People of the Lightning(126)
He gripped his chunk of chert, set it up before him, and used his hammerstone to prepare a new platform, lightly tapping to chip away enough stone to form just the right striking surface; then he gave it a good whack! and drove off a flat, moderately thick, but even piece. This one would be a dart point. He prepared a new platform, struck again, and again.
If he were going to Standing Hollow Horn, he would need many good dart points.
Twenty-eight
For a long time after she woke, Musselwhite lay among the mottled forest shadows with the soft pearlescent light of early morning falling around her, wondering where she was. She recognized nothing. Not the black gum or bay trees, nor the crystalline blue sky. The swamp to her right seemed vaguely familiar, but she did not know why. Had she … had she crossed it? Vague memories laced with fear surfaced. Turtles sunned themselves on the deadfall at the edge of the water, and a snake slithered through the grass two tens of hands away.
Head wound. That part was not hard to guess. Clots of old blood clung to the grass, and throbbing pain kept her sick to her stomach. Or is it the fear? Knowing that if trouble comes looking, you are helpless to defend yourself? She could neither fight, nor run. She did not even have the strength to hide herself.
Two packs nestled on the dark forest duff to her left. One belonged to her. The other she could not identify. But it meant she had a companion … . Who? Someone had covered her with blankets, tucked them in around her sides, and left a gourd of water within reach.
Thirst struck her with a vengeance. She felt as though she hadn’t drunk anything in days. She tried to sit up, and her headache swelled to a bone-deep assault that left her trembling. She eased back down, breathing hard, and the moist air tasted sweet on her tongue. If only she could lie here in the soft folds of her blankets and get her fill from the fragrant air …
Where am I?
Her father had told her they would be moving Windy Cove Village to join with Heartwood Clan. Is that where she was? At the new village site? But why didn’t she hear voices? Dogs barking? Children laughing? The smack of stone axes chopping trees for shelter poles?
No. She could not be at Manatee Lagoon. Fool. There is no sound of surf here. No scent of the sea. No cry of gulls. You are not on the ocean … but far inland. Where? Why couldn’t she recall?
Musselwhite feebly shoved her blanket off her chest and blinked at the swaying tree boughs. How long had she been sleeping? Days? Half a moon? She had no way of knowing. She recalled very little of the past few days.
Slowly, concentrating, she took her hand and again reached for the gourd of water. She had just managed to hook her fingers over the edge of the cup, when her heart thundered and her souls careened, flitting from one memory to another. Diver smiled at her … Thorny Boy crawled into her lap … Morning Glory laughed … then the comforting images swirled and faded, changing. Cottonmouth’s handsome face appeared.
She could not help but gaze into those black eyes. They stared straight past all of her disguises, all the lies she told herself, and looked directly at her souls.
He always had.
Even long after she’d left him, his eyes found her. She could recall many times when she had been talking with Diver, smiling, and those eyes had suddenly appeared on the fabric of her souls—staring at her. Reminding her.
The strength of the emotions caught her offguard. Before she realized it, black shadows had seeped from deep inside her, and wailed through her heart: sounds of wrenching sobs, the feel of his hands desperately clutching her arm in the darkness, his warm tears drenching her hair. “Blessed Spirits, what can we do? How can we save him?” I don’t know … . I don’t know. “I’ll find a way. I promise you. I will!”
She wiped a trembling hand over her sweaty forehead, and struggled to force the sounds and sights away. A secret cage of memories existed inside her, blacker than black, filled with writhing unthinkable things. Long ago, she had trapped those memories and imprisoned them there, so that she knew where they were, and they could not sneak up on her when she least expected it. One of her souls guarded that cage at all times, vigilantly, making certain that the horrors within never escaped.
Only Cottonmouth’s eyes remained loose … . The one memory she had never been able to capture and control.
A faint rustle sounded. Palmetto fronds brushed fabric. Musselwhite stilled her breathing. Sandals crunched twigs.
Without a sound, she extended a hand and patted the ground to her left. Empty. She used her other hand to search the space to her right. Still nothing. Almost as an afterthought, she slipped her hand beneath the blanket where she lay—and found her atlatl and darts. Just where she kept them at home in her own shelter. Her companion understood her needs.