Now one might expect a somewhat negative response from the old woman, who had been taken by surprise. Indeed, this was the case.

"Where did you come from?" she cried, outraged by such impertinence. "Where are my sons? Did they not perchance die in the

underworld? Where is my daughter-in-law? Did she not die and leave her children to me to raise? I know her face, and it is not your

face! Do you not see these boys who remain, of the blood of my son and his wife, these two called Batz and Chouen? Do you think you

are their mother? Get out of here, you impostor! Go away! Go away!" She was screaming at this point.

 

But Xquic had anticipated a certain amount of trouble, and was prepared for it. The skull of One-Hunter had told her of his mother,

and how she was. But the skull had assured her that his mother was a good woman, who would relent once she was satisfied, and would

do what was right by Xquic and the sons she bore. So Xquic remained calm and polite, and made her case in a persuasive manner.

 

"Nevertheless it is true that I am your daughter-in-law, good woman," she said. "I have been for some time. I met with One-Hunter,

and pledged to him, and I regard myself as his wife, and I carry his children. One-Hunter and Seven-Hunter are not truly dead; they

live in my womb, and when my children are born you will see your sons clearly in them, my mother-in-law. You will recognize your

sons' image, and be satisfied."

 

Batz and Chouen overheard this dialogue, and became angry. They did not want children the image of their father and their father's

brother in the lodge, claiming the attention of their grandmother. The two of them did nothing but play the flute and sing, paint

and sculpt all day long; they contributed little to the upkeep of the lodge, and only grudgingly had planted corn for bread.

Despite this, they were the consolation of the old woman, and she treated them well. They saw no reason to change things. But they

did not speak, or make their presence known, for they believed that Xmucane would dispatch the impostor quickly enough.

 

Indeed, it seemed she would. "I do not wish you to be my daughter-in-law, because though I see you are with child, what you bear in

your womb is the fruit of your disgrace. Furthermore you are an impostor, because my sons are already dead, and have been for some

time."

 

But then Xquic told the woman how she had received the saliva from One-Hunter's skull, and conceived thereby, though she had never

known him in life. She repeated some of what the skull had told her, including details of the family that were not known to others,

and this sowed belief in the old woman, against her will.

 

"I still think it is a disgrace, and I do not consider you married to my son, and that's the truth," Xmucane said. "But, well, it

may be so, and you are my daughter-in-law despite the disgrace. You may become part of this lodgehold if you assume the duties of

it."

 

"I shall be glad to, mother," Xquic agreed, relieved. But she knew from what the skull had told her that her trial was not yet

over. The woman would test her, to prove what she was, and would reject her if she failed to pass the test.

 

"Go, then; bring the food for those who must be fed. Go and gather a large net full of corn from the field, and return at once, as

a proper daughter would."

 

"Very well," Xquic replied. She took the net and went immediately to the cornfield that the two young men had planted. There was a

path there through the jungle, and the girl followed it until she came to the cornfield.

 

But when she got there, she found only a single stalk of corn growing. Now she understood just how lazy the boys had been, for

there should have been hundreds of stalks, and there weren't even two or three. The one stalk had one ear on it, and that was

hardly enough to feed the family.

 

Yet she had been sent here to fetch back a net full of corn, and if she failed, she would be found wanting, and perhaps thrown out

of the lodge. Probably the old woman did not know how little there was here; Xquic had come just before the corn ran out, and now

the blame would seem to be hers. Certainly the boys would not confess their dereliction; Xquic had seen them lurking near, and had

noted their scowls. This was an ideal way to get rid of her. Maybe they had even run on ahead and stolen away all the other corn,

to make her fail.

 

"Ah, woe is me!" she exclaimed, weeping. "Innocent that I am! Where must I go to get a net full of food, as she told me to do?"

 

But Xquic remembered that she had been magically impregnated, and had acquired some of the magic of the gods, so that she could do

what was right by the sons she carried. Maybe the gods would help her through this pass.

 

"Oh Chahal, guardian of the cornfields, I beg you to give me the corn I must have!" she prayed. "Oh Xtoh, goddess of rain, and

Xcanil, goddess of grain, and Xcacau, goddess of cacao, you who cook the corn and guard the field Batz and Chouen planted—I beg you

to grant me what I need, for it is the will of the gods I serve!"

 

Then there was a light sprinkling of rain, though there was no cloud in the sky, and drops of water appeared on the red silk

tassels of the single ear of corn. Xquic knew this was a magical effect, and hoped that the gods had answered her. The four owls

who served her were there, and they understood what was happening. "Go pull on the strands of silk, one by one," they told her.

 

She approached the ear of corn, and saw that every strand of the silken beard glowed and was separated from the others. She put her

fingers to one strand, and drew on it, and it came out of the ear—and lo, at its base was a full ear of corn, though the original

ear remained untouched. Then she knew that the gods had answered, and she gave thanks.

 

She touched another strand, and drew on it, and brought out a second ear. Then a third, and a fourth, and more, until she had tens

of ears, and the large net was completely filled.

 

She tried to lift it, to carry it back to the lodge, but the net was now so heavy it was beyond her strength. So the four owls went

out into the field and forest, and spoke to the wild creatures there, saying, "It is the will of the gods that Little Blood be

helped to carry her burden." Then the animals of the field came, the little squirrels and rabbits and rats and others of that type,

and they grasped the edges of the net with their teeth and lifted and pulled, many of them surrounding it, and carried it along

toward the lodge. Xquic, astonished, walked along with them, marveling at the manner in which the gods were helping her.

 

When they reached the lodge, the little animals set the net in a corner of it, as though the girl might have carried it there. Then

they dispersed, each running quietly to its accustomed place in the distant field, not waiting for her thanks. This might have been

generous of them, but it could also have been because quite a mound of kernels of corn had fallen on the ground during the harvest,

and more had spilled from the basket as it bounced along, and they were hungry for these. They had helped Xquic; now they helped

themselves.

 

The old woman had been out on an errand, and had seen none of this. She came in and saw the corn in the large net, and her eyes

slitted with surprise and distrust. "Where have you brought all this corn from?" she demanded. "Did you, by chance, take all the

corn remaining in our field, so that there will be none for the future? I shall go at once and see."

 

Without further word, Xmucane stalked off down the road to the cornfield. But she discovered that the one stalk was still standing

there, with its lone ear. She had, after all, known of the condition of the field. She saw where the weeds had been pressed down by

the net at the foot of the stalk. She saw the spilled kernels, which the animals had not yet eaten. She saw the path made by the

dragging of the heavy basket. She saw the footprints of the little animals.

 

The old woman had intended no good for the girl she believed was an impostor. But now she recognized the intercession of the gods,

and knew that she had been mistaken. A miracle had happened here, and she had to accept the situation.

 

She quickly returned to the lodge. "This is proof enough that you are really my daughter-in-law. I shall now acknowledge your

little ones, the offspring of my son you carry. They shall be magicians."

 

Xquic was gratified. She took up residence in the lodge, and the old woman treated her well enough, yet she remained infected by

irritation that these new boys should be chosen by the gods, instead of her grandsons who already lived with her. Why couldn't they

have been the ones? She knew in her heart that they were unworthy, being lazy and mean-spirited, but still it rankled and clouded

her vision.

 

When the time came, Xquic went out into the forest alone, in the fashion of women, and gave birth to Hunter and Little Jaguar. The

four owls went out to the north and south and east and west, warning the animals away, that none disturb Little Blood. Both of the

babies were sorcerers; indeed, the name Xbalanque meant not only jaguar, but also sorcerer. The magic of their father had indeed

come to them, as it had not to the two older boys.

 

When the birthing was done, Xquic got up and carried the two babies to the lodge. Then she lay down and slept, for she was very

tired, and had lost more than just a "little blood," as her name suggested.

 

The two baby boys were lusty and hungry. They screamed for milk, but their mother was in a sleep near death, and could not hear

them.

 

"Go throw them out," old Xmucane told the older boys. "They make too much noise." Actually, she spoke with annoyance rather than

intent, meaning only that the babies should be put where the sound of their constant crying would not disturb her. There was

nothing to be done for the babies until their mother recovered from her deep sleep and was able to nurse them.

 

But the boys chose to interpret the old woman's words literally, because they wanted to be rid of this competition for attention in

the lodge. So they took the two babies out and put them on an anthill, where they thought the ants would tear away their flesh and

kill them. But the four owls spoke to the ants, and the ants ignored the babies, and the sand of the hill was soft, and now the

babies slept peacefully.

 

When Batz and Chouen saw this, their hatred and envy increased, for they realized that the babies were magically protected. So they

lifted the babies from the anthill and laid them on thistles, hoping the thorns would stab them and cause them to bleed to death.

But again the four owls interceded, speaking to the plants, and the plants heeded them. Still the babies slept unharmed, as if the

thistles were soft pine boughs. The boys did not dare do more, because they wanted the babies to seem to die by accident, so there

would be no blame.

 

Xquic recovered her strength and woke, and went out and found the twins. She brought them in and nursed them, and her milk was

magically good, so that they prospered immediately. But the older boys refused to let the babies stay in the lodge, or to recognize

them as brothers. Rather than have dissension, Xquic made a place for the babies in the forest, and tended to them there. The

animals of the wild would not harm them, knowing they had the favor of the gods, and that the four great owls were watching. So it

was that Hunter and Little Jaguar were brought up in the fields. This was not a bad thing, for the animals and birds and fish

communed with them, encouraged by the owls, and worked with them, helping them to achieve their potential. For though they were

sorcerers, they were young, and had to learn step by step how to use their powers. These powers were great, and many years were

required for their perfection.

 

Now, Batz and Chouen were talented young men, being great musicians and singers. They had grown up in the midst of trials and want,

because of the death of their mother and later of their father, and their grandmother's lodge was poor. But their father,

One-Hunter, and their uncle, Seven-Hunter, had taught them to play the flute and to paint and carve and play ball. They had learned

much, and become wise. The two knew about the heritage of their two younger half brothers, for they were diviners who could see

through to the truth when they tried.

 

Nevertheless, because they were envious, their wisdom was suppressed and their hearts were filled with ill will, though Hunter and

Little Jaguar had not offended them in any way, other than existing. There was nothing but hostility in that lodge, for their

mother, Xquic, was not the head of it, and she did not try to oppose the will of the old woman. Xquic knew that her sons belonged

in their father's lodge, where they could learn all that they needed to. So she kept silent, in order to see that the destiny of

her sons was fulfilled.

 

Hunter and Little Jaguar were not loved by their grandmother, or by their older brothers. They were given nothing new to eat; only

when Batz and Chouen had eaten their fill, and nothing but scraps were left, were the younger brothers allowed to come and take

what they could find. This was true despite the fact that the younger boys now did all the hunting for the family. All day they

were out shooting their blowguns, bringing down game birds, which they brought in for their mother, Xquic, to dress and cook.

Neither the young boys nor the mother received any thanks for their services; it was as if all three were mere servants of the

other three.

 

Yet the young boys did not become vexed or angry. They suffered silently, because they knew their rank and heritage, and understood

everything clearly. So while Batz and Chouen played their flutes and sang, Hunter and Little Jaguar honed their hunting and

foraging skills, and learned the magic of the wild places, taught by the owls. Though they were younger and smaller than their

brothers, they became far more effective hunters and campers, and they could do things their brothers never suspected. Though still

boys, they knew more of manhood than most men ever learned. Had Batz and Chouen not been overcome by envy and arrogance, they would

have understood what was happening, and been on guard. But they were, in the end, fools, and that was to be their undoing.

 

The time came when Hunter and Little Jaguar had had enough. "It is time to be done with this nonsense," Hunter said. "We must be

rid of these parasites."

 

"Yes, but how shall we do it without alienating our grandmother?" Little Jaguar asked. "For we are not yet ready to fulfill our

main mission and achieve the vengeance of our father. We must remain a few more years with Grandmother Xmucane, and she is bitter

enough with us already."

 

"That is an excellent point, my brother," Hunter said. "But perhaps our mentors the owls have an answer."

 

So they consulted with the owls, and the owls told them how to do it. They were impressed with the wisdom of the great messenger

birds, and resolved to put the plan into effect immediately.

 

That day they returned to the lodge without bringing any bird, and no other game. When they entered, Xmucane saw them bare-handed

and was furious. "Why did you bring no birds?" she demanded.

 

And Hunter answered: "What happened, grandmother, is that our birds were caught in the tree, and we could not climb up to get them.

Dear grandmother, if our elder brothers, who are so talented, wish, let them come with us to bring down the birds."

 

Xmucane was out of sorts, having no fair retort. She didn't want the birds to go to waste. She glanced at the older brothers.

 

"Very well," Batz said, taking the hint. "We shall go with you at dawn to fetch down the birds. But they had better be good ones!"

 

Chouen nodded. It was in his mind, and in his brother's mind, that they would find some way to repay the younger boys' impertinence

by arranging their deaths in the forest. They knew this was some kind of plot to embarrass them, and they were angry, though they

hid their feelings.

 

But the younger boys had anticipated this. "We shall only change their appearance, not their nature," they said to themselves.

"They want us to die, and our heritage to be unfulfilled. In their hearts they really believe that we have come to be their

servants. For these reasons we shall overcome them and teach them a lesson."

 

The older brothers would have laughed if they had heard this dialogue. But they would not have laughed had they understood how

carefully the younger brothers were planning.

 

In the morning the four went out to the foot of the tree called Cante, the tree of yellow wood and yellow dye. It was not possible

to count the birds that sang in the tree, and the elder brothers marveled to see so many. This was certainly a good hunting spot!

The younger brothers shot their blowguns, but no birds fell.

 

"Our birds do not fall to the ground," Hunter said.

 

"That's because your aim is bad!" Batz said, laughing.

 

"I don't think so," Little Jaguar said. "Go and fetch those birds down."

 

"There aren't any dead birds up there," Chouen said. "But we'll go up and prove it. We'll shake every branch, and you'll see what

bad shots you are." And, laughing to think how they would show up the younger boys, the two climbed the trunk of the tree.

 

But this was no ordinary tree. The higher they climbed, the larger the trunk swelled. Realizing that they were in trouble, the two

wanted to come down from the top, but they were unable to without falling.

 

"What has happened to us, our brothers?" they called down. "How unfortunate we are! This tree frightens us! How can we climb down

when it frightens us just to look at the awful trunk?"

 

Hunter and Little Jaguar well knew how bad the tree was to climb, and had known better than to try it themselves. This was the

first part of their plan. "Loosen your breechcloths," Hunter called up. "Tie them below your stomach. Let the long ends hang down,

and pull them from behind. In this way you can walk easily." For a breechcloth was actually a length of cloth or fiber almost as

long as a man when unwound, and could be tied in more than one way.

 

This did not make a lot of sense to the older brothers, but they were willing to try anything that might help them get down safely.

They remade their loincloths, pulling the ends back so that they dangled.

 

Instantly these were changed into tails. Indeed, the older brothers assumed the appearance of monkeys. Horrified, they hopped over

the branches of the trees, having no trouble climbing down now, and buried themselves in the forest among the great woods and

little woods. They swung from branch to branch, making faces as they went.

 

Hunter and Little Jaguar had not lied. They had enabled their older brothers to climb down, as they had promised. But they had done

it in a way the others had not expected. They had used sorcery to change them into a form that could climb better. In this manner

they overcame their enemies. They could not have done it without the magic they had learned.

 

But that was only the first part of their plan. Now they implemented the rest of it. They went home and spoke to their grandmother

and their mother. "What could it be that has happened to our elder brothers?" Hunter said innocently. "Suddenly their faces are

those of animals!"

 

"If you have done any harm to your elder brothers," old Xmucane said severely, "you have hurt me and filled me with sadness."

 

"Do not do such a thing to your brothers, oh my children," Xquic said, not wishing anyone to suffer. She was still young, so

retained the softheartedness of a maiden.

 

They were ready for this. "Do not grieve, grandmother," Little Jaguar said. "You shall see their faces again, if you want to. But

we must warn you that it may be a difficult trial for you. Be careful that you do not laugh at them."

 

Then the two brought out their musical instruments and made the song of the monkey. They played the flute and drum, and continued

until their older brothers were compelled to come to the lodge, drawn by the music.

 

Batz and Chouen came, and began to dance to the music. But when the old woman saw their ugly faces, she laughed, unable to help

herself. Embarrassed, the two ran away.

 

"Now you see, grandmother," Hunter said. "You have made them flee! You must not laugh at them, for they do not find this situation

at all funny." He was speaking the truth.

 

"We can play this theme only four times," Little Jaguar said, and this, too, was true.

 

They played again, and again Batz and Chouen came, right to the court of the lodge. They grimaced, and were really very amusing

with their monkey faces, their broad bottoms, their narrow tails, and their bare stomachs, until Xmucane could not refrain from

laughing again. At that point they fled, as they had before.

 

Again the boys reproved her. They played a third time, and the grandmother managed to contain her laughter. The monkeys went to the

kitchen and scrubbed their noses and frightened each other with the faces they made. Their eyes seemed to give off a red light.

This was too much for Xmucane, and she burst into laughter once more.

 

"We can call them only once more," Hunter warned.

 

Yet again they played their music, and the sound was sweet, but this time the monkey brothers, three times humiliated, did not

return. Instead they fled into the forest and were gone.

 

"We have done everything we could, grandmother," Little Jaguar said. "Your laughter drove them away. But do not grieve; we remain

here, and we are your grandchildren too."

 

The old woman realized that it was done, and that she herself was in part to blame. She resigned herself to the situation, for she

did not wish to live alone.

 

In this manner Batz and Chouen were disgraced and overcome, becoming animals, because of their arrogance and the way they had

abused their brothers. They had been excellent musicians and artists, and could have done great things had they not allowed

unworthy emotions to rule them.

 

 

 

Now Hunter and Little Jaguar moved into the lodge, and began to work there, for they wanted their mother and grandmother to think

well of them. The first thing they did was prepare the cornfield, which had been sadly neglected by the older brothers. They took

axes, picks, and their wooden hoes and went there, each carrying his blowgun on his shoulder.

 

"Bring us food at midday, grandmother," they said as they departed.

 

"Very well, my grandsons," Xmucane said, accepting the new order stoically.

 

When they came to the field, they used their magic to animate the tools. Hunter plunged the pick into the earth, and it continued

to work by itself. Little Jaguar struck a tree with his axe, and after that it chopped the trees and branches and vines by itself.

It was magically sharp, so that no fire was needed to char the hard wood and make it manageable, as was ordinarily the case. So it

was that their work progressed, with little effort on their part, for they were sorcerers coming into their full power.

 

But next day they discovered that all the ground was whole again, and all the trees were standing as if they had never been felled.

 

"Who has played this trick on us?" they asked, annoyed. But there was no way to tell. They would have been suspicious of their

older brothers, but monkeys could not have done this.

 

So they worked the field that day, and departed as they had before. But they came quietly back at dusk, and hid themselves, and

watched.

 

At midnight the animals of the field and forest came: the puma and the jaguar, the deer, the coyote, the wild boar, the rabbit, and

the various birds. "Rise up, trees," the animals said in their own tongues. "Rise up, vines!"

 

So they spoke, and the trees and vines responded, being magically restored.

 

Furious, the two youths jumped out and grabbed for the animals. But the animals fled, and could not be caught. Hunter got hold of

the tail of the deer, and Little Jaguar caught the tail of the rabbit, but the tails came off in their hands and the animals

escaped. Ever after, the tails of these animals were short. The others escaped entirely.

 

Then the rat passed, and they both pounced on it. They squeezed its head and tried to choke it, and they burned its tail in the

fire. Ever since, the rat's tail has had no hair.

 

"I must not die at your hands," the rat protested. "I helped your mother to harvest the corn, the first time, and thereby helped

secure her place here, and yours. Neither is it your business to plant the cornfield. You have something better to do."

 

"How can you say that?" Hunter demanded, not letting it go.

 

"Loosen me a little, and I will explain," the rat said. "But first give me something to eat, for I am very hungry."

 

"First tell us; then we will give you food," Little Jaguar said.

 

The rat agreed. "Did you know that the property of your father, One-Hunter, and his brother, Seven-Hunter, has remained in your

grandmother's lodge? I refer to the gear for playing ball, which they left behind, for they suspected treachery and were not

disappointed. That gear is hanging from the roof of the lodge: the ring, the gloves, and the ball. But your grandmother does not

want you to know of this, because of what her sons did."

 

Now, the boys knew of the ball game, but had never been able to play it because they had been working all the time, and had no

gear. This interested them very much, for tlaxtli was the greatest game known on earth. Of course they wanted to get that gear and

start practicing the game, so as to become great players and win fame.

 

"This shall be your food," Hunter told the rat. "Corn, chili seeds, beans, and cacao drink. All this belongs to you, and if there

should be anything stored away and forgotten, that, too, will be yours. All these things are at our grandmother's lodge."

 

"That's wonderful," the rat said. "But I don't think your grandmother likes me. What should I tell her if she sees me coming into

the lodge?"

 

"Don't worry," Little Jaguar said. "We shall distract her long enough for you to get in unobserved."

 

They did this, sneaking the rat into the lodge when they returned in the morning, so it could forage in the dark corners. Then they

asked Xmucane for a meal of tortillas, chili sauce, and broth, and she made it for them.

 

"But we need water too," Hunter said.

 

"It is in that jar," Xmucane said. But it wasn't, for he had magically dried it up. She shook her head, perplexed, and took the

jar, and went with Xquic to the river to fetch more.

 

Then the boys saw by looking in the red chili sauce the reflection of the game ball, which was suspended from the roof. They wanted

to get it, but knew they needed more time. So they used their magic again, and sent an insect like a mosquito to puncture the side

of their grandmother's water jar so that it could not be filled.

 

Then they told the rat to bite through the cord that held the ball, and it fell down to them, together with the gloves and the

leather pads. The boys seized them and quickly hid them by the road which led to the ball court.

 

Then they went to the river, where their mother and grandmother were trying vainly to plug the hole in the jar. So the boys plugged

it, and all was well, and Xmucane never realized that they had found and taken the ball gear. Or that the rat had been admitted to

her lodge, and would be in the lodges of all human folk thereafter, taking whatever was spilled or accessible. Rats were not

popular with human folk, but they had earned their place and could not be driven out.

 

 

 

After that Hunter and Little Jaguar played ball all the time, and quickly became proficient. In this game, no one was allowed to

touch the ball with his hands, head, or feet; it had to be bounced from the knees, hips, back, or shoulders from teammate to

teammate until a score was made. The protective gear was essential to protect their bodies from harm, for the ball was solid, about

the size and heft of a human head. The greatest honor could be achieved by bouncing the ball through one of the vertical stone

rings set high on the walls of the court. This required enormous skill, and few players could do it even when there weren't

opposing players to interfere, but Hunter and Little Jaguar learned to do it.

 

They were not just amusing themselves. They knew that the only way they could reach the underworld and achieve vengeance for their

father was to be invited to play ball there. They knew that the lords of death would try to deceive them and kill them, as they had

One-Hunter and Seven-Hunter. But the four owls had told them of these tricks, and about all the rest of the underworld of Xibalba,

and they were ready to deal with it.

 

As they matured and assumed their full growth, Hunter and Little Jaguar's notoriety spread all across the land, and even to the

underworld. That was the way they wanted it.

 

Then the lords of death sent messengers. "The boys must come to play ball in Xibalba," the messengers told Xmucane. "They must be

there within seven days. We will show them the way."

 

Actually, the young men already knew the way, for the four owls had told them this too. Those owls had served the sons of Xquic

well!

 

But their grandmother did not know this. Indeed, she was horrified to learn that they had been playing the ball game, for she

feared that they would be brought to the underworld and betrayed and killed, just as her sons had. But it was too late to stop

that; all she could do now was send the message to the young men, though she grieved to do it.

 

"But whom shall I send?" she asked, for the court was too far for her to go to, and too far for Xquic.

 

A louse fell into her lap. She seized it and held it in the palm of her hand. "I will send you," she said. So she gave the message

to the louse.

 

At once the louse walked off, but it was small and did not move quickly. A toad spied it.

 

"Where are you going?" the toad asked.

 

"I go to the ball court to give a message to the boys."

 

"I will help you move faster," the toad said, and snapped up the louse. Then the toad hopped down the road toward the ball court.

 

A snake saw him. The snake concluded that the toad was too slow, so the snake swallowed the toad and slithered on down the road.

Always after that, toads were the food of snakes.

 

A hawk spied the snake, and instantly swallowed it. After that, hawks always ate snakes. Then the hawk flew rapidly to the ball

court, and perched on the cornice, where Hunter and Little Jaguar were playing ball. "Here is the hawk! Here is the hawk!" it

cried.

 

"Bring our blowguns!" Hunter exclaimed. In a moment he fired a pellet that hit the hawk in the eye and brought it down. "What are

you doing here?" Hunter asked the bird.

 

"I bring a message in my stomach," the hawk replied. "First cure my eye, and then I will tell you."

 

So they took a bit of rubber from the ball, and squeezed juice from it onto the hawk's eye. Immediately the eye healed.

 

Then the hawk vomited out the snake. "Speak!" they said to the snake.

 

The snake vomited out the toad. "What is the message that you bring?" they asked the toad.

 

The toad tried to vomit out the louse, but could not; it did not come out.

 

"Liar!" Little Jaguar cried, kicking the toad in the rump, and the bone of the toad's haunches gave way. It tried again, but its

mouth only filled with spittle.

 

Then the boys opened the toad's mouth and looked inside. The louse was stuck to the toad's teeth; it had not been swallowed. Thus

the toad had been tricked, and the kind of food it ate was not known. It could not run, because of its crushed haunch bone, and was

the food of snakes.

 

"Speak," Hunter said to the louse.

 

The louse, noting what had happened to the toad, did not delay. "The messengers of the lords of death have come to your

grandmother. You have seven days to go to Xibalba with your playing gear. Your grandmother grieves already for your loss, for she

remembers what happened to your father."

 

The boys exchanged a significant glance. This was the invitation they had been waiting for!

 

But they pretended to be sad, so that no one would know how well prepared they were for this occasion. They wanted the lords of

death to be surprised.

 

They hurried back to the lodge. "We are going, mother and grandmother," they said. "But do not fear, for we shall return."

 

"That's what your father said," the old woman grumped.

 

"But you shall know how we fare," they assured her. They planted two reeds in the lodge, which grew magically there. "If these dry,

it is a sign of our death. But if they sprout again, we are alive." Then they took their gear and departed.

 

 

 

Hunter and Little Jaguar followed the messengers down the long steps and across to the river that ran between the ravines. They

passed the river of corruption, and did not drink from it. They passed the river of blood, but did not touch it even with their

feet; instead they stretched their blowguns across it and crossed on them.

 

They came to the intersection of the four roads: black, white, red, and green. Here they paused, as if undecided, though they knew

better than to take the black one. There was information they needed, so they took advantage of this pause to get it.

 

Hunter touched his leg. From it appeared a mosquito, the same one who had magically punctured the water jug. "Go sting the lords,

one by one," he murmured to it.

 

"I shall," it replied, and flew away.

 

The magic mosquito flew to the ceremonial chamber of the lords of death. They were all there, awaiting with grim relish the arrival

of the ball players from the realm of the living, and conjecturing on the terrible things they would do to these innocents.

 

The mosquito stung the first, but it was one of the wooden figures, and it made no response. The insect flew on and stung the

second, but this one also was wood.

 

Then it stung the third, who was One-Death. "Ah!" he exclaimed, swatting at the mosquito, but the insect had jumped away before it

was caught.

 

"What is the matter, One-Death?" the next lord asked.

 

"Something stung me, Seven-Death," he replied.

 

In this manner the mosquito stung all the lords, making each exclaim, and each was identified by the queries of the others.

 

When this was done, Hunter pulled out a hair of his leg, where he had touched it before. The hair was the magical mosquito he had

sent. Now it told him all their names, according to where they stood, so he would not be fooled.

 

They followed the green road on to Xibalba, where the lords awaited them. "Greet the one who is seated," they were told, and the

lords waited, ready to burst out laughing when the visitors fell for the trick.

 

"Why should we speak to that one?" Hunter asked. "It is only a wooden figure."

 

The lords stifled their laughter and their annoyance, disgruntled at the manner in which the youths had seen through their ruse.

But they did not yet understand how well prepared Hunter and Little Jaguar were. These two had the magic of their father, and the

cunning of their mother, and the information of the four great owls, and they knew what they were doing.

 

"Hail, One-Death!" Hunter said to that lord. "Hail, Seven-Death!" He continued, naming every lord as he faced him, making no error,

for his magic mosquito had told him true. The lords nodded graciously, but they were really most annoyed and somewhat mystified.

How had the visitors come to know them so well?

 

Then One-Death indicated the stone seat. "Sit here, and we shall confer," he said.

 

Little Jaguar walked to the stone and made as if to sit on it. But he paused, then seemed to change his mind. "This is not a

fitting seat for a guest," he said. "It is only a hot stone. Is it the best you have to offer?"

 

The lords of death could scarcely conceal their ire at the failure of this ploy. But they thought that Little Jaguar had merely

felt the heat when he paused, so had discovered the trick by chance.

 

"Very well, go to that lodge," One-Death said, pointing to the Lodge of Gloom. This was the first real test of the underworld; the

wooden figure and the hot stone seat were merely jokes. The lords believed that the youths would suffer the beginning of their

downfall here, as all visitors had before them.

 

The youths entered the lodge without protest. One-Death immediately gave them sticks of fat pine and cigars, warning them to return

them whole in the morning.

 

"Very well," the youths agreed. But when they were shut inside, they put out the flames and put red-colored feathers on the

torches; these feathers were so bright they looked like flames. They put fireflies on the ends of the cigars, making them glow. In

this manner they fooled anyone who watched, and the lords rejoiced, thinking that they had prevailed.

 

In the morning the door was opened, and the youths emerged. Their torches and cigars were intact.

 

"How's this?" the lords of death demanded. "Who are these clever folk? Who gave birth to them? Their conduct is disturbingly

strange." But still they did not make the connection to One-Hunter's skull and Little Blood, whom they thought long dead.

 

They summoned the youths. "Let's play ball," they said, though they had not intended it to get this far.

 

Hunter and Little Jaguar agreed. This was, after all, what they had come for, supposedly.

 

"We shall use our ball," Seven-Death said.

 

"By no means; we shall use our ball," Hunter said.

 

"I insist that we use ours," Seven-Death said, glowering.

 

Hunter shrugged. It didn't matter; he had argued merely to deceive the lords of death about what the youths knew. If they

anticipated every trick, the lords of death would know that they had information that made them dangerous.

 

They continued to argue about the terms of the game, yielding when the lords of death became insistent.

 

Then they went to the ball court, donning their gear.

 

But the ball of the lords of death was enchanted, and the youths could not make it behave as it should. Soon they lost control of

it, unable to score. The lords of Xibalba seized the ball and threw it directly at the ring on the side of the court; if it went

through that ring, they would win. Meanwhile some of them grasped the handle of the flint knife that was used for sacrifice. They

were eager to cut out two beating hearts and roast them.

 

The shot was not good, because the ball still misbehaved. The lords of death really did not care, as they lacked the necessary

skill anyway. They just wanted to kill the youths. All their reputed skill as players was mere sham; it required diligent practice

to be good at the ball game, and the lords of death practiced only deceit and betrayal.

 

"What is this?" Little Jaguar demanded, indicating the knife. "The game is hardly started, yet you wish to kill us as if we are

losers? Can it be that we misunderstood, and that you did not call us here to play ball with you? In that case we shall leave at

once, being unwelcome."

 

That shamed the lords of death in their own eyes. Indeed, they could not honorably kill the youths without first beating them in

the game or causing them to violate one of the devious rules of the underworld. They certainly wanted to kill Hunter and Little

Jaguar, but they would be a laughingstock if they did it dishonorably. That was to say, in a manner that showed their dishonor, for

in truth they had no honor, only the pretense of it. Their pride was based on the appearance of honor, not on the reality, but that

meant that they could not cheat openly. This the young men knew.

 

"Do not leave, boys," One-Death said as he put away the knife. "We shall continue the game, and now we shall use your ball." For

the ploy with the ball had become evident when the lords themselves could not score with it.

 

"Very well," the youths said. They took their own ball, which was firm and true, and bounced it from one to the other on their

bodies and buttocks, and the lords of death were unable to interfere with them or to take the ball away. Soon Hunter bounced it off

his hip straight through the ring on the opponents' wall. The game was over, and the youths had won.

 

"We shall play again tomorrow," Seven-Death said, offended by the defeat of the lords of the underworld.

 

Now, the youths did not have to agree to this, for they had won, and would have been sacrificed had they lost. But they had more in

mind than merely humiliating the lords of Xibalba. To accomplish what they wanted, they had to play along with their enemies for a

while longer.

 

"Go and gather four gourds of flowers for us, early tomorrow morning," One-Death said.

 

The youths knew that this was another cunning trick, intended to deceive them and make them forfeit their victory, but they

pretended not to know. "What kind of flowers?" Little Jaguar asked.

 

"A red one, and a white one, and a yellow one, and a blue one," One-Death said.

 

"Certainly," Little Jaguar said. "We shall go immediately to cut them. Where is the path there?"

 

"Through that lodge," One-Death said, indicating the Lodge of Knives. This was the second place of torture in Xibalba, where the

terrible knives cut any intruders to pieces. He believed that the youths would never get to the field of flowers beyond.

 

"We shall fetch the flowers, and play ball again with you in the morning," Hunter said.

 

Then they entered the lodge, and the lords of death rejoiced, expecting mayhem.

 

But the youths had been warned of all the tortures of the underworld, and had prepared for each of them. As they entered, Little

Jaguar spoke to the knives, and his words were a spell that caused them to settle down. "Yours shall be the flesh of all the

animals," he said.

 

The knives were quiescent, and made no move against the youths. Since that time, knives have cut the flesh of all animals they

encounter, and the flesh of men too, but not that of those who master them.

 

Meanwhile Hunter addressed the red ants of the region. "Go, all of you, and bring the four kinds of flowers we must have," he said.

"Thereafter, the flowers of the night shall be yours."

 

"We agree," the ants said, and they marched off in a mass.

 

Now, the lords of the underworld had put guards at the field of flowers, warning them to let no one approach the plants. These

guards were owls with long tails. So even if the youths survived the Lodge of Knives, they would still fail the mission, being

unable to get the flowers.

 

But the ants crept in and cut the flowers in the darkness, needing no light to distinguish the colors, and carried them away. The

guards never noticed, for they were alert for men, not for insects. The ants filled the four gourds with flowers of each color, and

returned before dawn to the Lodge of Knives. But before they returned, they crept up behind the owls and cut away their tails, so

quietly and cleverly that the guards never were aware of this either.

 

When the youths emerged unscathed; with the four colors of flowers, the lords of death were livid. They sent for the guards. "Why

did you allow them to steal our flowers?" they demanded.

 

"We noticed nothing," the guards protested. Then they discovered the loss of their tails, and were further dismayed.

 

"Idiots!" the lords exclaimed, and tore at the mouths of the owls. Since then the owls have had short tails and cleft mouths,

though they really had tried to do their job.

 

Hunter and Little Jaguar played ball with One-Death and Seven-Death. But the lords had improved their technique using special magic

that gave them more speed and power than any living man could muster, and neither side was able to score. They played several tie

matches, and agreed to play again the next day. But in truth the youths could have won, had they been minded to. They preferred to

remain longer in Xibalba, so as to complete their mission of vengeance.

 

This time they were sent to the Lodge of Cold, the third great torture of the underworld. It was full of hail, with a terrible

wind, and so cold that it seemed that no one could survive within it. But they dug out old logs and made a fire and were warm. The

lords of death smoldered.

 

So it went, from day to day and night to night. The youths entered the Lodge of Jaguars, and Little Jaguar threw them bones, and

the animals were satisfied, thinking they were eating flesh, because of the enchantment. The boys entered the Lodge of Fire, but

their magic made them impervious. They entered the Lodge of Bats, where huge vampires with teeth as sharp as fire-hardened stakes

lurked, but the youths made themselves small and slept inside their blowguns, where the bats could not reach them.

 

But here was disaster, because they could not see the light of dawn. Hunter went out to see, and it was too early, and the terrible

Death Bat who was a god pounced on him and cut off his head.

 

"We are completely undone!" Little Jaguar cried, discovering the fate of his brother. One moment of carelessness had cost Hunter

his head!

 

The lords of death rejoiced. They hung the severed head up in the ball court, where all could see it. Half of their intention had

been fulfilled.

 

 

 

But though Hunter had been the better ball player, Little Jaguar was the better sorcerer. Now he was suffering the death of his

brother, and he was angry. He was like a wounded jaguar, and that is the most dangerous kind. He resolved that he would restore his

brother, but he could not do so unless he had the head back, to place on the body.

 

He called all the animals, large and small, during the night. "What does each of you eat?" he inquired. "I have called you so that

you may choose your food." Actually, he needed to find the one that was right for his purpose.

 

All the animals went out to find their types of food. But slow behind them was the turtle. Little Jaguar worked a spell on it as it

passed his brother's body, and it became compressed in its shell and assumed the form of Hunter's head. Little Jaguar worked to

make the likeness perfect, and indeed, it seemed that Hunter was alive again. But really it was just his body, made to move by

Little Jaguar's magic, with the turtle for its head.

 

"Now we shall play ball," Little Jaguar said grimly. "You, turtle, must only pretend to play, for you cannot do it truly; I will do

everything alone. And you, rabbit, go wait in the grove beside the ball court. When the ball comes to you, run out and away, and I

will do something to make them follow you."

 

Soon day broke, and the two youths emerged, seemingly both healthy. The lords of death were amazed, but did not know what to make

of it. They suspected that it was pretense, so they tried to make Little Jaguar give himself away. After all, the true head of

Hunter was hanging over the ball court.

 

"Hit that head with the ball!" they cried, trying to get Little Jaguar flustered about the indignity. But Little Jaguar ignored

them, and went straight out to play, so that they had to concentrate on the game.

 

The lords of death threw out the ball. Little Jaguar went for it, sending it straight toward the ring. But his aim was deliberately

bad. The ball stopped, bounced, and passed out of the ball court and rolled toward the oak grove, where the rabbit was.

 

Instantly the rabbit ran out, hopping madly. Little Jaguar's sorcery made the rabbit look like the ball. The lords of death chased

after it, shouting, but it veered and dodged so crazily that they could not catch it. More of them joined in, determined to trap

the ball, and soon no one remained at the court except Little Jaguar.

 

That was what he wanted. He ran up and took possession of his brother's head. He took the turtle and hung it where the head had

been, so that it looked the same. Then he set the real head firmly on the body, and that enabled Hunter to recover, because of the

magic the two of them had. They were very happy to be restored to each other. In their arrogance and certainty of victory the lords

of death had failed to cut out Hunter's heart and burn it, or to destroy his body, so that his death had not been irrevocable. Now

the evil lords faced both youths again, and did not know it.

 

The lords of Xibalba finally found the ball, when the rabbit led them to it and dodged aside. They brought it back, and play

resumed.

 

The game was tied. Then Little Jaguar hurled a stone at the turtle, which seemed to be his brother's head, and it fell to the

ground and to the stone ball court, breaking into a thousand pieces that resembled seeds. The lords were amazed to see the head

shatter like that, and understood that it wasn't the head, but something else. They realized that they had been deceived, and they

thought that Hunter had never died. They resolved not to be fooled like that again.

 

Meanwhile, Little Jaguar knew that the time of his own death was approaching. But this was part of his plan, and he was ready to

die—in the right way. He had prepared for this by approaching two notable soothsayers who were also known as diviners, called Xulu

and Pacam. "You shall be questioned by the lords of Xibalba about our deaths," he had told them. "For they are planning to kill us,

as they killed our father and uncle. When they find how much trouble it is to overcome us, they will seek advice about how best to

do it. We believe they will burn us. When they come to you about how to dispose of our bodies, tell them that the only way to be

sure we will not be restored is to grind up our bones into powder and throw them into the river."

 

The soothsayers agreed to do this, though they found it an odd request.

 

Now, as the youths had anticipated, the lords of death tired of trying to torture them and of trying to beat them in the ball game,

and resolved to cast aside the pretense of honor and kill them directly. So they made a great bonfire in a kind of oven, filling it

with thick branches so that it would burn long and well.

 

Then the lords sent messengers to fetch the youths. "Tell them to come here so that we may burn them," they said. For they wanted

the boys to suffer the torment of expectation.

 

The youths came readily, and the lords thought to play a mocking game with them. "Let's drink, while you fly over the fire!"

One-Death said, preparing a rope with which to swing them through the flames.

 

"Whom do you think you're fooling?" Little Jaguar asked. "You cannot burn us! We shall burn ourselves!" Then he clasped his

brother, and both of them jumped into the fire. Soon their bodies were roasted in the terrible heat.

 

At this the lords of Xibalba were joyful. They shouted and whistled. "Now at last we have overcome them!" Seven-Death said. "They

knew they could not escape, so they gave up rather than be tortured anymore!"

 

But the lords had learned caution, after seeing how Hunter had returned to life, and how much trouble the two had been to kill. So

they summoned the two soothsayers, Xulu and Pa-cam, exactly as Little Jaguar had anticipated. "What should we do with the bones?"

they inquired. When the soothsayers answered, it seemed good to the lords. They ground up the bones between stones, as if they were

grinding corn, and cast them into the river. "Now we are truly rid of them," they said, satisfied.

 

But this was the death for which Little Jaguar had prepared. If the lords had done something else, his magic would not have been

effective, and he and his brother would have been truly dead. The powder of the bones settled down to the bottom of the river,

where they coalesced, and the spell shaped them and absorbed water, and they were restored to handsome youths, as they had been

before.

 

But they took care to conceal their identities, and gave themselves the appearance of old men, so that the lords of Xibalba would

not recognize them. Then they went about as miracle-workers, doing many strange tricks. They did the dance of the owl, and the

dance of the weasel, and of the armadillo, and the centipede, and the dance on tall stilts. They burned lodges, then restored them,

showing that the fire had been but illusion. They cut each other into bits, and brought each other back to life. This was of course

more illusion, but no one could discover the trick of it, or fathom how they did it. Soon they became quite famous.

 

Then the lords of death heard about them, and were curious. They sent messengers to summon the dancers so that the lords might be

entertained. It was really pretty dull in the land of death, and the lords were always alert for something that might amuse them.

 

"But we don't want to go there!" the youths protested with mock reluctance. "We are ashamed of our ugly faces and our poor

clothing. We are not worthy to perform before such high lords."

 

Of course the lords of death insisted, and in due course, with much seeming reluctance, the two came before One-Death and

Seven-Death and the other lords of Xibalba, where they waited in the court of their lodge.

 

"Now do your dances," One-Death said. "We will pay you for your effort. Do the trick where you kill yourselves and burn your lodge,

yet all is undone." For this really intrigued the lords, who had an interest in all things relating to death.

 

So Hunter and Little Jaguar began to sing and dance, and they were so entertaining that all the folk of the underworld came to

watch.

 

"Cut my dog into pieces," One-Death said. "And bring him back to life."

 

"Very well," Little Jaguar said, and cut the dog into bits, then restored him. The dog wagged his tail, for his death had been

illusion and he had never been hurt.

 

"Now burn my lodge," One-Death said.

 

So they set fire to the lodge in which all them were, and the flames roared high, yet no one was hurt. The lodge burned into ashes

around them, but it was all illusion, and after it was done it was restored, and it was clear that it had never been touched.

 

All the lords were amazed, for they had never before seen such effective illusion. They pondered as they watched the dances, and

then asked for more.

 

"Now kill a man," One-Death said. "Not an animal, but a man, so we can see how you do it."

 

"Very well," Little Jaguar answered. They seized one of the spectators, who was somewhat reluctant but unable to protest. Hunter

bent him back on the altar and Little Jaguar used his knife to cut out the man's heart. He raised the beating heart high, showing

it to everyone. Then he put the heart back into the man's chest, and closed up the wound, and suddenly the blood was gone and the

man was alive again. This, too, had been illusion, and even the man had not seen how it was done. He was much relieved to find

himself alive and unharmed.

 

The lords of death were amazed, for they still could not penetrate the illusion. "Now kill yourselves," One-Death said, thinking

that they would not be able to perform the illusion successfully then. They were excruciatingly curious about this technique.

 

So Little Jaguar sacrificed Hunter. He laid him on the altar and cut off his arms' one by one, and then his legs, and then his

head. Finally Little Jaguar cut out Hunter's heart and threw it onto the grass of the court. Then Little Jaguar stabbed himself

through the chest, and cut out his own heart, and fell back on the floor, holding the beating heart aloft.

 

Everyone stared, believing that the dancers could never recover from such dismemberment. But it was really the dance of only one

man, Little Jaguar, and the illusion of his brother, and the illusion of his own beating heart.

 

Then Little Jaguar seemed to set his heart back into his chest, so that he was whole again. "Get up!" he said to the dismembered

remains of his brother, and the illusion faded, and the real Hunter stepped out from the shadow to take its place. He was as

healthy as if he had never died, which was of course the truth.

 

One-Death and Seven-Death were caught up in the excitement of this realistic show, and determined to find out how the illusion was

made. "Do the same with us!" One-Death cried. "Sacrifice us the same way! Cut us both into pieces, and hold up our beating hearts!"

For they were sure that they could not be deceived once they participated directly.

 

"If you insist," Little Jaguar said, as if reluctant to let them in on it.

 

Then he took One-Death, and cut off his head, and cut off his limbs, and cut out his heart most realistically, and all the

spectators were impressed with the seeming realism.

 

"Now bring him back to life," Seven-Death said.

 

"But you didn't say that," Little Jaguar protested.

 

"But—"

 

That was all Seven-Death was able to say before Hunter plunged his knife into his chest and cut out his heart. He fell, and Hunter

held up the heart. "No, we did not agree to bring either of you back to life!" he cried. "We shall have no mercy on you. No more

than you had on us."

 

Then the two youths cast aside their disguises and revealed their true identities. The other lords of death recognized them and

were appalled. They knew that the vengeance of their victims was at hand.

 

The other lords fled, and Hunter and Little Jaguar chased them. The lords tried to hide in a great ravine, but the ants came in

hordes and stung them and drove them out. Then they prostrated themselves before the two youths, knowing that they had no chance to

prevail against those who had slain One-Death and Seven-Death.

 

Now the youths told them also the names of their father and uncle, who had been betrayed and killed here, so that they would

understand the full measure of this vengeance. The boys did not kill the folk of Xibalba, but they reduced them to common level. No

more were there any lords among them, only lowly laborers. Thus was the vengeance complete.

 

Then Hunter and Little Jaguar returned to their own realm, where their mother and grandmother had been watching the two reeds in

the lodge. The reeds had dried up when the youths were consumed in the bonfire, but later had turned green and sprouted again. Then

the two women's hearts had filled with joy.

 

In this manner Xquic, Little Blood, had helped wreak the downfall of those who had killed One-Hunter and Seven-Hunter, by providing

sons whose great magic and courage destroyed the power of the lords of death.

 

Of course, living folk still do die, but only in their turn, in battle or from malignant spirits or because of the weakness of old

age. They are never taken when their time has not come, because the lords of death are dead. Little Blood did this great favor for

all who followed her in life.

 

 

 

CHAPTER 5

CALUSA

O Spirit of the Mound, I have told you the tale of Tzec's people, the mighty Maya, and her ancestor Little Blood, who deceived and

defeated the lords of death. Truly, her heritage was phenomenal! Now I will tell you how we traveled through the waters of the

Calusa, the Powerful Men, and the reception we had there, for this, too, is never to be forgotten. But one thing I must clarify

lest it seem wrong: Tzec's memory of her approach to Throat Shot about her purchase differed from his memory of it. When I told you

her tale, I told it her way; now I tell it his way. One of them must be right.

 

 

 

Throat Shot was stunned by the story of Little Blood. It made the Maya heritage come to life. The girl had been Wren, the half-mute

slave child; now she was Tzec, the descendant of godlike creatures. Such magic! Such great deeds! Such treachery, and such

vengeance! Such a wonderful realm, seen through the mouth of a little girl.

 

He had heard the tales of the evening fire as a child and thrilled to them. But as he grew, he had grown away from them; they had

become too familiar, and he had not wanted to appear childish by listening with the children. Now that old fascination had

returned, for this was a new tale, and strange. He had not realized that other tribes had tales, or that they could be as awesome

as this.

 

He was hardly aware of the huge expanses of water they passed, or of the channels between long islands. He paddled mechanically,

listening to the Tale, and translating it for the Trader as they went along.

 

As the Tale and its translation ended, Throat Shot realized that several days had passed, and they had traveled far down the coast,

beyond any region he had visited overland. They had stopped several times at places on the shore that the Trader knew of, to eat

and camp for the night, for it was not safe to remain on the water when not alert. The hungry alligators normally left the canoe

alone, but they watched it, and they were larger here than they were inland. The poisonous snakes hunted here, and some of them

would swim if they saw something worth biting. So time had been spent in necessary chores, and he had done his share—but somehow it

had all faded out beyond the compelling other reality of the Tale.

 

Now they were coming into the territory of the Calusa. He asked Tzec if she was afraid of the Calusa, for she was looking

increasingly nervous. She demurred, pretending not to understand his question. That did not relieve him.

 

That evening, as they made camp, Throat Shot spoke briefly to the Trader while the girl was handling a natural function a bit

apart. "She was captive of the Calusa. Maybe she fears they will harm her."

 

"It was the Toco who harmed her, by killing her mother," the Trader reminded him. "She speaks Calusan. See that she does not run

away."

 

Throat Shot was appalled at his own naïveté. Of course this would be the tribe to which she would flee: the one she knew best. But

how could he stop her from fleeing, if that was her intent?

 

Soon he was with her, gathering wood for the evening fire, while the Trader used a bamboo pole and bone hook to fish for their

supper. "You did not answer me before," he said. "I have told the Trader you will not flee. It will be my blame if you do."

 

Tzec paused, staring at him. "I will not flee!" she protested indignantly. "You have been good to me."

 

"Then are you afraid of the Calusa? You seem to hate this region."

 

"No, I am not afraid. I understand the Calusa well enough. I can get along, and I may even meet some I know."

 

"Then what is the matter? I cannot trust you if I do not know."

 

She hesitated a moment, then shrugged. "I will tell you. I am afraid he will sell me to them."

 

"But if you get along with them, it would be better to be sold here than to some other tribe where you don't know what will

happen." He did not want to be more specific, but probably she understood: she was a child, but soon would not be, and the man who

bought her might not have the scruples of the Toco or Calusa. Most men preferred nubile women, but youth was attractive, and

opinions differed about how young a woman was best. It was said that a girl matured faster when taken early by a man. Some girls

even sought that type of enhancement, being eager to leave childhood behind.

 

"I wish you would buy me."

 

That stopped him in his tracks. "I can't buy you! I am only one step from being a slave myself! I serve the Trader, until he

reaches his home. This is how I pay for traveling with him."

 

"I know," she said. "So I hope he doesn't sell me."

 

She wanted to stay with him! This possibility had not occurred to him before. Now, flattered, he realized that it was mutual. The

Tale of Little Blood still colored his thoughts, and in a way he saw Tzec as that young woman, trying to save herself and her

culture from the onslaught of evil.

 

"I would be glad if he did not sell you," he said. "But it is his business to buy and sell, and if someone offers more than three

feather cloaks, or something of equivalent value, he will do it. It is not my place to tell him no. In fact, if I learn of anyone

who will pay more, I must tell him, because I serve him."

 

"I know," she said forlornly.

 

They continued to gather wood, not speaking again.

 

 

 

The Calusa did not wait for them to enter their domain; three swift canoes approached, with four men each, one of whom carried a

drawn bow. "Who are you?" the man demanded.

 

Throat Shot knew that this was his job, for he spoke their language. "We are a Trader and his goods and translator," he called in

Calusan, tapping his chest as he mentioned the last. "We come in peace, to trade with you."

 

One canoe drew close so that the man could peer into the Trader's vessel. He saw the goods there. "Then come; the Cacique will be

glad to see you."

 

The warlike party became an honor guard, as the Calusa showed the way to their town. As they approached it, Throat Shot saw many

boats, of many kinds. Some were so strange that he stared.

 

"You have never seen a sail before?" the leader of the Calusa party inquired, smiling. "How can this be, when you speak our

tongue?"

 

"I traveled inland, carrying messages to your people, but I never saw the big sea. I knew you went on it, but it meant little,

until now."

 

The man laughed. "I would not like to be trapped always in the jungle! That is a sail, which catches the wind and pulls the boat

along without paddles—when there is wind, instead of calm."

 

"But suppose you don't want to go the way the wind blows?"

 

The man glanced at him as if finding something funny. "Oh, we manage," he said.

 

Throat Shot wasn't satisfied with that answer, but let the matter drop. Tzec had been with the Calusa; she would know, and she

would tell him, when there was a chance. Indeed, later he did learn that they had a way to slide across the wind, and travel in a

different direction from it. They could even travel into it, by going back and forth across it. There was surely some potent magic

in operation there!

 

Then he saw two canoes lashed together, and that was another surprise. Not only did they seem to work, they seemed more stable than

the single ones. What a curious craft!

 

Then they came to the island town, and his amazement grew. Here were mounds like that near the river, where the spirit had told him

to seek the Tale of Little Blood. But they were not rounded and weathered; these were sharp and new. They seemed to be formed of

shell, and towered above the island; it would be dizzying to stand at the summit of one of them. Some were round and some were

square, with sharp edges at each corner, rising to a flat terrace at the top. Those were ceremonial, but there were also burial

mounds; he could feel their spirits sleeping within them. He wanted to go and talk with those spirits, but that would have to wait

on the Trader's business. He had not imagined that there would be so many in one place! It reminded him of the great pyramids of

the Maya, which Tzec had not quite seen, and Dzibilchaltun with its Temple of the Seven Dolls. Oh, to go and commune with the

spirits of that fantastic city!

 

They entered a canal that led to the interior of the island. The banks were graded, rising to the level of the houses, which seemed

to be square hard mud roofed with palm thatch. He had not seen that kind before, either. Near the water they were on stilts, and he

could see right under them. It was one oddity after another. In fact, this whole region seemed almost as strange as the homeland of

the Maya that Tzec had described. He wondered whether the Calusa were related to the Maya.

 

They landed near the Chief's house, which was huge. They walked up a ramp that spiralled to the top of one of the highest mounds.

Here the houses were larger than any he had seen, and their walls were plastered smooth, like the surface of a mud flat after a

rain.

 

The Cacique came out to meet them, with his retinue of wives and warriors. He wore an ornate deerskin cape tied over his shoulder,

artfully showing his elaborate tattooing. His hair was tied up in a knot on the top of his head so neatly that it must have taken

the labor of a skilled woman to do it. He was impressive not so much for his body, though he stood half a head taller than the

other men, as for his clothing and jewelry and manner, and the way others deferred to him. On his forehead was an ornament of

brightly painted shell, and there were beaded bands on his legs. Two of the women with him were beautiful, their breasts full and

well formed, and their faces smooth and large-eyed. He had his pick, of course, and was not limited to one. "Wait for him to speak

to you," Tzec murmured. "Answer only when he asks you a question. And do what I do."

 

Throat Shot appreciated the warning, for he had no idea of the proper protocol here. The Trader evidently knew, but was keeping

silent.

 

As the Cacique drew near, Tzec dropped to her knees and lifted her hands, palms up. Throat Shot did the same with his right hand,

unable to lift the left that high. After a moment, so did the Trader.

 

"Ah, the Trader!" the Cacique exclaimed, smiling. "You were here last year!" He placed his hands on the Trader's upturned palms,

acknowledging his humbling.

 

The Trader nodded, not using his hands for sign language. He got up, not speaking.

 

"We bargained by each bringing out our goods for trade," the Cacique said. "We thought you were stupid, but you got the best of

us." He scowled, and Throat Shot's heart sank.

 

"But this year we'll get the best of you!" the Cacique continued, smiling. "After we feed you and your son and daughter."

 

Throat Shot's pulse jumped, but he kept his mouth shut. Tzec remained as she was, so he did too. However, the Trader indicated him,

shaking his head in negation.

 

The Cacique turned to Throat Shot. "You are not of his family?"

 

"I am traveling with him and translating," Throat Shot said. He indicated his left arm. "I cannot be a warrior, so I must use my

mouth."

 

"Ah, this will facilitate our business," the Cacique said, seeming well satisfied. He put his hand on Throat Shot's palm, releasing

him. "And the girl—your sister?"

 

"No, she is a slave taken in trade. She speaks your language also." Throat Shot would have preferred to let Tzec remain mute, but

that would not have been in the Trader's interest.

 

The Cacique faced the girl. "True?"

 

"I lived among your people, with my mother," Tzec said.

 

"Who was she?"

 

"The Lady Zox, from across the sea. She married the priest of the town to the north, but he was killed in a Toco raid, and I was

taken by the Toco."

 

"The one who tamed the tigress!" the Cacique exclaimed. "He tamed her for my father, but my father gave her back. My father was

cautious. Do you know what she did?"

 

"A man abused her, and she cut out his heart," Tzec replied evenly.

 

"And she cut out the heart of the Toco who took her!" the Cacique cried. "We laughed until we fell on the ground when we learned of

that! But we thought her child dead."

 

"No, I lived," Tzec said. She peeked up at him. "But my mother—oh illustrious one, may I ask?"

 

The Cacique finally touched her hands, allowing her to rise. "They killed her, of course," he said. "But later we raided, and

killed many of them. She was avenged."

 

"Thank you," Tzec said, bowing her head. Her eyes were squeezed tightly closed. Throat Shot knew she had expected this answer, but

still the confirmation hurt. She would never see her mother again, never hear more of the tales of the marvelous Maya tribe.

 

"You will eat with the women." The Cacique turned back to the Trader as Tzec was led away by the wives. "The Toco tricked you; that

child will be dangerous." His gaze flicked to Throat Shot. "Tell him."

 

"He says the Toco tricked you about the value of the girl, because her mother cut out the heart of the man who used her."

 

"Then I will sell her to someone who doesn't know," the Trader said, smiling. "Yes, tell him."

 

Throat Shot translated, and the Cacique smiled without further comment. It was evident that he enjoyed the prospect of bargaining

with someone who was good at it, and understood the ethics of trading well enough.

 

They entered the most impressive building. There was a larger room than Throat Shot had ever seen before, and he did not bother to

conceal his awe, knowing that this pleased the Cacique. There were brightly painted shields hung on the walls, and ornate masks,

and wooden carvings of animals. There were great spears, and bows, and fine arrows. Throat Shot had enough of an eye for weapons to

see that these were of the finest quality. This was a most impressive collection.

 

The meal was of strange meat, served by children who were slaves or whose families owed service to the Cacique. The meat was good,

but from what animal had it come? Certainly no deer or bear! The Cacique noticed Throat Shot's perplexity. "From the deep sea," he

said. "The finned killer. He came into our net, eating our fish, and we speared him." He was obviously pleased. He seemed quite

comfortable on his low stool; Throat Shot and the Trader and the other warriors present sat cross-legged on the floor.

 

Water was in fancy cups made of conch shells. But when Throat Shot sipped from his, he discovered that it wasn't water, but some

other drink that burned against the tongue. Since he was thirsty, he drank it anyway, but he noticed that the Trader barely touched

his. Soon his head was feeling light, and he realized that it was the drink: it was an intoxicant! It was possible to ferment

berries and make a drink that made the head float, quite different from the ceremonial White Drink. As a child he had not been

given any such at home, and he had been too briefly a man to have encountered it in the interim.

 

After the meal the Cacique snapped his fingers, and his wives entered the chamber. "My sister and first wife will lead the dance

for us," the Cacique said. He gestured, and a single woman stood and came forward.

 

Throat Shot almost choked on his last mouthful. The Cacique had married his own sister? He had heard of this sort of thing when he

learned the tongue, that the caciques did what no lesser personages did, but it had not occurred to him when he first saw the

women.

 

The Cacique's sister was an older but still comely woman. She stood in the center of the chamber, spread her arms, and began to

move. Her breasts bounced, and the beads of the necklace that lay across her bosom rattled. She spun around, and her moss skirt

flared out, showing her thighs in a way that made them far more interesting than otherwise.

 

The two younger women joined in, with similar motions. Throat Shot was fascinated. He had seen dancing before, of course, but

always for a purpose: to make the corn grow, or to bring rain when it was dry, or to appease an evil spirit. Men and women and

often children participated in these dances, every person doing his part to help the tribe. But the dance of the Cacique's wives

was evidently not for any of these purposes. It was to make men wish to indulge sexually. Throat Shot thought of Deer Eyes, who had

approached him at the time of his manhood. What a fool he had been to turn her down!

 

The dance ended, and the women departed. "It is time to trade," the Cacique said briskly, rising from his stool.

 

The Trader unkinked his legs and stood. Throat Shot started to do the same, but his crotch was uncomfortably tight under his

breechcloth because of the effect the dance had on his penis, and his head seemed to be floating some distance from his body

because of the drink. He lurched up and almost fell down again, his cloth extended before him.

 

The Trader caught him on one side, and the Cacique on the other. It was evident that his condition surprised neither of them. "You

are young," the Cacique said, chuckling.

 

Mortified, Throat Shot managed to steady himself and follow them outside. He would be far more careful of that drink next time!

 

They proceeded down to the canoe, which was undisturbed. The honor of the Calusa, as elsewhere, permitted hard and even deceptive

bargaining, but not theft. No more traders would come if news spread that such protocol had been violated.

 

The wives came out, bringing Tzec, who looked improved. Her hair had been combed and her body washed, and she had been fed. The

Calusa were good hosts.

 

"Oh, you drank that stuff!" she muttered as she came close. "Didn't you know better?"

 

"Not this time," he said, pleasantly dizzy.

 

"Did the Trader drink it?"

 

"Hardly any."

 

She nodded. "He's smart. They wanted to make him bargain badly."

 

Now it came clear! The Cacique certainly intended to gain an advantage this time.

 

"And the women danced for you," Tzec added, glancing at his breechcloth. "You must have liked them."

 

"Yes," he said shortly.

 

"Someday I will dance for you."

 

His irritation faded. She really did want to be with him, despite his arm and her youth. It was a compliment of a kind he had had

only once before. But as before, the situation was wrong.

 

The Trader brought out his bright feather cloaks. The Cacique's men brought out cleverly wrought palm and shell masks. The Trader

made Tzec stand beside the cloaks. The Calusa brought out good bows and arrows. It was clear that each side knew what the other was

interested in.

 

They bargained, and Throat Shot did not need to translate. Each representative simply pointed to what he wanted, and indicated what

he proposed to trade for it. Each then made elaborate signals of protestation about the inadequacy of the other's offering. But in

due course the deals were struck, and the rest of the Trader's feather cloaks were traded for a number of excellent masks.

 

By this time a fair crowd had gathered. The Calusa, named for their own word for "powerful men," were deceptively friendly. Throat

Shot, however, had no doubt of their ferocity in war; there were stories among the Toco, and he had seen their weapons and skill on

the water. The Trader had been in every way polite and respectful, and this seemed to be an excellent policy.

 

The Trader made a signal to Throat Shot: time to finish. Throat Shot faced the Cacique. "If I may speak, illustrious one?"

 

"I saw his signal," the Cacique said jovially. "It is time for you to stop so you can trade our fine masks at enormous profit to

the ignorant inland tribes. But I warn you: folk all the way to the Mayaimi, the wide lake, are subservient to me. Where do you

think we got those masks? You won't sell them their own goods!"

 

Throat Shot translated for the Trader. "But those beyond the wide lake covet the masks," the Trader replied. "We shall make a swift

trip up the river to reach them."

 

Throat Shot translated, and the Cacique nodded. "They are his own people, the Ais, there. He can deal with them as he chooses." He

lifted his hand, about to signal the end of the dealing. "My sister will show you to your house for the night. Women will come to

you."

 

But before he made the signal, a man approached. He dropped to his knees before the Cacique, lifting his hands.

 

"You come to bargain with the Trader?" the Cacique inquired, touching that man's palms. "You are too late; we have bought all his

wares."

 

"The girl," the man said, rising. "She is not sold?"

 

The Trader took an interest. "He wants to bargain for the girl," Throat Shot said, translating so that the Calusa would not realize

how much of their language the Trader understood. But he felt dread; he had thought this hazard was safely past.

 

Tzec seemed to shrink into herself. She, too, had hoped not to be sold.

 

"What does he offer?" the Trader inquired.

 

Throat Shot turned to the new man, who smelled of fish. "The girl is for sale. What do you have to trade?"

 

The fisherman opened his fish-hide bag and brought out a large, lovely conch. Its spiral was perfect, and there was an iridescent

sheen on the surface. The Toco valued such shells enormously.

 

The Trader made a sign of negation. "Not enough for this fine young woman."

 

Throat Shot translated. The fisherman brought out a second conch, as lovely as the first.

 

The Trader considered, while both Throat Shot and Tzec grew tight with apprehension. "What does he want with her?"

 

"I need a small, clever-handed person to help handle my net," the fisherman explained after Throat Shot relayed the question. "One

who does not take up space better used for a good catch of fish."

 

"He wants her for more than that," the Trader said when he heard the translation. "Tell him this is no fish wench; she is fit to

serve in a chief's house."

 

In response, the fisherman brought out a third conch. Throat Shot's dread grew; among his people, such an offering would readily

purchase a slave.

 

"How do you feel about this?" the Trader inquired in his own tongue.

 

"I think it's a good offer," Throat Shot said reluctantly. "Those conchs—"

 

"I know it's a good offer. I know my business. I asked about your feeling."

 

"I would not like to see her go there."

 

"You like her."

 

"Yes."

 

"And she likes you. I saw her smiles. She will work hard to please you."

 

"But I cannot buy her. I have nothing."

 

"Ask him if he has pearls," the Trader said.

 

Alas, the fisherman had no pearls. The exchange fell through, and Tzec was not sold. She seemed about to faint with relief. Throat

Shot was similarly relieved—but also privately amazed. The Trader had thwarted a good sale because his assistant liked the girl?

That was suspiciously generous.

 

The day was getting late. They went with the Cacique's sister-wife to a small house near the canal. "The women will bring

blankets," she said. "Also food in the morning." She departed.

 

The house was square and dark inside, and smelled of fish and shell. There were no furnishings, just bare daub walls and a floor of

packed shell fragments. Throat Shot didn't like it, but had slept in worse situations. There were two chambers, separated by a

curtain of palm fronds.

 

"You spoke to save me," Tzec murmured in her tongue.

 

"He asked me. I told him it was a good price, but he wanted to know how I felt, so I told him. He was the one who saved you."

 

"How do you feel?"

 

"I like you. You're useful, and your story of your people—"

 

"I will make it up to you," she said, obviously gratified.

 

By this time Throat Shot was in need of a place to relieve himself, for the meal had gotten his system working. But this was an

essentially private matter, and there were houses and people all around.

 

"Find a pot," the Trader said, noting his discomfort. But Tzec was already bringing one from a corner. It was a large clay vase

whose odor plainly indicated its function.

 

He didn't argue: this was not a thing he had done before. To him, pots were for cooking and storage. He took it into the other

chamber and did his business in a hurry. Then he covered it with the large shell provided.

 

Just in time, for the women were arriving. There were two, both young and pretty, and one was the Cacique's wife!

 

To Throat Shot's chagrin, this was the one who came to him. "I saw you watching me," she told him. She was the loveliest creature

he could imagine, with the shell beads across her breasts. "I saw how you wanted me. I am Heron Feather."

 

"But—" he protested, appalled.

 

"Take her in the other room," the Trader said. "I will keep this one here." He put his arm around the other woman, who was younger.

 

Throat Shot stood frozen. "I thought—only to bring a blanket—" But he had known better; his own tribe had similar hospitality.

There was the smell of honey about her, which meant she had dosed herself with the honey-flavored grease that served to stop her

from getting with child. Every priest knew the key herb that made this work; the grease and honey were only to make it easy to use,

for the herb itself was bitter. No, there had never been doubt about her purpose here. It was her identity as the Cacique's wife

that bothered him. That, and his complete inexperience.

 

"My husband said you needed good instruction," she told him, guiding him to the other chamber. "I am extremely good. I will make

you float like a cloud. After me, all other women will seem inadequate."

 

"She surely will," Tzec said, settling down in a corner with a separate blanket. "It's a lot better than spittle from a skull."

 

She was going to witness this? Throat Shot was bothered again. Such things were usually done privately in Atafi. Children knew, but

normally did not watch, unless they were part of the family. He knew this was a different culture, but that did not help much. "All

I want is to see the largest burial mound!" he blurted.

 

The woman paused. "You have something to bury?" she inquired, glancing at his breechcloth. "This is what I shall help you do."

 

"No, I mean—out there," he said, gesturing wildly. "Where your elders repose."

 

"Oh, you mean the place of honor for our dead," she said, her lovely eyes widening a bit in surprise.

 

"Yes! I must go there." He realized that he sounded crazy, but he had not yet thrown off the effect of the intoxicating drink, and

he could not organize his thoughts well.

 

"You must have a high opinion of your prowess," she remarked. "I think it would be better to do it in here, at least the first

time."

 

She still misunderstood! "No! I mean, I must go and talk to your spirits, to ask whether they will help me in my quest. This is why

I am traveling."

 

"It is true," Tzec said. "He can talk to the dead."

 

"This I must see," the woman said. "Come, then, Toco priest; I will take you to the mound."

 

"I am not a—" he started to protest, but the touch of her sweet fingers oh his lips cut him off. She knew what he was and was not.

 

She guided him out and along the paths between the houses. Others going about their business glanced at them curiously, but did not

intrude; they evidently knew that she was the Cacique's wife, and he a visitor.

 

They came to the mound, outlined by the setting sun. It was a magnificent structure, with a charnel platform at the top, where the

bodies of the ordinary dead were prepared for later burial. The smell was not sweet, which was why no one lived nearby. "Is this

close enough?" she asked, wrinkling her pert nose.

 

"Yes." He stepped off the path, to the base of the mound, and abased himself before it. He felt the spirits within, many of them,

and powerful. There were caciques here going back to the dawn of the world! Surely they would be able to help him.

 

O spirits of this mound, I beg you to help me find the Ulunsuti, he thought, knowing they could hear. I must have it, to save my

people from disaster.

 

But these spirits did not answer. He had sensed their presence, but now there was only silence. They had turned their backs on him.

They were angry with him.

 

Then he knew that he had erred badly. He must not have shown proper honor to the dead, coming here like this. They surely had

reason to reject him.

 

I am dust, he thought to them.

 

You are garbage! Had he imagined that? He could not be sure. The stuff he had drunk still interfered with his thoughts.

 

I am garbage, he agreed. I apologize for intruding on you like this. He got up and backed away, chagrined. He had brought their

rebuke on himself. He was not sure just how he had erred, but he had forfeited any help this mound might have given him.

 

"What did they say?" the woman asked as they walked away from the mound.

 

"They would not speak to me."

 

She laughed. "And what did they say of me?"

 

"They said nothing of you," he said, surprised.

 

She nodded. "The dead have no use for the likes of me. But the living are another matter."

 

Throat Shot felt guilty, but he was among the living. She was a beautiful woman, and her body and her manner tempted him strongly.

The honey smell made him desire her, and his penis rose again. He had to resist that temptation, but he felt guilty for even

feeling it.

 

"Do you have a problem with me?" she asked, perceptively enough.

 

"You are the Cacique's wife!" he said.

 

"His secondary wife," she said. "His concubine, really. His true wife is his sister. You are an honored guest, so he extends to you

the privilege of family. Is it not true in your tribe, as in ours, that a man's brothers may share his wife, just as a woman's

sisters may share her husband?"

 

"No," he said. "I mean, they are allowed, but it seldom happens. In our tribe, if a man and woman are unmarried, they may do what

they want, but when they marry, they are only with each other."

 

"How quaint! But you are not with your tribe now."

 

To that he had no answer. They returned to the lodge as darkness closed, and inside it was completely black. But that was no

relief: she went to the other side and fetched a lighted fish-oil torch. It was smoky and dim, but illuminated the chamber well

enough.

 

The woman spread out the blanket, which was padded so as to make the floor comfortable. "Shall I undress you?" she inquired

solicitously. "Or will you leave that to your slave girl?"

 

"No, I—" What was he to do?

 

"I will be happy to help," Tzec remarked mischievously, well understanding his problem. She had evidently recovered from the shock

of learning of her mother's death, or perhaps was satisfied to be distracted from it. "Do you need more honey?"

 

"Go to sleep!" he snapped at her in her own language.

 

She decided she had teased him enough. She closed her eyes.

 

"Perhaps I should dance for you," Heron Feather said. "While you undress."

 

"Yes," he agreed quickly. With luck, by the time she completed her dance, it would be too dark for any of them to see anything. It

wasn't that it was in any way complicated to remove a breechcloth, or that there was anything wrong with a man showing his erection

before a willing woman. It was just that he had a deep uncertainty that this was real. Perhaps she was teasing him, setting him up

for laughter when she succeeded in making him strip for action with a woman who never intended to complete a sexual engagement.

After all, a man with one arm crippled—what could she see in him? So he only played at undressing, believing this to be the safer

course, though he desired her ferociously.

 

She went into her dance. If it had seemed suggestive before, it was compelling now. Her hips swayed as if detached from her upper

torso, the flesh of her thighs quivered invitingly, and her breasts bounced with abandon under the tinkling beads. Her hair swung

out and around, echoing the motions of her fine moss skirt. She was Heron Feather, and surely no heron moved more evocatively than

she!

 

Then she dropped the skirt, and stepped out of it. "You have not undressed," she told him reprovingly. "I shall have to do it for

you after all."

 

Before he could make another ineffective protest, she came up to him, and her hands went to his breechcloth. In a moment she had

him naked. "Yes, I think you are ready," she said, her hands caressing his standing penis. "Lie down."

 

"I can not," he muttered.

 

"I mean your body," she said. "I don't mean this." She stroked his rigid member.

 

"I am propped against the wall," he explained, embarrassed again. She was nudging his right side, and he could not use his left arm

effectively, so he was caught.

 

She nodded. Then she put her hands firmly on his two upper thighs and pulled, so that his legs and body slid down, and he was able

to get his shoulders and head away from the wall.

 

It was easier to go with her than to oppose her. He lay on his back on the blanket. She came down on him, her hands still busy, and

suddenly she was embracing him with arms and legs and touching his lips with hers, her breasts pressing against him. The herb honey

caused his hard penis to slide right into her, as if it had always sought this lodging, and the sensation was like nothing he had

experienced before.

 

"So fast!" she murmured appreciatively. He was perplexed, then realized that she had known his state before he did. She was truly

experienced and wonderful.

 

He gouted within her, again and again, caught by the exquisite storm. Then as he relaxed, it did indeed seem that he was floating

on a cloud, held in place by her contact. The torch burned out, but it didn't matter; touch was better than sight. Her body

remained in contact with his, warm and exciting and inviting even after he cooled, and her hands played about him, smoothing here,

rubbing there, and her breasts slid across his body and into his hand as her lips kissed him and her tongue licked him in

wonderfully odd ways. Very soon he was clasping her again, his member tasting the honey and adding to it, though with less force

than before.

 

She stayed with him the night, and every time he woke and realized where and with whom he was, she moved against him and put him

inside her and carried him into the sweet storm that faded into a cloud. He lost track of the times after three, and hardly cared.

Nothing in his prior life had been anything like this, and he suspected that nothing in his future life would match it, just as she

had said.

 

As dawn came, she got up. "Has the storm passed?" she inquired with a lurking smile.

 

"Yes," he breathed blissfully. His head felt bad from the drink of the night before, but this was more than compensated for by the

delight his body had experienced.

 

"Let me see." She began to dance again, provocatively, and he could not help but watch. As he watched, his penis reacted, slowly

but definitely.

 

"No, some rain remains; I see the wind rising," she said. She came to him, and once more took him in to the honey and caressed him

into performance. It took some time, for it was the last that was in him, but it was almost excruciatingly intense when it finally

came. Then she disengaged, and danced again, and this time he could not react. Only at this point was she satisfied. She had wrung

out all the water of the storm. It would be many days before it could rain again.

 

She brought a damp sponge and cleaned him up, wherever he was soiled, for there was honey spread on him and on the blanket. He no

longer protested her familiarity; he had had a lifetime of experience with her in a single night, and seemed to have no secrets

from her. It was gentle pleasure feeling her touch, and he wished it could be forever like this. But he knew better; she had played

with him one night, and her interest was not in him but in the quality of her performance. Certainly he could attest to that! He

would be happy to tell the world of her competence, which was surely what she wanted him to do.

 

Heron Feather helped him don his breechcloth, her hands caressing his thighs and buttocks even during this routine act. Nothing was

routine with her! Then she kissed him once more, smiled, and went to fetch fruit for him to eat.

 

"Your arm may be weak," Tzec remarked. "But something else isn't."

 

She had been in the room throughout. In the darkness, close to Heron Feather, he had forgotten. It no longer seemed to matter. Tzec

had slept through most of it anyway.

 

The Trader appeared. "I thought you would do better with the experienced one," he said. "Next time you can have an inexperienced

one, if you wish. How many times?"

 

"Times?" Throat Shot asked, confused.

 

"Five," Tzec said, making the five-finger signal. "No, once more just now. She wanted to be sure he was done."

 

She had been listening! "I should have let you be sold to that fisherman," he said, chagrined.

 

"No, you are right," the Trader said. "That girl will be worth far more than conchs. Keep teaching her, and keep learning from

her."

 

Teaching and learning what? But Tzec was smiling mischievously, and he had to smile too.

 

The young women returned with baskets of fresh fruits. There were berries and pieces of Palm heart. "Now we shall leave you," Heron

Feather said. "May we tell my husband that you are satisfied?"

 

The Trader frowned as if in doubt, teasingly. "Yes!" Throat Shot said, so quickly that both Tzec and the Trader laughed. Heron

Feather smiled knowingly, and then the less experienced woman did too, reassured. Throat Shot understood her feeling.

 

"Perhaps I shall see you again, if you pass this way, mighty hunter," Heron Feather said to Throat Shot with an almost motherly

smile. Then the two women turned away and were gone, carrying their soiled blankets.

 

"The Cacique is a good host," the Trader remarked. "It is good that you did not dishonor his hospitality. You will be a legend by

the time she is done exaggerating your prowess in the honey field."

 

Throat Shot ate his fruit, not able to think of any appropriate response. Both the Trader and Tzec were smirking.

 

"How was your trip to the mound?" the Trader inquired.

 

"Her mound is like none other." Then Throat Shot saw Tzec's smirk and realized that he had mistaken the question. "The spirits

would not talk to me."

 

"I'm not surprised."

 

Throat Shot glanced at the man, surprised. "You knew I would fail?"

 

"I thought it likely. Consider this: if you were a spirit, and a man approached you by day without proper reverence, what would you

say?"

 

Throat Shot shook his head. "I don't understand."

 

"Pretend I am a spirit," the Trader said, standing with his head bowed and his arms close to his body, as if covered by sand. "You

came and said what?"

 

"O spirits of this mound, I beg you to help me find the Ulunsuti, "Throat Shot said. "Because—"

 

The Trader lifted his head, glaring. "You come to us, intoxicated, with the Cacique's whore, to ask our help?" he demanded. "Get

away from here, Toco cripple! You foul us by your presence!"

 

Throat Shot's mouth dropped open. Of course that was the way it was! How could he have been such a fool?

 

This time Tzec did not laugh. "I am sorry," she said.

 

But behind his chagrin, a new appreciation of the Trader's insight was dawning. The man understood things better than he normally

let on.

 

From there they proceeded up the great Calusa river, returning inland. Here the glades were so extensive that it could be hard to

tell where the river left off. Grass grew in broad plains, interspersed by islands of pine. But near the river there was often

cypress, with its immensely swollen trunks, and mangrove. Black vultures sailed above, watching for anything ailing or dead.

Grasshoppers clustered on the leaves of those bushes they favored. Green lizards watched for the careless approach of any of the

buzzing flies. In some regions storks waded, and there was a heron. Ah, the feather of the heron!

 

But there was nervousness too. Alligators drifted in numbers greater than Throat Shot had seen before, and some of them were huge.

They remained clear of the canoe, but he was concerned. If the canoe went down, he would not even be able to swim effectively, and

would be unable to help Tzec. He had no fear for himself, but the thought of her being taken by the reptiles was uncomfortable.

 

She seemed to be aware of his thoughts. "Teach me the sign tongue," she said.

 

"Child, it's all he can do to paddle upstream," the Trader objected. "He can't use his hands for anything else." He spoke in his

own language, and Throat Shot had to translate, but the girl already knew the essence. She was picking up the Trader's tongue

herself.

 

"You can tell me now, and show me later," she said. She turned back to face the Trader. "You didn't sell me because you think I can

be useful to you. I can be more useful if I learn this." Her words were halting, in his tongue, but close enough.

 

"Teach her," the Trader agreed gruffly.

 

So Throat Shot told her the signs as they moved slowly up the river. When a water bird flew up from the slough, she asked for its

sign.

 

"Hold your hands at shoulder height in front of your body, flat, your fingers pointing out," he said. "Flap them: slow for big

birds, fast for little ones."

 

"Oh, that's nice!" She practiced, and when he glanced back he saw that she was doing whole flocks of birds, ranging from the tiny

hummingbird to the giant eagle. She was expressive with her hands.

 

"Tree," she said, looking at an oak that had ventured close to the river. A gray and white mockingbird perched in its foliage,

staring curiously at them.

 

"Put your left hand up near your shoulder, in front, palm toward you," he said. "Spread your fingers wide. Move it up a little, to

show how the tree grows."

 

"Yes!" she said, excited. "That's just like a tree!" She practiced growing.

 

There were assorted fish visible in the water under the canoe. "Fish," she said.

 

"First you must know Water: cup your right hand, as if holding water in it, and tilt it to your mouth as if drinking." He paused.

"Have you drunk yet?"

 

"Yes; I am no longer thirsty," she said brightly.

 

"Then hold that hand, thumb up, flat, near your waist, fingers pointing away from you. Move it forward sinuously, in the manner of

a fish swimming."

 

"Oh, yes!" she exclaimed, making the gesture with glee.

 

Then they went through the basics: Man, the right index finger pointing up before the face, emulating a penis. "That is the same to

indicate any male," he explained. "Do it with an animal, to show it is male." That took them, of course, to Woman or Female: the

curved spread fingers combing downward through the hair, and then the hand indicating her height with the fingers together and

pointing up. Girl was the same, but with a lower height, and Child lower yet, after the sign for Male or Female. The sign for Yes,

starting with the right index finger pointing up, as with Male, but at shoulder height, then moving down and closing the finger, as

if tapping on something. The sign for No, with the right hand held flat, palm down, then moving briskly to the right while turning

over and back, as if shoving something out of the way.

 

Then they got into counting: the right hand in an outward-facing loose fist at shoulder height, the little finger lifted, then the

two smallest, three, four, and five. Then the thumb of the closed left hand touching the right thumb for Six, and on through the

fingers starting from the thumb, up to ten. Tens could be counted by showing the doubled open hands twice or more, or by showing

ten, then counting off the fingers of the left hand: the thumb was one ten, two fingers were two, and so on through five tens, and

again to go higher. The Ten sign swung in a downward left circle showed ten tens, and if that sign was followed by counting off on

the fingers of the left hand, each finger was ten tens.

 

"The Maya can count higher," Tzec said smugly.

 

"This is not Maya territory," the Trader put in.

 

"Laugh," she said.

 

"Hold both five-hands up by your chest, palms up," Throat Shot said. "Move them up and down."

 

Tzec made a violent laughing signal back at the Trader. He made a sign back at her. "What is that?" she asked.

 

Throat Shot hadn't seen it. "Describe it," he said.

 

"Left hand in front of the body," she said. "Right hand wiped across it. No, wait—that's like brushing off dirt!"

 

"Wiped out," Throat Shot agreed. "He exterminated you."

 

"Just so long as he doesn't sell me!" But then she wanted to know Sell, so she could see it coming.

 

"That's the Trade sign," Throat Shot said. "Both hands up in the One posture, index finger up. Then swing them down past each

other, in part of a circle."

 

She practiced that, but evidently her mind was still working. "Apologize," she said.

 

"That would be Ashamed or Embarrassed," Throat Shot said. "Draw a blanket over your face: both hands up flat before your cheeks,

then crossing."

 

Tzec practiced the gesture, then turned to face the Trader and made what must have been a most apologetic sign. He responded with

his flat right hand held at the level of his chest on the left side, then swung it out to the front and right side.

 

"That means Good," Throat Shot translated in due course. "He forgives you for your impertinence. But don't make him talk anymore; I

can't paddle this canoe by myself."

 

They continued up the river. But in the afternoon the heat increased, and the clouds piled up, and a great storm loomed from the

horizon. The soaring birds disappeared, and so did many of the insects.

 

"We must get out of that!" the Trader exclaimed, alarmed. "Find a safe landing place."

 

But there was no landing place. The flat swamp stretched out all around them, the river winding through it like a great lazy snake.

 

"See if your Spirit of the Mound will help," the Trader said, cynically. "Because if we sink here, the alligators will feed on us

all. We cannot remain afloat in a bad storm."

 

Throat Shot closed his eyes. O Spirit of the Mound, he thought. We need your guidance, if I am to complete my quest. Where can we

go to survive the storm? He was not intoxicated now, and not with Heron Feather. Most important, he was addressing a familiar

spirit, though the mound was far away.

 

There. The Spirit guided his eyes as he opened them, and he focused on a distant stalk. It was south of the river, in the heart of

the worst of the swamp.

 

"There," he said, pointing.

 

"There's nothing there!" the Trader protested.

 

"The Spirit answered," Throat Shot said.

 

"Then that is where we go," the Trader said grimly. "It is as good a place to die as any." He turned the canoe and paddled

vigorously. Throat Shot paddled too, extending his weak arm to its utmost, despite the pain.

 

The canoe fairly leaped along, disturbing snoozing alligators. The distant stalk came rapidly closer, but so did the looming storm

from the west.

 

"Look at that!" Tzec exclaimed, her sharp eyes peering ahead. "That's a splinter of a tree!"

 

So it was. The stalk was the sole remaining part of a giant cypress whose widely spreading roots had snagged brush and moss to form

a tiny island. The tree had been struck by lightning, or perhaps had been blown over, so that only a single sliver of wood

projected up like a long finger. From a distance it looked like no more than a weed shorn of its foliage, but it signaled a small

but truly solid anchorage.

 

They drew the canoe up to it just before the storm struck. Grackles flew up, spooked from their hiding place, upset about having to

find other shelter. An alligator was lying astride the most solid part. "Move out, brother of the river," Throat Shot said, poking

it with his paddle. The creature, startled, scrambled into the water and swam away. Then Throat Shot climbed out of the canoe,

helped Tzec out, and drew its end up.

 

The Trader joined them. As the winds buffeted them, they quickly unloaded the canoe, turned it over, propped it on high roots and

projections, shoved the Trader's goods under it, scrambled under it themselves, and caught hold of the seats and edges to hold it

firmly in place. Now they had shelter, and the trading goods were protected, but their freedom was limited.

 

There was a nearby crack of lightning, followed immediately by a terrible boom of thunder. Tzec screamed in terror. Throat Shot,

lying beside her, let go of the canoe for a moment and put his good arm around her shuddering body. "I have no fear," he said. "I

will share that lack with you."

 

Her shuddering eased. "It is true," she murmured. "With you I feel no fear."

 

The rain came down, pelting the canoe. The wind tried to lift it away, but they clung, keeping it in place. They were dry, because

the water could neither strike them nor flow into them. They were on the high part of the cypress isle, and the old roots were

quite solid. The Spirit of the Mound had directed him truly!

 

"Can you get a stick?" the Trader asked. He was at the other end, his head pointing away from them, his hands locked on the sides.

 

Throat Shot let go of his end of the canoe again and reached outside as the rain beat down. He dropped a stick beside him and

grabbed the canoe as another gust of wind tried to take advantage of his neglect. "I have one. Why do you want it?"

 

"Cottonmouth."

 

Throat Shot craned his neck around. There was the snake, crawling under the canoe to avoid the storm. He knew how dangerous such

snakes were; they were aggressive, and could strike with very little provocation, but they had bad aim and often missed. This was

not welcome company.

 

"I have the stick, but can't reach the snake," Throat Shot said. "Maybe it will come up here."

 

"I am going to play dead," the Trader said, as another blast of wind tried to lift the canoe. It was evident that he could not let

go without risking calamity.

 

"I can get it," Tzec said. "If you hold my hand so I don't get terrified."

 

Throat Shot felt no fear himself, but was concerned for her and the Trader. He was not sure how well his lack of fear could be

transmitted. But if she believed, then maybe it would work. He propped one foot up inside the canoe to hold it along with his bad

hand, and gave her the stick. "I will touch you. You will use the stick to block the snake's mouth so it can't bite, and to push it

away. I will tell you how."

 

She took the stick and wriggled her way around. She was small and agile, and could do what he, with his greater size and bad arm,

could not. In a moment her slender legs and feet were by his head. He transferred his grip to her ankle so that she could go

farther.

 

She approached the snake, who was now watching her, as the one person who was moving. It started to coil.

 

"Poke the stick into its mouth," Throat Shot said quickly. "Before it strikes."

 

She poked the end of the stick forward, and at the same time the snake struck. Its aim was bad, and it snapped on air. The stick

caught it on the side of the head and shoved it out. The snake, surprised and confused, splashed into the water and swam for

another projecting root.

 

"You may have saved my life, girl," the Trader said. "I could not have done that."

 

"Throat Shot took away my fear," she said. "I'm terrified of bad snakes, otherwise."

 

"Still, I am glad I did not sell you."

 

There was a silence among them, but not around them. The rain beat down incessantly, and the winds buffeted the canoe and tried to

catch at them beneath it; both Throat Shot and the Trader had to hold on firmly.

 

"We must keep watch until the storm passes," the Trader said. "Let the girl be alert for snakes, and we can tell stories while we

wait."

 

"Do you know stories?" Tzec asked the Trader.

 

"I hear them in the course of my travels, from other traders and sometimes from the women I am with. There is nothing quite as good

as a full belly, an affectionate woman, and a lively tale."

 

"I told a tale," she said. "Will you tell one? Throat Shot can tell me any of your words I don't know."

 

"If you keep the snakes off me, I will tell you a fine tale from far away," he said.

 

So it was that while they waited for the storm to pass, the Trader told a marvelous tale of a far distant tribe. Again Throat

Shot's awareness of his situation faded as he listened. There was magic indeed in a good tale.

 

 

 

CHAPTER 6

SWEET MEDICINE

O Spirit of the Mound, I have told you how Throat Shot, the Trader, and young Tzec came to huddle under a canoe in the middle of

the great swamp during a storm. Now I will tell you the strange tale the Trader told, from the far tribe of Tis-Tsis-Tas, in their

tongue the People, who dwell near huge lakes like seas and have many strange things in their land. In this story are huge hoofed

creatures like buffalo and elk, never seen among the Toco or the Calusa, and a kind of lodge called a tipi which is pointed at the

top. I mention these, O Spirit, to let you know that later I was to encounter them, so I know they are real despite what I thought

then.

 

 

 

A long time ago a baby was born to a family of the People. From the start he was a strange one, not in his appearance, which was

normal, but in his activities. They would wrap him in his blanket and leave him to sleep, but when his mother checked during the

night, only the blanket would be there. The first time this happened, she was terrified, and roused her husband, and they searched

all around the house but could not find him. They feared that some wild creature had taken him, though there was no sign of

violence. They could not search outside for him at night, so with heavy hearts they slept until dawn. But when they woke, there he

was in his blanket, as if he had never been gone.

 

They did not tell anyone else, thinking they had been confused or had a bad dream. But when it happened again, they knew that he

was no ordinary baby. They named him Sweet Medicine, and hoped that no evil would come of his unusual nature.

 

The baby grew rapidly, and soon was so large and strong that he could run and walk, at an age when other babies were still

crawling. They pretended he was older than he was so that others would not be suspicious.

 

But when Sweet Medicine was still little, his parents had the misfortune to eat bad food and died. This was no fault of his, but it

put him in trouble, since there were no other relatives. A poor old woman took him in because she could not suffer a child to die,

and cared for him as well as she could. When he learned to speak he called her grandmother, though he knew she was not, because he

knew he owed her his life.

 

Sweet Medicine was very poor in childhood: because the old woman had been poor before she took him in and was poorer when she had

to share what little she had with him. He had only a small piece of buffalo-robe to wear. A buffalo was a huge strange animal that

roamed the plains of that far region, and had horns, so that even a bear would fear to attack it.

 

He had no good place to sleep, so did so most of the time out in the brush. But his sleeping was so odd that often this didn't

matter. He would lie down and sleep anywhere when he was tired, and no one could wake him. It seemed as if he were dead. But later

he would wake, surprising the others. So they said, "Let him alone. Do not try to wake him. Let him wake by himself." And that was

the way it was. They did not know how much stranger his sleeping could be, for he had learned not to disappear when others could

see.

 

As Sweet Medicine grew older, he was often mischievous, and this aggravated some people. Once a woman was using her dog to drag a

travois, which was a frame on two poles that carried her belongings, and he kept putting his foot on one of the poles to hold it

back. The poor dog strained to no avail, and the woman was angry. "What are you doing?" she demanded. "Who are you, anyway? You

have no father, you little piece of filth!"

 

Sweet Medicine was surprised to be called such a bad name, and not pleased. He realized that others did not like him when he did

bad things to them. After that he behaved better, but he did not forget that he was different from the others, and not just because

his father was dead.

 

Another time there was to be a dance. "Grandmother, may I dance too?" he asked.

 

"No, you had better wait. You are too young."

 

But Sweet Medicine was determined to go, and he begged and cried until she relented. So she helped him get ready for it by donning

a little animal-skin robe painted white, and painting his body in yellow stripes. He wore a yellow feather in his hair, and a

yellow bowstring around his neck.

 

"But why do you want to wear a bowstring around your neck?" she asked.

 

"I will use it to take my head off my body."

 

She thought he was joking, and she agreed to put his head back with his body, facing the rising sun, after it was done. She also

agreed to pick up his robe and shake it four times, and then to put it on his body. She was a good woman, and she preferred to

humor the boy rather than criticize him.

 

Then they went to the dance. It was in a lodge, and there was a great crowd around the lodge. The medicine man in charge of it

welcomed Sweet Medicine. "Come and sit by me!" he said, so Sweet Medicine sat by his right side and watched the dance, his robe

lying close beside him.

 

From time to time the people stopped dancing and rested and talked, but they did not talk to Sweet Medicine, because they regarded

him as a troublemaker who had no father. Near the end of the dance he got up and danced, holding the bowstring around his neck with

both hands. At the end, just before they were going to stop and eat, he pulled the bowstring tight. It passed through his neck and

cut off his head. The head fell to the ground, but his body kept on dancing.

 

Now the others took notice of him. "Sweet Medicine has cut off his head!" they exclaimed, amazed. They had not seen anything like

this before. For one thing, there was no blood.

 

The body continued to dance, and the head rolled about on the ground. Every so often it looked up at the people, which they found

disconcerting. They stopped dancing. Then the body stopped dancing too, and fell down, and seemed to be dead.

 

Then the old woman did what she had agreed to do, realizing that his instructions had been no joke. She put the head together with

the body, and placed the bowstring by the boy's side, and picked up the animal-skin robe and shook it four times. Then she put it

over Sweet Medicine's body, and took the bowstring and wiped it off four times, and returned it to the ground beside him.

 

Then Sweet Medicine got up, and his head was connected to his body again as if it had never been severed. He smiled, and adjusted

the eagle's feather he wore in his hair. He had done this so that the people would know what kind of power he had, and would not

treat him like an outcast. He might not have a father, but he had power. He was only partly successful: he made the others wary of

him.

 

Sweet Medicine grew to be a young man, but still was not held in high regard by others. He was a good hunter, but had never killed

a buffalo by himself. A boy's first kill was important; it signaled his onset of manhood, and his father would hold a feast for him

and give him a man's name. There was no feast for Sweet Medicine when he made his first kill, because he had no father, but it

showed how good a hunter he was. He skinned the buffalo himself, and laid out the hide to dry.

 

Then the Chief came. "That is exactly the kind of hide I have been looking for," the Chief said. "I will take it and make a robe

for myself."

 

"But this is my first kill, and I am entitled to the hide," Sweet Medicine said. "It is not right to take a boy's first hide. But

you are welcome to half the meat, because of your age and status."

 

"No, I want the hide," the Chief said. He picked it up and started to carry it away.

 

Now this was not right, but the Chief knew that Sweet Medicine was only a boy, and had no father to stand up for him. He had

forgotten the special power this boy had.

 

Sweet Medicine grabbed the other end of the hide, and would not let go. "How dare a poor nothing boy defy a chief?" the Chief

demanded, outraged. He brought out a whip and whipped the boy across the face, trying to make him let go. But the boy would not let

go, and the Chief saw that he could not get the hide.

 

Then the Chief, furious, drew his knife and slashed the hide to pieces. "Now you can have it," he said.

 

Sweet Medicine had only been trying to hold on to what belonged to him. He had not struck back at the Chief. But now he was

enraged. He picked up the bone of the buffalo's hind leg and struck the man on the head. The blow was so strong it killed him.

 

Now the boy was in real trouble, for no one killed a chief with impunity. He ran home, but by the time he got there, everyone knew

what he had done. They were organizing to kill him, for they would not tolerate such an outlaw among them. They did not know how

the Chief had treated him, only that he had killed the man.

 

"Run, run!" the old woman cried. "The warriors are coming! They say you are an evil person who must be killed."

 

"But all I did was stand up for myself," he protested. "The Chief was trying to take what was mine, and then he destroyed it when I

would not let him have it."

 

"I believe you," she said. "But no one else will. They don't like you anyway. This is their excuse to be rid of you. You must flee

for your life!"

 

"But what will happen to you, grandmother, if I leave?" he asked, for she was very old and frail, and he had been doing the work

for her. Even the woman's work, which of course was degrading for a man to do. That was one of the odd things about him.

 

"I do not matter," she said. "My life is near its end anyway. But you have a great future! You must save yourself."

 

As they talked, the warriors came up and surrounded the house. But they were wary of Sweet Medicine, knowing his prowess, and did

not challenge him directly. Instead they drew their bows and aimed them at the house, ready to shoot him down as he came out. This

was a problem for him, because he believed he could escape them, but he did not want to leave his dear grandmother unprotected.

 

"My life is worthless," she told him again. "Save yourself!" Sweet Medicine realized that she spoke the truth, for she would soon

die no matter what happened to him. He was sorry for her, but he could not help her. All he could do was give her an honorable

death.

 

Unless he could use his magic to rescue her, as he rescued himself. He wasn't sure it would work, but he decided to try it, for

there was no alternative. "Grandmother, do not be afraid," he said. Then he put a torch to the house, so that it blazed up.

 

"Oh!" the woman cried as the fire destroyed all that she had. She fell down, and was dead even before the fire touched her. That

was not what he had intended; he had hoped she would trust him better.

 

Sweet Medicine was struck by grief and anger for her needless death. She had been good to him, and was a good old woman, and he had

intended to take care of her in her dotage. Now she was dead, because of him. But there were too many warriors for him to fight;

the moment he went out, they would riddle him with arrows, and he would die. Yet he couldn't remain in the fire, either.

 

Now he used his magic. He upset a pot of water on the fire. It did not put it out, but it made a great cloud of steam and smoke and

floated up out of the smokehole. He stepped into it, and floated out with the smoke, invisible to the others.

 

The house burned down to ashes, but there was no sign of Sweet Medicine. The warriors poked through the remains, and when they did

not find his bones, they knew that he had escaped. They remembered his magic, and were alarmed; they knew they had to catch him and

kill him, or he would kill them. So they spread out, searching for him.

 

Soon one of them spied him sitting on a little hill not far distant, dressed like a Fox warrior. "There he is!"

 

They chased after him, but when they got to the hill, he was some distance beyond it. They ran after him again, but he was standing

in the forest. They pursued him, but somehow he was always just out of their reach, though they never saw him actually running. By

the end of the day they were exhausted from chasing him, but he remained untouched.

 

The next morning he appeared outside the village, garbed like an Elk warrior. Again they gave chase, but somehow he was never quite

where they thought he was, when they got there. They sought him all day, but only wore themselves out.

 

On the third day he wore the red face paint and feathers of a Red Shield warrior, and was as evasive as ever. Long before the day

was done, they gave up, seeing the futility of the chase.

 

On the fourth day he appeared dressed like a Dog warrior, shaking a small red rattle tied with buffalo hair at his pursuers. They

had to chase him, but soon gave it up.

 

On the fifth day he was in the full regalia of a Tis-Tsis-Tas chief. That made the village warriors angrier than ever, and they

swore they would not rest until they killed him, but they could not do it.

 

So it continued. On another day a man saw a little smoke near a great cut bluff. Looking down, he saw Sweet Medicine among the

thick bushes at the foot of the bluff, roasting meat over a little fire. He reported this, and the warriors gathered to surround

and catch Sweet Medicine. But as they closed in, a coyote ran out of the bushes, past them. They could not find Sweet Medicine,

only his meat on a stick, still roasting. Then they knew that the coyote must have been their quarry.

 

Another time they thought they had him, but a magpie flew out and lighted on a hill, chattering at them, and Sweet Medicine was

gone. Yet another time they thought they had him trapped in a canyon with high bluffs all around. A crow flew out as they advanced,

and they had lost him. Another day it was a blackbird watching them search fruitlessly. And finally an owl.

 

Day after day it went, and at last the warriors realized that they were unable to catch Sweet Medicine. They resolved not to chase

him anymore, as it only wasted time and left them tired, while their hunting did not get done and they went hungry.

 

One day they heard a great rumbling beyond a hill. They saw an animal coming toward them. They thought it was a buffalo, but when

it got closer it seemed more like a bear, and closer yet it seemed like a wildcat, and then like a wolf. Finally it turned out to

be Sweet Medicine, dancing close to their camp, as if tempting them to chase him. But they had suffered much fatigue and misery

trying to catch him before, and were hungry, and knew it was useless, though they still bore him malice. So they did not chase him.

He moved on past them, and disappeared over a hill. The rumbling grew fainter as he departed. His steps were so heavy they made the

ground rumble, because of his magic. This was a warning to them not to interfere with him anymore.

 

When they thought about it, they realized that Sweet Medicine was now strong, while they were weak. If they had tried to chase him,

he might have turned on them and killed them. They were afraid of him, because they had been responsible for the death of the old

woman he called his grandmother. They were afraid he meant to see them all dead, without touching them himself, just as they had

seen his grandmother dead without touching her. The pattern of his harassment was coming clear, and they wished they had never

started this war with him. But they did not know how to end it, for they could not get close enough to Sweet Medicine even to talk

to him.

 

Finally they went to his brother, who was really the son of the old woman, who had helped take care of Sweet Medicine when he was

young. This man had gone out on his own when Sweet Medicine grew old enough to get along by himself, and had not been there when

the old woman died.

 

"Tell Sweet Medicine he may come back now," they told the brother. "We will not hurt him. We are tired of fighting him; he has

beaten us and we only want peace."

 

"Why should I help you?" the brother demanded. "You killed my mother!"

 

"And we will kill you, too, if you do not do this!" they told him. "You must cooperate with us so that there will be an end to this

trouble, and we all benefit."

 

The brother was not wholly at ease with this, but he agreed that there should be an end to the strife, for the good of the tribe.

"He may not want to talk with you."

 

"You must take him out hunting," they told him. "You must kill a buffalo, and pile up the meat, and leave Sweet Medicine there to

keep the flies off it while you return to camp to get dogs and a travois to haul it back. Then we can all come, and make our peace

with him, and fill our bellies."

 

That seemed reasonable. So the brother went out alone to a place only he and Sweet Medicine knew, and made a whistle that was a

signal between them. Then he went home and waited.

 

That night Sweet Medicine came to his brother's lodge. He checked around, but found none of the warriors near. He trusted his

brother, but thought the others might be watching without his brother's knowledge. Then he made a signal, and his brother heard

him.

 

"Is that you, little brother? Come in and sit down." So Sweet Medicine entered, and his brother's wife gave him food to eat. Then

he lay down and slept, glad to be with what remained of his family.

 

The next morning his brother asked him to go hunting. Sweet Medicine agreed, and they went out. They killed a buffalo, cut up the

meat nicely, and heaped it together in a pile. But the flies clustered, eager to feast on it and foul it. "You stay here and keep

the flies off while I go back home for the dogs and travois so we can haul it all."

 

"I will wait here until you return," Sweet Medicine agreed. He started walking around the meat in a circle, keeping the flies away

from it.

 

The brother went back home. The warriors were there, but they told him they had to move their camp and needed his help. He helped

them, but when he wanted to return to Sweet Medicine they made other excuses, and he could not get away.

 

The truth was, this was their plot. They couldn't fight Sweet Medicine, but they intended to get rid of him by leaving him

distracted. He had told his brother he would guard the meat, and he would do it, and while he was doing it, he would not be

bothering them, and so they would be rid of him. His brother did not know this; they fooled him.

 

So it was that the brother did not return, though he expected to. They took him to a new camp, far away, always finding other

pretexts to keep him from returning to Sweet Medicine. So the hours became days, and the days became moons, and he remained too

busy to go back.

 

But what the tribe had done harmed it more than it harmed Sweet Medicine, because the region to which it moved had poor hunting.

They found no game of any size, and could forage for no good fruits or grains or berries. They were obliged to eat whatever they

could: bitter roots, the bark of trees, and even mushrooms. They did not like to do that, because they knew that some mushrooms had

evil spirits that could kill, and sometimes the evil ones looked very much like the good ones. It was a hard time. Everyone was

hungry.

 

After they had struggled through the winter, they realized what a mistake they had made. Surely nothing Sweet Medicine had done to

them was as bad as this starvation! Maybe it would be better to return to their old hunting grounds and take their chances.

 

So they trekked back. Now at last the brother was able to return to Sweet Medicine. He hurried out to the place he had left him,

and Sweet Medicine was there. He was still walking around the pile of bones where the meat had been, and he had worn a trail so

deep that only the top of his head could be seen above the ground.

 

His brother felt very sorry about this, blaming himself for leaving Sweet Medicine for so long. "My brother, I have returned! I was

delayed and could not come, but now I am here. Speak to me!"

 

But Sweet Medicine did not respond directly. He was still marching around, and talking to himself. "Surely by this time my brother

has become a great chief!"

 

The brother realized that Sweet Medicine's mind was clouded. It was possible that one or more of his souls had been lost. He would

have to fetch help, to make the man well again. "I shall return soon," he promised as he left.

 

This time he did return soon, with help—but Sweet Medicine was no longer there. Only the bones of the buffalo meat and the deep

track remained. They searched all around the area, but could not find him. "It must be my fault," his brother lamented. "I told him

I would return soon, before, but I was gone all winter. So when I told him that again, he didn't believe me, and didn't wait."

 

Sweet Medicine was gone for four years, and in that time there was famine in the land. The buffalo and other animals disappeared,

and the people were starving. They had hoped to eat something better than roots and berries and grass, but all they could find was

worse. They scavenged for the dread mushrooms, despite the risk, and even then found only little clumps of them, which were soon

gone. They ate rosebuds and the inner bark of trees and insects and they chewed on old bones, and these too were running out. They

became too weak to travel; they were mere skin and bones, and their children were dying.

 

Now, too late, they understood that it had been Sweet Medicine's presence that made the hunting good. When they had left him

behind, they had encountered poor hunting, and then when he left them behind, there was worse hunting. They were sorry they had

ever wronged him. All the time they had treated him with contempt, he had been the source of their good fortune. He had not sought

any quarrel with them, and had never hurt any of them directly. But now, with his absence, he was wreaking a terrible punishment on

them all. They could only struggle through, hoping for his return.

 

Meanwhile, what had happened to Sweet Medicine? He had heard his brother's words, and thought they were false, so when his brother

left, he had climbed out of his pitlike path and wandered away, sad at heart. It had been only for the sake of his brother that he

had returned, and now he had no reason to stay.

 

He walked disconsolately across the prairie, not caring where he went, for life was no longer of great value to him. Then he heard

a voice calling to him. He could not see who it was, but the voice sounded friendly, and he needed a friend, so he went in that

direction.

 

He found himself walking through a land of many hills, beautifully forested. Standing apart from the others was a single mountain

shaped like a huge tipi, the pointed house of the people of that region. This was the sacred medicine mountain called Bear Butte.

The voice led him to a secret opening that no other person or creature could see, and he entered the mountain. It was hollow

inside, like a tipi, forming a sacred lodge. Therein were people who looked like ordinary men and women, but they were really

powerful spirits.

 

"Come in, grandson," these people said. "We have been expecting you."

 

He came in and took the seat they provided for him. Then they began teaching him the Tis-Tsis-Tas way to live, so that he could

return to his people and give them this knowledge.

 

First the spirits gave him four sacred arrows. "With these arrows, your tribe will prosper. Two are for war and two are for

hunting. But that is only a small part of their mystery. They have great powers. They contain the rules by which men ought to

live."

 

Sweet Medicine was interested. He had seen how men ought not to live, but had not known how they should change.

 

The spirit folk taught him how to pray to these arrows, how to keep them, and how to renew them. They taught him the wise laws of

the forty-four great chiefs whose spirits they were. They taught him how to set up rules for warriors. They taught him how to honor

women. They taught him many useful things to enable people to live, survive, and prosper, which had not been generally known before

that time. Finally they taught him how to make the special tipi in which the sacred arrows were to be kept.

 

Sweet Medicine listened most respectfully, and learned well. Finally the oldest spirit man burned incense of sweet grass, to purify

Sweet Medicine and the bundle of sacred arrows. Then he put the bundle on his back and began the long journey home. He did not

realize that four years had passed, for time was different inside the mountain, and he had not eaten or slept there. It had seemed

like one afternoon.

 

One day seven little boys were out searching for food. They were lucky; they found a dump of large white mushrooms. While they were

sitting there eating them, a strange man approached. He was tall and handsome, with long hair hanging loose well down his back.

"You look very hungry," he said. Indeed, they were listless, with their ribs sticking out, their bodies gaunt.

 

"Throw away what you have," he told them. "We shall find you better food."

 

The boys were reluctant to throw away the only food they had, but the man spoke with such authority that they did it.

 

"Now each of you go find one buffalo chip, and bring it to me," the man said.

 

The boys scattered, searching the ground for the old bits of dung left by the buffalo long before. While they were gone, the man

took a stick in his hand and broke it in two. He set it on the ground, and it burst into flame, forming a good fire.

 

The boys returned with seven chips. The man took off his robe and spread it on the ground, and placed the chips there in a special

pattern. The five chips brought by the larger boys he formed into a square, with one in the center. The two brought by the smallest

boys he set on the east and west corners of the square. The four corner chips represented the four directions, and the middle one

stood for the sun at noon. The two at the east and west represented the rising and setting sun.

 

Then he took the four corners of his robe, and folded them over so that the chips were in the middle, and covered them up. He broke

them up with his hand, crumbling them into powder. He opened the robe, and there within it was good solid meat. They boys were

amazed by this magic.

 

"Now eat as much as you want," he told them. They did so immediately, until they were full.

 

"Now grease yourselves all over with the fat," he told them. "Grease your faces, your hands, and your whole bodies. You look all

dried up, as if you have been baked in the sun."

 

They did so, and their bodies began to fill out, so that they were normal children again. They became lively and happy, as boys

should be.

 

"Now take the rest of this food back to your camp, to share with the others. Tell them to put their lodges in a circle with an

opening toward the rising sun. In the middle of this circle they must pitch a big lodge. Tell them to have all the headmen come

together in that lodge, with their pipes filled for smoking. Tell them that I am he who has returned to them."

 

The boys went to the camp, happy and full. But they were young, and were tired, so they went to sleep without telling the people

what Sweet Medicine had said. But in the morning the smallest of the boys woke and remembered. "O father!" he cried. "Sweet

Medicine has come back, and he gave us plenty to eat yesterday, and we brought more home with us."

 

His father did not believe him. But the boy showed him the food, and woke the other boys, who confirmed it, and delivered the

message.

 

The people sent for the chiefs and told them what the boys had said. The chiefs went to the lodge of Sweet Medicine's brother to

ask if he had known about this. "No, I have not seen him," he said. "I fear that he blamed me for not returning with the travois,

though I had really intended to, so he thought that my word was no good. Indeed, I am sorry I was unable to return for so long, and

I cannot blame him for being angry."

 

At the head of the brother's bed a man was lying. He was covered over with robes, so that they could not see who he was. "Who is

that person?" a chief asked.

 

"I don't know. He came in during the night. But he is welcome, for I know how hard it can be to find good shelter, and I will share

with him what I have."

 

"If Sweet Medicine has truly returned, and with him the wealth of our forest and field, we will all have much to share," the chief

said. "We treated him with great disrespect, and have repented that long since."