People of the Lightning(103)

Dark Rain ignored him, closing her eyes while she shook the bones in her cupped hands, then threw them out across the ground. She shrieked angrily and the men erupted in a cacophony of laughter and clapping.

The big man picked up Beaverpaw’s beloved stiletto and smoothed his dirty hands over the sharp point. “You lost your new lover’s stiletto, Dark Rain. What will he think of you now?”

“Beaverpaw is a man, Westwind,” she challenged. “Not a weakling like you. Beaverpaw can take his stiletto back if he wishes it.”

“Can he?” Westwind smiled and turned to glare at Beaverpaw. He had chilling eyes, and he stood a good hand taller than Beaverpaw. “Do you wish this back?” he asked, holding up the stiletto.

Beaverpaw shook his head. “You won it fairly. Keep it.”

Westwind laughed. “It would seem that your latest victim is not as enamored with you as your last. Seashore would have leaped on me like a dog if I had challenged him.”

Dark Rain shifted, kneeling to watch her opponent shake up the bones and prepare to throw them out. “Seashore was a stupid fool,” she replied.

“Perhaps you are right,” Westwind said. “I heard that when you gambled away his last conch shell, then had the audacity to leave him, he went out into the forest and slit his own throat. Only an imbecile would give up his life for a woman.” He thrust out a hand. “And such a woman!”

The circle roared with laughter at the joke, men throwing their heads back and slapping their thighs. Bowfin, who sat to Dark Rain’s left, clamped his jaw and stared sightlessly at the ground. He had that look. Beaverpaw had seen it many times before. That look as if he were about to jump up and drive his dart through the closest man, just to relieve his own shame.

Dark Rain’s opponent tossed the bones. When all three landed in the correct positions, she shrilled and lunged for his throat, managing to claw gashes in his right cheek before he savagely shoved her back into Bowfin’s arms.

“Do that again, woman!” he said, wiping at the blood running down his chin. “And I will drag you out into the forest and take my payment out of your pretty hide!”

Smiling seductively, she leaned toward him, her mouth puckered into a pout, and cooed, “Will you give me two chert dart points if I let you inside me? I work a man so well, you will think I have a third hand. You’ll never find a better bargain. Ask any of these men. They will tell you that I—”

“Dark Rain!” Beaverpaw shouted as he stepped out of the shadows. “Get up this instant! We are leaving here. Now!”

She did not even look at him. She scooped up the bones and said, “You may leave if you wish. I am not finished gambling.” With the flick of her hand, she added, “You are beginning to bore me, Beaverpaw. You are getting more and more morose. Why don’t you go out and find your blankets? I will be along later.” Then she turned to Bowfin, rubbed a hand along the line of his young jaw, and said, “Didn’t I see you using a stone scraper yesterday? Where is it? I want it.”

Dutifully, Bowfin rose, walked passed Beaverpaw, and went out into the forest. He picked up his pack, and brought the scraper back. Dark Rain kissed him as a reward, and Bowfin eagerly dropped at her side again. Beaverpaw’s gut wrenched. She began shaking up the bones.

Westwind’s gaze moved from Bowfin to Beaverpaw and his dislike showed in the set of his mouth. Clearly, he thought them both fools. “So,” he said, looking at Beaverpaw, “Dark Rain told me you were the War Leader for Heartwood Clan. Do you know Musselwhite? Have you heard of Cottonmouth’s latest attack?”

Beaverpaw went cold. As his childrens’ faces flashed before his eyes, he stepped forward. “What attack? On Heartwood?”

“No. On Musselwhite’s village. Windy Cove. A warrior, fleeing for his life, ran through here yesterday. He said that Cottonmouth had sent two tens of warriors to wipe out Windy Cove once and for all. He had promised them that Musselwhite would not be there, but when they arrived, they found out different. She ran through them like a dart through bear grease.” Westwind’s eyes gleamed his admiration. “That warrior claimed she killed eight men by herself.”

“Eight?”

“So he said, and he had no reason to lie. The greater the number, the more it would shame him and Standing Hollow Horn Clan. Because of that, I imagine the number may have even been higher. Musselwhite may have killed nine or ten.”

Beaverpaw clenched his fists. “Blessed Spirits. And what of the Lightning Boy? Did he survive?”

Westwind lifted a shoulder, and returned his gaze to Dark Rain’s intent face. “The warrior did not stay around long enough to find out. He said he saw the Lightning Boy step out of the trees, and that was enough for him. The warrior ran like a scared badger.”