People of the Lightning(101)
“I wonder if that’s what the ghosts meant,” he said.
“What?”
“When they said Cottonmouth would not be able to hunt you anymore. Do you think they meant in your dreams? Has he hunted you recently?”
Despite the cold, a drip of sweat ran along the smooth curve of her jaw. “Let me think … .” She frowned and her eyes darted about for several moments.
“The ghosts said that Glade would protect you, as soon as he hatched and sprouted wings of light. That happened the night of our marriage. The blue-white flash was so brilliant, it blinded me. I floated in an ocean of light for hands of time.”
She regarded Pondwader from the corner of her eye. “I have not heard Cottonmouth’s voice in my dreams since just after we loved each other for the first time, Pondwader.”
The coals flared when the wind gusted suddenly, scattering ash, carrying it up through the tree boughs in a swaying, whirling pillar of white. They both turned to shield their faces, and the amber flare caught in the bloody starburst on her tunic, turning it a soft coral.
When Musselwhite turned back, she had closed her eyes, appearing very weary. Pondwader’s heart went out to her. It had to be around midnight. She had not slept since before dawn, and somewhere along the way she had killed, probably in a fight for her life. How had she stayed awake this long?
“Please, my wife,” he said. “Try to sleep. We will need our strength. I’ll stay awake and keep watch.”
She shook her head. “I cannot. You aren’t a reliable guard, Pondwader.”
He rose, walked to the opposite side of the fire, took up his blanket, and returned. Tenderly, he draped it around her shoulders, and knelt beside her on the sand, peering seriously into her dark eyes. “I know it, but I will do the best I can. You must rest, Musselwhite. You will never be able to save Diver if you are too exhausted to think straight.”
She scrutinized him, then rested her hand on his shoulder. “Just for a short while,” she said. “If you hear anything, wake me immediately. Do you understand?”
“Yes. I will.”
She scanned the forest carefully, then pulled the blanket close and curled on her side on the sand. Pondwader slid over, gently lifted her head and placed it in his lap.
“Is this all right?” he whispered.
“I am comfortable, yes. Good night, Pondwader.”
“Good night, my wife.”
Pondwader let his hand slide down her throat and arm until he could twine his fingers with hers. She did not clasp his hand back, but she didn’t pull it away either. He was contented.
The Shining People cast a silver glow over the forest and ocean, illuminating an owl that sailed silently over the tree tops, little more than a gray blur to Pondwader. His gaze drifted, searching the world for movement. He might not be able to see clearly, but motion usually caught his eye. Now he made it a matter of pride. Against the silvered water, gulls walked, their dark heads bobbing as they hunted the beach. Down the shore a single cormorant flapped its wings to dry them.
Pondwader lifted a hand to his chest. The rumble had drowned out his heartbeat, low, but constant. Reverently, he rubbed the space over his heart. It felt hot. Why would Musselwhite’s dead son choose to be reborn inside him? Why not a warrior, or a great Soul Dancer? Why “puny” Pondwader? The word hurt. But he could face that truth. He was not a warrior, she had been right about that. But he was a man. Truly, he was. He just needed more time to show her his strengths.
He prayed that he had that time.
Nothing made sense anymore.
Despite his aching confusion, Pondwader knew the pain of hope. Perhaps Glade could help the Shining Eagles where Pondwader could not? Is that why Turtle Bone Doll called him the “deliverer”?
He struggled to fit this new thought into the framework of his Dreams. They had been bizarre, filled with tornadoes, and strange men, and Turtle Bone Doll, all dancing and spinning, seeming so joyous.
And rain.
Rain that fell and fell from a bruised sky. Rain that went on forever.
Twenty-three
Beaverpaw stood in the shadows, his back to an oak trunk, watching Dark Rain and Bowfin gambling. They sat in a circle with ten other men, tossing Bones. Three bones, from a man’s index finger, were shaken, then thrown out, and points counted depending upon how many joints lined up in their correct anatomical positions. The gamblers had been throwing the dried pods of beach pea onto the fire all evening, then leaning over and sniffing the smoke, growing crazier by the instant, laughing louder, shoving each other hard. Soul Dancers used beach pea to obtain visions. Beaverpaw had never known anyone to treat the pods the way these people did, like a strip of sweet bark, or a palm berry cake. The Spirit of the beach pea often killed those who took her Power lightly. Secretly, Beaverpaw half hoped the Spirit would take her revenge tonight. It would serve these despicable men right.