will leave this all behind us.”
“We are who we are,” he whispered, and ducked out the door.
For a long moment, Anhinga’s heart seemed to sink right through her body and into the muddy earth. She closed her eyes, feeling the hammering of loneliness closing around her.
How long she stood, she couldn’t say. Then a voice penetrated her benumbed souls. “Salamander?”
Her frantic thoughts searched and placed a name with the voice. “Little Needle? Is that you?”
A round and youthful face appeared in the doorway. “Has Salamander gone to the Council?”
“He has.” Anhinga smiled at the boy. “But he asked me if I saw you, to ask you for a favor. He would like you to do something for him.”
“He’s Clan Speaker,” Little Needle answered. “He can just order it.”
“That’s not Salamander,” she told him warmly, “and you know it.”
Little Needle smiled with an apparent wistfulness. “I know.”
Anhinga pointed to the two large ceramic pots resting on cane matting beside the door. “Do you see those pots? The ones with the owl designs on the side? They need to be delivered, Little Needle. One needs to be placed at Speaker Deep Hunter’s fire, and the other set inside Mud Stalker’s doorway. You are not to do two things. First, you are not to sneak a taste! Do you understand?”
At the boy’s solemn nod, she added, “And you are not to mention this to anyone! Not to the Speakers, and certainly not to Moccasin Leaf. Salamander wants to tell the Speakers of this special gift in his own way. Do you understand why that might be?”
Little Needle, big-eyed, jerked another nod.
“Good. Salamander thinks very highly of you, you know.”
“I know.” His voice sounded small.
“If you could place those pots without being seen, it would make the surprise even bigger. Could you do that?”
“I think so.”
“Good.” She smiled at him, thought for a heartbeat, and reached for the little red chert owl that Salamander had been carving. Finished, but for the polishing, the little potbellied figure was cool in her hand. “In return for your service, I want you to have this. It’s to remember Salamander by.”
Little Needle studied the little owl she dropped into his hand, and tears welled in his eyes. “Thank you, Anhinga. I’ll do it.” He swallowed a sob. “For him. No one will see me, I promise.”
A terrible battle raged in Mud Stalker’s souls as he surveyed the huge crowd that had gathered around the Council House. He wanted to pace back and forth irritably, to release the rampant energy that powered his bones and muscles. But he dare not. He had waited all of his life for this moment, planned of it, Dreamed of it. If Snapping Turtle Clan was to be ascendant, he must show himself and Sweet Root as controlled, steady, confident, and worthy of leadership.
His souls screamed to be about this last great task. He nodded to people as he met their eyes, keeping his face calm and possessed. He kept his bad arm cradled, struggling to project the countenance of a serene Speaker faced with a difficult task. The mighty weight of the clans was poised, watching, waiting with him.
Where are Pine Drop and Night Rain? The question ate at him as he looked at Sweet Root. His sister stood to one side, her back resting against one of the poles. She had a sour look on her face, her darting eyes betraying her growing anxiety.
Mud Stalker turned, looking across at Owl Clan’s contingent. Moccasin Leaf’s face was pinched, her eyes glittering. Beside her, Half Thorn had a stupid smile on his lips. He was greased, dressed in a fine white breechcloth with a purple-dyed cape over his shoulders. He had stuck so many white heron feathers into his hair that he looked like a bristly flower.
That is the man I am going to make Speaker of Owl Clan. Not even the elevation of Salamander had filled him with such disgust. Ah, Wing Heart, if only your souls had stayed around to see this. But, perhaps it is better that they have fled. As great as you were, it is better that you have escaped the humiliation.
At Alligator Clan’s spot, Deep Hunter fretted. He reminded Mud Stalker of a male dog standing over a pile of scraps. He was anxious to growl and show his teeth, but he was unsure whom to snap at. Colored Paint was talking in low tones to Sour Mouth and Saw Back in the shaded rear where the rest of the lineage leaders were gathered.
Mud Stalker centered his attention on the young warrior with the misshapen face. Saw Back’s eyes might have been hot stones. He kept smiling in that lopsided manner he had adopted, and his gaze kept turning to Owl Clan, as if in anticipation of his enemy’s arrival.
In Frog Clan’s spot, Three Moss was leaning to speak into her mother’s ear, her hand on the old woman’s bare shoulder. It would speak volumes through the silent movement of fingers against the old woman’s skin on this day.
Clay Fat looked miserable, as if he’d eaten something for breakfast that disagreed with him. Clan Elder Turtle Mist’s head was tilted his way, her mouth moving as she spoke in obvious irritation. Clay Fat was the only unknown. He might vote either way. Not that it mattered, with Cane Frog in hand Mud Stalker had his majority.
Eagle Clan’s Thunder Tail sat beside Stone Talon, a brooding darkness behind his stiff face. He seemed not to see or hear anything but the plodding thoughts slipping between his souls.
Enjoy yourself today, Leader, it will not be many moons from now before I take your place.
A stir in the crowd was the only warning before Salamander pushed through the throng and walked into the eastern entrance. A sudden hush fell on the Council House as all eyes turned toward him.
Salamander seemed unreasonably calm, as if he had no idea what lay in store for him. He wore a simple brown breechcloth while a spectacularly dyed fabric draped from his shoulders. Wing Heart’s work, most definitely. Mud Stalker could almost feel the owl’s eyes staring back from the design.
To Mud Stalker’s surprise, Salamander called some sort of greeting to Saw Back. The latter just glared in return.
A half heartbeat later, Salamander nodded to Yellow Spider, and the warrior slipped away through the crowd.
What was that all about?
It was then that Water Stinger appeared at his elbow. “Speaker?”
“Yes, what is it? Where are Pine Drop and Night Rain?”
“Sick, Speaker.”
Mud Stalker blinked, trying to absorb the information. “What do you mean, sick?”
Water Stinger looked truly mystified. “They were fine until a half hand of time ago. Then, all of a sudden, Night Rain threw up. A moment later, so did Pine Drop. I put them in their beds, but they are not well. Their eyes are all wrong, their pupils have grown large. The worst thing is, Speaker, they are delirious, talking to people who are not there.”
“What?”
“I think it is some kind of fever, but their bodies are not hot, and they aren’t sweating. It’s just the opposite. They feel cool to the touch, breathing slowly. You would think they were more corpses than alive.”
“Attention! Your attention, please! I think we are all here,” Thunder Tail called as he stepped out into the open by the smoldering central fire. “This Council has been called to deal with a most serious matter.”
Mud Stalker pushed Water Stinger away in irritation, trying to recapture the string of his thoughts. “We’ll have to do without them. Go, Cousin. Be ready for my signal.” He stepped forward, waiting to be acknowledged by the Leader.
Thunder Tail raised his voice, trying to be heard by as many as possible. “It has been alleged by some that Speaker Salamander of Owl Clan has been involved in witchcraft, his spells and attacks having been leveled against not only his own relatives, but others as well.”
A ripple of conversation rolled through the crowd. Mud Stalker tried to keep the smile of satisfaction from his lips.
“That is not the only charge.” Thunder Tail looked from face to face around the Council. “Speaker Salamander’s third wife, the woman known as Anhinga, is believed to have murdered a young man named Eats Wood, a member of the Snapping Turtle Clan.”
Another eruption of conversation followed.
“These are serious charges!” Thunder Tail gave Mud Stalker a hard stare. “Who makes these charges?”
Mud Stalker and Sweet Root stepped forward, crying in unison, “We do!”
Deep Hunter also stepped out, not to be left behind, and cried, “Alligator Clan makes these charges.”
“As does Frog Clan!” Cane Frog’s reedy voice barely carried across the circle.
To everyone but Mud Stalker’s surprise, Moccasin Leaf strode out, and cried, “So does Owl Clan!”
All eyes turned to Clay Fat, who stood uncomfortably and stepped out from under the palmetto-and-cane roofing to squint in
the sun. “Rattlesnake Clan is unsure. We would hear the evidence.”
Mud Stalker had been hoping for just that request. He raised his hand high over his head, the signal to Water Stinger. “Snapping Turtle Clan will address the murder of our young warrior first.” Give them a brutally murdered corpse to start with, and the less substantive charges would follow of their own accord.
A buzz of voices and a stirring of the crowd preceded the six strong young men who came forward at a trot. Between them they bore Eats Wood’s mud-caked canoe. Red Finger came striding along behind, a cardinal-feather cloak over one shoulder, his creamy white breechcloth swinging with each step. Sunlight glistened on his gray hair.
The canoe was borne through the eastern entrance and laid carefully on the ground at Mud Stalker’s feet.
Mud Stalker glanced around the Council. “I would have this Council recognize my cousin, Red Finger. It was he who found Eats Wood’s canoe.”
As Red Finger recounted his story about the pesky crow, Mud Stalker’s souls delighted at the expressions he saw in the audience. People were truly captivated and awed.
Red Finger finished and produced the little round white stone. He held it between thumb and forefinger as he turned so that all could see it.
Mud Stalker cried, “What are we to learn from this? Power wanted Eats Wood’s murderer found!”
He glared hard at Salamander, expecting to see some reaction: embarrassment, guilt, confusion, something. The young Speaker just stood as if listening to a discussion of the weather.
Mud Stalker gestured with his left hand. “When my kinsmen returned with the canoe and Eats Wood’s bones, we were at a loss. Why would this have happened? Who would have hidden his canoe and his body in the Swamp Panther lands? Why there?” He turned his head, directing everyone with his hard stare.
Salamander waited with his head cocked, paying attention, but unconcerned.
“Following the trail to its logical end,” Mud Stalker continued as he stepped carefully back and forth behind the canoe, “we sent my niece, Night Rain, to obtain the Swamp Panther woman’s ax.”
He bent down and picked it up from the bones within the canoe.
Sweet Root lifted Eats Wood’s skull, saying, “If you will look, you can see the fatal wound. Here.” Her brown finger pointed to the oblong hole in the round dome of the skull. “Not only was Eats
Wood murdered by this ax, but if you will notice, he had to have been struck down from behind!”
Mud Stalker aligned the ax just so, while Sweet Root placed the skull so that all could see the perfect fit. At Clay Fat’s scowl, Mud Stalker said, “Oh, don’t worry. You will all have plenty of time to see how well this fits.”
Clay Fat shook his head. “You might have used Anhinga’s ax after you found the skull. This proves nothing!”
“Look at the mud in the wound!” Sweet Root cried. “If you crush a dirty skull, the bone breaks cleanly and has a different color. You know that.” She pointed at Saw Back. “It’s not as if we don’t know this woman’s handiwork with an ax!”
“Agreed! Agreed!” Deep Hunter cried. “We would have dealt with this once before, but for certain interference with this Council.”
Again, all eyes turned to Salamander. His expression was thoughtful, his eyes almost dreamy, as if he had seen this all before.
Clay Fat muttered under his breath and shot a worried look at Salamander.
“Does the Speaker for Owl Clan have anything to say about this?” Thunder Tail asked gravely.
In his preoccupied manner, Salamander stepped forward. He paused for a moment, studied the ax in Mud Stalker’s hand. The way he smiled it might have been a private joke. In a firm voice, he said, “That is not Anhinga’s ax.”
Mud Stalker realized he was staring—dumbfounded as the rest. “What? Night Rain herself took this ax from your house!”
“That is not Anhinga’s ax,” Salamander repeated. “If you are familiar with her ax, it has a series of panthers carved into the handle in an interlocking design.”
“Then whose ax is it?” Deep Hunter demanded.
“It is my ax,” Salamander said casually. “For reasons of her own, Night Rain took my ax from the house that day.”
“Anhinga killed Eats Wood with your ax?” Mud Stalker wondered.
Salamander smiled as if in benevolence to a simple fool. “Anhinga killed no one, Speaker.”
“Wait!” cried Clay Fat as he stepped out, one hand up. “Yes, that ax fits the hole in the skull. But, let us keep in mind, there are many axes! Axes, by their nature, are all roughly the same size. What if we tried fitting every ax in Sun Town to that wound? How many matches would we have? Tens of tens? More? This proves nothing!”
“It proves everything!” Mud Stalker thundered back.
“Speakers, please!” Salamander stepped forward, his hands up. “Let me speak.”
Thunder Tail jerked a nod. “The Owl Clan Speaker has the right to speak.”
Salamander threw a fond smile in Clay Fat’s direction. “I thank you for your open mind, Speaker Clay Fat. It is refreshing to find yet another individual who thinks in terms of the People before he thinks of his own personal gain. For that, I am truly obliged in my souls.”
“Who killed Eats Wood?” Mud Stalker shouted.
“Hush!” Thunder Tail ordered.
Salamander turned, his head cocked. In the open circle he didn’t look like much—just a short skinny young man with large dreamy eyes and a knowing expression. “For reasons which need not concern this Council, I killed Eats Wood, Speaker.”
Mud Stalker stopped short. “Why?”
“As I said, my reasons do not concern this Council. Further, I take full responsibility for my actions. Speaker Mud Stalker, I will see you later to discuss a mutual settlement for Eats Wood’s death.” He looked at Thunder Tail. “May I continue and address the other more serious charge of witchcraft?”
“You may,” Thunder Tail said with a wary gravity.
Salamander walked around the fire pit in slow steps, expression pinched, as though searching for the right words.
When he finally looked up, he said, “Speakers, Elders, there are those among you who will be anxious, sit here in Council for hours telling stories about the reasons for my brother’s death, about my mother’s curious soul loss, about my dealings with Jaguar Hide, and so many other things. If we go through with this, you will hear how I sit atop the Bird’s Head every morning to watch the sun rise. You will hear that I helped the Serpent with the care and preparation of the dead. Depending on how far some people are willing to go in pursuit of my destruction, there may be even wilder stories to be told.” He looked at them, one by one, and added, “I don’t care.”
“What do you mean, you don’t care?” Deep Hunter asked irritably.
“What I said, Speaker.” Salamander turned to face him. “I don’t care.” A pause. “Let us speak honestly, shall we? This Council meeting is really about who will replace Owl Clan in the leadership. Removing me and placing Half Thorn in the Speaker’s position will benefit both Snapping Turtle Clan and Alligator Clan. I have heard that Moccasin Leaf will return Frog Clan’s root grounds in return
for her vote to convict me of witchcraft.” He faced Cane Frog, saying, “I congratulate you in getting your root grounds back, Elder.”
Mud Stalker barely noticed Three Moss’s fingers playing on the old woman’s shoulder.
“What are you saying?” Clay Fat asked. “That declaring you a witch is part of a deal?”
“I am saying that I quit,” Salamander replied. “If this is allowed to ferment, it will spoil. What we do here today will affect the future. If I act one way, I can destroy the clans. If I act another, Mud Stalker and Deep Hunter will be at war within a turning of the seasons. We are that close to disaster! So, I will choose a third way. I will just give up the Speakership.”
“What?” Thunder Tail asked, looking confused.
“Last night when I asked you to allow me to speak uninterrupted, Leader, it was to give me the chance to tell my enemies that they win. Rather than fight them in a destructive and divisive battle that, innocent or not, I cannot win, I will give up everything. It is my only defense, Speaker.”
“Defense how?” Clay Fat asked. “It sounds more like a confession!”
“Agreed!” Deep Hunter growled.
Salamander made a calming gesture. “A real witch is interested only in harming others, in accruing wealth, prestige, and authority. A witch wants admiration, respect, and status more than he wants life. That, or he wants revenge.”
“Revenge for what?” Thunder Tail asked.
“That is a very good question, Speaker.” Salamander stopped to stare down at Eats Wood’s bones. “Revenge for what was done to my brother? How does one get revenge on lightning? Masked Owl killed him to keep him from planting those goosefoot seeds and changing the People. Revenge for my mother’s soul loss? Do you take revenge on a woman because she can’t stand her grief? Or perhaps I might want revenge for having been made a Speaker?” He gave Mud Stalker a thin smile. “Indeed, there might be some merit in that.” A pause. “No, not even for being thrust into this position. I certainly wouldn’t want revenge for having to live with my three beautiful wives.”
“Then why are you casting spells?” Sweet Root asked.
“I have cast no spells!” Salamander spread his arms wide in a gesture of innocence. “Clan Elder, you have committed yourself to this course of action. Deals have been concluded. Promises made. You and the others have invested so much in this that though I am not a witch, you must declare me one. A fine predicament you find
yourselves in. How do you declare Speaker Salamander to be a witch when he isn’t?”
He held up a hand, stifling Sweet Root’s outburst, and cried, “To solve this problem and release you from the trap you laid for yourselves, I will leave Sun Town forever. As soon as I settle my obligation to Snapping Turtle Clan, I will be gone. It saves you the odious chore of having Half Thorn murder me. It keeps peace between my lineage and his. It ensures that there will be no whispers through the coming seasons that you murdered an innocent man.”
“Why?” Deep Hunter asked. “It means you will lose everything.”
Salamander’s eyes expanded like dark pools. “Yes, Speaker. I lose everything. I willfully and freely lose so that, unhindered, you may pursue your schemes in search of prestige and authority.”
“You can’t just let them win!” Clay Fat protested.
“Old friend of my mother’s,” Salamander said warmly, “I can, and I must. I have seen the future, and I know the price I must pay to save it. I ask you to vote to recognize Half Thorn as Speaker of Owl Clan until this Council is called tomorrow.”
“Salamander!” Water Petal cried in disbelief, pushing past the stunned Moccasin Leaf. “What are you doing?”
He smiled at her. “Saving us all, Cousin. When Masked Owl called on me to make one choice, and Many Colored Crow called on me to make another, I could accede to neither.”
“What are you talking about?” Mud Stalker asked as he stepped forward and spun Salamander around.
The youth’s eyes might have been watching him from a midnight eternity. “There will be no cities of stone built by the People. But we will not be Dreamers locked away in the One, either. The Brothers will continue to squabble, but they will do so at another place, in another time.”
“What is he saying?” Sweet Root demanded.
“Hear this!” Salamander cried, breaking away. “Remember these words! Tomorrow, when this Council meets, I ask you to recognize the voices of reason. Our strength has always been found in harmony among the clans. Your responsibility is simple! Just do what is right for the People.” With a sad smile, he added, “May the rest of your solstice celebration be filled with joy.”
In a lower voice, he said, “Speaker Mud Stalker, I will join you for your feast tonight if that is all right. We can discuss Eats Wood and what is a proper settlement for his death.”
Mud Stalker was still gaping as Salamander touched his forehead in respect and walked out the western exit. The crowd parted for him like a wave as he passed.
“What did he just do?” Deep Hunter asked.
“I haven’t the faintest idea,” Cane Frog answered.
“What about Eats Wood?” Sweet Root demanded.
Thunder Tail gave her scathing look, and said, “That is between you and Salamander. It is no longer the business of this Council.”
“I win!” Half Thorn clapped his hands gleefully. “I am to be Speaker!”