People of the Lightning(111)

“Kelp, you are a child! You are not even a woman yet! How can I send you out into the world? And on war walk! If I do that to my granddaughter, when I get to the Daybreak Land the ancestors will flay me and feed my souls to the dogs!”

Kelp’s face fell. She tried to smile. Her hand slowly slid down Moonsnail’s arm, in a loving, forgiving gesture, and it broke Moonsnail’s heart.

Kelp turned away and went to stand over the fire. She shivered. Softly, she said, “If he dies, Grandmother, I’ll never be able to look at my soul again.”

Moonsnail closed her eyes, fighting with herself. So much danger lay ahead. None of them knew what tomorrow might bring. And her granddaughter, the last and most precious thing left to her, wanted to run away with her brother.

Moonsnail opened her eyes.

Kelp had not moved. She looked forlorn.

“Go, Kelp. Go on.”

Kelp jerked her head up and hope filled her eyes. “You mean it? I can go?”

“Hurry. Get your things together, and join Tailfeather. Go quickly … ! Before I think about how much I love you and come to my senses!”

Kelp bounded across the floor, hugged Moonsnail so hard it drove the air from her lungs, then ran for her pack and began stuffing it full.

Moonsnail’s old mouth trembled. She watched Kelp through blurry eyes.





Swaying tree shadows dappled Seedpod’s face as he waded into the cool water of the Sacred Pond and stood with his hands folded, watching Black Urchin carry Ashleaf’s frail old body. The warrior took slow, reverent steps. The people made a path for him as he passed. Out of respect, they had waited until the last to bury Ashleaf. For more than six-tens-and-three summers, he had guided, supported, and loved the clan. Ashleaf’s death hurt Seedpod more than all the others. He and Ashleaf had grown up together, played as boys, fought over the same women as young men, and guarded each other’s backs as warriors. The war walks had turned them into fast friends. Then, after they had been elected to the Council of Spirit Elders, they had worked, and thought, and prayed together to keep Windy Cove strong.

… And failed. They had failed.

The pitiful remnants of Windy Cove stood on the bank: four women, seven children, and six men. Everyone had dressed in their brightest tunics. Brilliant scarlets, dark greens, and magnificent blues shone in the pale lances of sunlight that streamed down through the thin layer of clouds. The pungent scents of peat and damp forest floor filled his nose. Seedpod inhaled deeply to help steady himself. All morning long, he’d been living in the fabric of his souls, hearing Ashleaf’s laughter, feeling his friend’s affectionate hand on his shoulder, and seeing the old man’s sparkling eyes. He could not imagine what the world would be like without Ashleaf’s warmth and humor. Except that it would be a much colder place … .

Diamondback and Thorny Boy stood to his far right, in a thick pile of autumn leaves. The gnarled branches of an ancient oak tree twisted above their heads. Both had worn red, the color of life, and Diamondback stood braced on a walking stick. Sweat dotted his forehead—an indication of his pain—and the fresh bandage around his leg had gone crimson with blood. He should not have come. The walk to the Pond, though short, had left him weak and trembling, and he would need every bit of his strength for the journey to Manatee Lagoon. But the youth had pleaded to come. These were his beloved relatives, too, he said. He wanted to be present when they entered the portal to the afterworld. Reluctantly, Seedpod had given in.

Black Urchin stepped into the water, and waded toward Seedpod, taking great care to step around the other burial frames they had lain that morning. Before dawn, they had dressed Ashleaf in his finest tunic and favorite hood, then placed his most precious possessions around him, things he would need in the Village of Wounded Souls—his atlatl with the antler-tine hook, two clamshell scrapers, a wolf tooth glued onto a haft with pine pitch, for holing leather, a hairbrush made from palm bark tied in a bundle with cord and evened off by burning, and two dog-ulna awls. After his possessions had been carefully arranged, the clan had flexed his knees, then wrapped him in three warm blankets. Still, the bundle Black Urchin carried looked small and light.

Black Urchin knelt in the water and gently laid Ashleaf’s blanket-wrapped body down, then Seedpod unslung the bag of fire-sharpened stakes from his shoulder and knelt on the opposite side from Black Urchin.

“Let us immerse him,” Seedpod murmured, and together he and Black Urchin placed their hands on Ashleaf and sank his body beneath the pale green water, making certain he lay on his left side with his head pointed west and his face looking northward, down the tunnel he would have to swim to reach the Village of Wounded Souls. People moved closer, to the very edge of the Sacred Pond, peering down with tears in their eyes. Two women wept openly, and several children whimpered.