“Yes, yes it is,” Alder agreed with a fervent nod.
Diver’s brows lowered. What did that mean? Oddly, it had a ring of truth. Another person’s wounds drew Diver far more powerfully than physical appearance, sense of humor, or happiness. In fact, beautiful, funny women, with constant smiles, did not interest him at all. And never had. But a beautiful woman with pain in her eyes … that was a different story.
“The eyes of other people are the heart of our woundedness. They are like clamshell mirrors. We see our own pain and suffering reflected, and it draws us like the mating scent. Powerful. Irresistible. That shared woundedness is what we call love. If we would only close our eyes long enough—” and he closed his and tipped his chin to the cloudy heavens “—we could separate ourselves from that entrancing reflection and finally be healed. Only when we are at rest in lonely darkness is salvation possible.”
As though his words had stirred tears from heaven, a fine misty rain began to fall, the drops standing like pearls on Cottonmouth’s graying black hair. Wind swept in off the sea and the elders pulled their blankets up over their heads. A hum of conversation broke out.
Alder and Basketmaker leaned sideways to whisper to each other, then they smiled and returned their gazes to Cottonmouth. He looked down upon them with such adoration, it seemed to charge the cool air. The hair on Diver’s arms stood out. All of the other elders smiled and murmured approvingly.
“Yes,” Cottonmouth added, “we spend our entire lives searching for salvation in the eyes of others. But it cannot be found there. We must willingly cast off the reflection we see in our lovers’ eyes, and seek rest in the very heart of our own woundedness. Then the Lightning Birds will find us.”
Basketmaker whispered, “We must be brave enough to go alone into that terrible darkness—or those wounds will never be cauterized by the Lightning.”
Cottonmouth nodded. “That’s it. We must seek out the loneliness and the darkness. Seek them without fear, because one day soon the Lightning Birds will come looking for us. We must be ready. When they soar down, we must each be standing in the midst of our own woundedness, in that lonely darkness—waiting for them.” He lifted his hands to the rainy heavens.
When he lowered his hands and bowed his head, the elders seemed to take it as a familiar signal. They rose, quietly gathered up their mats, and walked away, murmuring in awe to each other. Alder and Basketmaker waited until the others had gone, then they went forward and spoke softly to Cottonmouth, touching him gently on the shoulders, praising him. The awe in their voices sickened Diver. Finally, they, too, left.
Diver watched them go, their colored blankets whipping about them in the wind. The further they went from Cottonmouth, the more animated their voices became, brimming with excitement, longing for the Lightning Birds to soar down and carry them away from this wicked world to a better one beyond the stars.
Fools. Every one of them.
Cottonmouth took a deep breath and slowly returned to Diver’s shelter. He knelt by the southeastern pole and braced his forearms on his thighs. His eyes were downcast, frowning thoughtfully at the white sand which blew around his sandals. The grains shished across the mats, mixing with the clicking anemone spines on Cottonmouth’s tunic, the rush of waves and the whistling wind to create a soft music.
“Why are you doing this to me?”
Cottonmouth looked up. “The end of the world is close, Diver. A matter of days. That’s all.” He narrowed his eyes at the sky. “This storm is the beginning. Storm Girl is cleansing the world for the arrival of Hurricane Breather. She is preparing the way.”
Diver just closed his eyes.
“The Lightning Birds are coming. They will rescue you, too, if you will only—”
“I thought you said that Hurricane Breather destroyed all the light, including the Lightning Birds?”
“He does. But only after my followers have been safely delivered to the new world. Then Hurricane Breather completely consumes this old world.”
“I see.” Diver opened his eyes. Cottonmouth stared up at him. “But I do not wish to enter a new world with you and your followers, Cottonmouth. I can imagine nothing more horrifying than spending eternity with such fools.”
Cottonmouth slowly rose to his feet and came to stand a hand’s breadth from Diver. His eyes resembled winter lakes in the far north, cold and glazed. He seemed to be studying the blood trails on Diver’s cheeks. No expression moved his face. Then his mouth widened a little, but it could not really be called a smile.
Cottonmouth reached up and touched the vine across Diver’s forehead. Diver flinched—the thorns had bitten deeply—but his gaze never left Cottonmouth.