Read Online People of the Owl: A Novel of Prehistoric North America (North America's Forgotten Past) by W. Michael Gear, Kathleen O'Neal Gear - Free Book Online
Authors: W. Michael Gear, Kathleen O'Neal Gear
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time, can you imagine? What is it about that boy? I’d swear, his souls aren’t anchored to his scrawny little body. He’d rather hide out in the forest staring into a pool of water for hands of time than learn or do anything useful.”
“He has become a very capable stone carver for someone so young,” Clay Fat pointed out. “Children his age can’t usually sit still to make it through a meal, yet Mud Puppy can finish intricate carvings.”
“Carvings will not make him useful when it comes to running a clan.” She lifted her arms and let them drop. “As much as I feel cursed by Mud Puppy, White Bird more than makes up for him. Old friend, a weight is lifted from my souls. My son has returned. You cannot know how relieved my heart is.”
Clay Fat’s smile widened. “I cannot tell you how happy I am that White Bird has returned.” He jerked a thumb back at Mud Puppy, who was talking to one of his scrawny friends. “Some people have begun to worry about him. There is talk that he has Dreams. That
he sees things. Did you know that the Serpent has been watching him?”
“Mud Puppy? Why would the Serpent be watching him? He’s harmless. Witless. And as to his Dreams”—she made a face—“you can tell people to relax. I have more faith in Power than to believe it would be interested in a skinny half-wit like him.” She paused, then added pointedly, “He’s Thumper’s yield, you know.”
“Yes. Curious isn’t it? He’s so different. Matings are such puzzling things.”
She raised an eyebrow, shooting him a glance from the corner of her eye.
“Now that White Bird is back,” Clay Fat mused, “Spring Cypress has just passed her first menstruation. She is a young woman now, and I know she favors White Bird.”
Wing Heart knew for a fact that Spring Cypress had passed her first menstruation last winter out at Sweet Root Camp—where she would have remained had Clay Fat and Graywood Snake not decided that White Bird was dead. In lieu of that decision they had brought her back to Sun Town to troll her through Frog and Alligator Clans to see what young man snapped at her allure. Gorgeous nubile thing that she was, and Rattlesnake, having the influence that they did, she had had more than her share of young males swarming after her. Either of those clans would have been more than happy to send one of their sons to her house.
“We shall see,” Wing Heart replied casually. Did she dare contemplate another alliance with Rattlesnake Clan? Or, given the potentials of White Bird’s exploding popularity, would she be better served marrying the boy to one of the other clans?
“You could do worse, you know,” Clay Fat continued. “And, well, until tonight, a great many people were worried.”
“As was I,” she relented.
“They thought you might name Mud Puppy as Speaker!” Clay Fat laughed, his rotund belly wiggling.
“Mud Puppy as Speaker …” At that moment she caught sight of old Mud Stalker. He was walking in the shadows off to the side, his ruined right arm cradled in his left. Beside him, Deep Hunter was talking, his hands moving to emphasize his words. The one person Deep Hunter hated more than Mud Stalker was the Swamp Panther cutthroat, Jaguar Hide. So, why were they talking now? What venom are you concocting, old man? How do you intend to inject it into my flesh?
The thought of it sent a cold shiver down her spine.
When she looked back toward the night-veiled lake, she could see
nothing. No fire had yet been built on the Turtle’s Back.
Instead, oddly, she noticed Mud Puppy where he stood at the water’s edge, a solitary figure, totally absorbed by his cup.
Mud Puppy? Speaker for the clan? I’d lose my souls before I’d allow that to happen.
Four
T hat night as Mud Puppy lay deep in sleep, a soft gulf breeze blew up from the south. It carried the tendrils of rising smoke northward, away from the curved lines of houses that dotted the concentric ridges of Sun Town. The darkness
“He has become a very capable stone carver for someone so young,” Clay Fat pointed out. “Children his age can’t usually sit still to make it through a meal, yet Mud Puppy can finish intricate carvings.”
“Carvings will not make him useful when it comes to running a clan.” She lifted her arms and let them drop. “As much as I feel cursed by Mud Puppy, White Bird more than makes up for him. Old friend, a weight is lifted from my souls. My son has returned. You cannot know how relieved my heart is.”
Clay Fat’s smile widened. “I cannot tell you how happy I am that White Bird has returned.” He jerked a thumb back at Mud Puppy, who was talking to one of his scrawny friends. “Some people have begun to worry about him. There is talk that he has Dreams. That
he sees things. Did you know that the Serpent has been watching him?”
“Mud Puppy? Why would the Serpent be watching him? He’s harmless. Witless. And as to his Dreams”—she made a face—“you can tell people to relax. I have more faith in Power than to believe it would be interested in a skinny half-wit like him.” She paused, then added pointedly, “He’s Thumper’s yield, you know.”
“Yes. Curious isn’t it? He’s so different. Matings are such puzzling things.”
She raised an eyebrow, shooting him a glance from the corner of her eye.
“Now that White Bird is back,” Clay Fat mused, “Spring Cypress has just passed her first menstruation. She is a young woman now, and I know she favors White Bird.”
Wing Heart knew for a fact that Spring Cypress had passed her first menstruation last winter out at Sweet Root Camp—where she would have remained had Clay Fat and Graywood Snake not decided that White Bird was dead. In lieu of that decision they had brought her back to Sun Town to troll her through Frog and Alligator Clans to see what young man snapped at her allure. Gorgeous nubile thing that she was, and Rattlesnake, having the influence that they did, she had had more than her share of young males swarming after her. Either of those clans would have been more than happy to send one of their sons to her house.
“We shall see,” Wing Heart replied casually. Did she dare contemplate another alliance with Rattlesnake Clan? Or, given the potentials of White Bird’s exploding popularity, would she be better served marrying the boy to one of the other clans?
“You could do worse, you know,” Clay Fat continued. “And, well, until tonight, a great many people were worried.”
“As was I,” she relented.
“They thought you might name Mud Puppy as Speaker!” Clay Fat laughed, his rotund belly wiggling.
“Mud Puppy as Speaker …” At that moment she caught sight of old Mud Stalker. He was walking in the shadows off to the side, his ruined right arm cradled in his left. Beside him, Deep Hunter was talking, his hands moving to emphasize his words. The one person Deep Hunter hated more than Mud Stalker was the Swamp Panther cutthroat, Jaguar Hide. So, why were they talking now? What venom are you concocting, old man? How do you intend to inject it into my flesh?
The thought of it sent a cold shiver down her spine.
When she looked back toward the night-veiled lake, she could see
nothing. No fire had yet been built on the Turtle’s Back.
Instead, oddly, she noticed Mud Puppy where he stood at the water’s edge, a solitary figure, totally absorbed by his cup.
Mud Puppy? Speaker for the clan? I’d lose my souls before I’d allow that to happen.
Four
T hat night as Mud Puppy lay deep in sleep, a soft gulf breeze blew up from the south. It carried the tendrils of rising smoke northward, away from the curved lines of houses that dotted the concentric ridges of Sun Town. The darkness
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