is Sky Coyote. He created men, he meddles in their affairs, he negotiates with the other spirits for good harvests and low mortality rates. Not all-powerful and not especially virtuous, either, but he’s the only friend men have. Just the role for me.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
S O HERE’S THE SEMIGOD OR tutelary spirit or whatever he is, arriving in the valley of Humashup with two of his mortal nephews.
Humashup was not a big town, but it was a prosperous one. There was a residential district back in the oak forest, three or four broad streets lined with woven houses. Over on the west side was the big municipal sports field and beyond that the sacred enclosure and cemetery, tidily fenced. To the south a long thatched enclosure marked the village meeting house. Down by the creek I saw the communal acorn-processing rocks and, a respectable distance away, the private steam baths. The little open-air shrine I could see was in fine repair, and the altar pole was loaded with offerings. Times were good in Humashup, obviously.
We advanced from the west, through what you might call the industrial complex: a stone yard with stonecutters busily at work, a boatyard with canoemakers busily at work. Until they saw me, of course.
And then, hey, the people came out to look. The workers dropped their tools and stared; the women pounding acornsstopped in midpound and stared; the boys driving a hoop around the playing field stopped and stared, and the hoop went wobbling away unnoticed.
I waved. “Hello, everybody. It’s Uncle Sky Coyote. Remember me?”
Now, these people were not idiots, and the first conclusion most of them came to was that I was a mortal man in some kind of coyote suit. Thank Dr. Zeus for high-quality grafts, implants, and appliance makeup. I think I’ll just skip over all the times I had to have my tail pulled to prove I was real, likewise the times people said things like I’ve Heard a Lot about You but I Never Actually Thought I’d Meet You. Let’s cut to the big meeting in the council house that night.
I had the seat of honor, on a boulder near the fire. Everyone else sat on mats on the floor, and the place was packed, more than packed; through every crevice and slot in the tule wall I could see a pair of eyes gleaming, from all those who weren’t important enough to sit inside.
As soon as everyone had gotten comfortable, Sepawit, the chief, stood and cleared his throat. He was a thin man approaching middle age, with an intelligent face. Like most of the other men, he wore nothing but a belt and some shell-bead money, but his hair was long and arranged in an elaborate chignon with beautifully carved wooden pins.
“Well. Well, folks, I guess our distinguished visitor doesn’t need much of an introduction to you all—” Scattered nervous giggles at that. I laughed, too, tongue lolling and fangs bright, to show I appreciated the situation and to show off some of my head’s effects. “And though it’s certainly been a long time since He’s visited us, I’d say we’re unanimous in extending a heartfelt welcome to Sky Coyote from the people and fraternal organizations of Humashup!”
There were polite nods and mutters of assent. The chief went on. “Uncle Sky Coyote, I’d like to introduce Nutku, spokesman for the Canoemakers’ Union. Nutku is also First Functionary of the Humashup Lodge of the Brotherhood of the Kantap.”
Nutku rose to his knees so I could see him. Powerful arms on this fellow, and he wore more strings of shell money than Sepawit did, and had a bearskin cloak over his shoulders too. His hair was done up with mother-of-pearl pins. I scanned him and detected mild arteriosclerosis, a touch of hypertension: he dined on lots of fatty red meat and made executive decisions. Introduced first, too. Important guy.
“And this is Sawlawlan, spokesman for the United Workers in Steatite.” Another one wearing lots of money, with big hair and a sea-otter cape. “And Kupiuc, spokesman for the
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
S O HERE’S THE SEMIGOD OR tutelary spirit or whatever he is, arriving in the valley of Humashup with two of his mortal nephews.
Humashup was not a big town, but it was a prosperous one. There was a residential district back in the oak forest, three or four broad streets lined with woven houses. Over on the west side was the big municipal sports field and beyond that the sacred enclosure and cemetery, tidily fenced. To the south a long thatched enclosure marked the village meeting house. Down by the creek I saw the communal acorn-processing rocks and, a respectable distance away, the private steam baths. The little open-air shrine I could see was in fine repair, and the altar pole was loaded with offerings. Times were good in Humashup, obviously.
We advanced from the west, through what you might call the industrial complex: a stone yard with stonecutters busily at work, a boatyard with canoemakers busily at work. Until they saw me, of course.
And then, hey, the people came out to look. The workers dropped their tools and stared; the women pounding acornsstopped in midpound and stared; the boys driving a hoop around the playing field stopped and stared, and the hoop went wobbling away unnoticed.
I waved. “Hello, everybody. It’s Uncle Sky Coyote. Remember me?”
Now, these people were not idiots, and the first conclusion most of them came to was that I was a mortal man in some kind of coyote suit. Thank Dr. Zeus for high-quality grafts, implants, and appliance makeup. I think I’ll just skip over all the times I had to have my tail pulled to prove I was real, likewise the times people said things like I’ve Heard a Lot about You but I Never Actually Thought I’d Meet You. Let’s cut to the big meeting in the council house that night.
I had the seat of honor, on a boulder near the fire. Everyone else sat on mats on the floor, and the place was packed, more than packed; through every crevice and slot in the tule wall I could see a pair of eyes gleaming, from all those who weren’t important enough to sit inside.
As soon as everyone had gotten comfortable, Sepawit, the chief, stood and cleared his throat. He was a thin man approaching middle age, with an intelligent face. Like most of the other men, he wore nothing but a belt and some shell-bead money, but his hair was long and arranged in an elaborate chignon with beautifully carved wooden pins.
“Well. Well, folks, I guess our distinguished visitor doesn’t need much of an introduction to you all—” Scattered nervous giggles at that. I laughed, too, tongue lolling and fangs bright, to show I appreciated the situation and to show off some of my head’s effects. “And though it’s certainly been a long time since He’s visited us, I’d say we’re unanimous in extending a heartfelt welcome to Sky Coyote from the people and fraternal organizations of Humashup!”
There were polite nods and mutters of assent. The chief went on. “Uncle Sky Coyote, I’d like to introduce Nutku, spokesman for the Canoemakers’ Union. Nutku is also First Functionary of the Humashup Lodge of the Brotherhood of the Kantap.”
Nutku rose to his knees so I could see him. Powerful arms on this fellow, and he wore more strings of shell money than Sepawit did, and had a bearskin cloak over his shoulders too. His hair was done up with mother-of-pearl pins. I scanned him and detected mild arteriosclerosis, a touch of hypertension: he dined on lots of fatty red meat and made executive decisions. Introduced first, too. Important guy.
“And this is Sawlawlan, spokesman for the United Workers in Steatite.” Another one wearing lots of money, with big hair and a sea-otter cape. “And Kupiuc, spokesman for the
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