Reading Online Novel

People of the Lightning(107)



Dawn’s translucent gleam sheathed Cottonmouth’s hands as he raised them and placed them on either side of Diver’s head, gripping it tightly, driving the thorns deeper. Diver clamped his jaw to stifle the cry in his throat.

“Yes,” Cottonmouth whispered, as he probed Diver’s eyes. “She is coming.”

“Who?”

“Our lover. I can see her soul moving through the forests in your eyes.” Cottonmouth straightened up. “And she has the Lightning Boy with her. Just as I knew she would.”

He dropped his hands, and walked away.

Diver shouted, “Wait! Cottonmouth, cut me down! What purpose does this serve? Cottonmouth!”

But the man’s steps never faltered, never veered from their straight course across the village.

Diver saw Cottonmouth enter his shelter and pick up the turtle bone doll. Its white body glowed in the soft rays of morning.





Twenty-four

Lavender light penetrated the heavy fog, announcing the arrival of dawn, but Moonsnail paid it little attention. She and the other members of the Council of Spirit Elders had been up and engaged in debate for more than a hand of time already. Floating Stick sat to her left, his gnarled old hands extended to the warmth of the crackling fire. His hooked nose and sparse white hair glimmered with mist. Directly across the fire from Moonsnail, Tailfeather sat beside Kelp. The War Leader’s triangular face with its flat nose could have been carved from wood, so little emotion did it show—despite the desperate topic of discussion. Kelp sat next to Tailfeather, her head down, as was appropriate. She was present only because she slept here. She was not, however, allowed to speak. To Moonsnail’s right, Rivercobble huddled under a blanket with her twin sister, Sun Hawk. Because of their extreme old ages, eight tens of summers, Moonsnail rarely called them to meet, unless the situation required the full council’s attention. The twins resembled skeletons more than living humans. They had no teeth, and only a few wisps of gray hair dotted their ancient heads. Their muscles had vanished long ago, leaving nearly transparent skin clinging to their bones. Their arms and legs looked like knobby sticks, and their faces were as gaunt as a corpse’s. Huge black eyes stared out from sunken eye sockets.

Moonsnail added another branch to the fire. Flames leaped and spat out sparks which wafted leisurely for the rafters. The fog had grown so thick she could not see to the next shelter thirty hands away, though sounds carried—people cooking breakfast, children speaking softly, a dog growling—and so did the delicious odors of roasting opossum and bottle gourds.

Floating Stick lowered his hands to grip his knees and turned to Tailfeather. “Did Dogtooth say how many people were killed at Windy Cove?”

The nostrils of Tailfeather’s flat nose flared. “No. Though he described the scene he saw in his Dream. He said that dead scattered the entire village, mostly mothers, children, and the elderly. But he said he saw several warriors, too.”

Floating Stick shook his head. “I recall Seedpod telling me they only had ten-and-one warriors left. If even a few were killed in the attack …” His mouth hung open, not wishing to finish the statement.

Rivercobble did it for him. “They are defenseless. We must assume that.”

Sun Hawk’s head shook in a frail nod. “Yes. Our new relatives need our help. We must decide what to do.”

Moonsnail saw Kelp squeeze her eyes closed and bite her lip, undoubtedly worrying about her brother. She had tied her long black hair with a cord, but strands had escaped and hung damply around her cheeks. The blanket snugged over her narrow shoulders had belonged to Pondwader. In fact, he had designed the red and blue geometric pattern. Kelp clutched the blanket as if it represented her last link with her best friend. Moonsnail felt sorry for her. She herself had been unable to sleep last night for worrying about Pondwader. Moonsnail knew as well as Kelp that he would have been almost helpless in a battle with skilled warriors, and feared the worst.

“Did Dogtooth say anything about Musselwhite, Seedpod, or Pondwader?” Moonsnail asked.

Tailfeather hesitated, and Moonsnail’s jaw clenched, anticipating his answer. His hesitation could only be because he feared their responses, and had been carefully laying the foundation for his news.

“Well?” Floating Stick demanded. “Did he?”

Tailfeather grimaced. “Yes, but it did not make much sense to me, Spirit Elders. Dogtooth can be … exasperating.”

Rivercobble chuckled, sounding like a branch creaking in a gale. Her toothless mouth spread in a smile. “We all know this to be true,” she said. “After all, we have known Dogtooth for five tens of summers. Now, what did he say? Perhaps we will understand. We have had much more practice at deciphering his confusing babble than you, War Leader.”