People of the Lightning(13)

Kelp glanced up the hill. Her brother had craned his neck, studying something. Pondwader, shoot down an eagle? Not likely. He couldn’t hit the ocean with a dart. He had to squint to see anything more than a few hands from his face. Before he’d be able to kill a sacred eagle, he’d have to sprout wings and fly close enough to use his dart as a spear, and even then, she doubted he could do it. Every time he caught a minnow, tears filled his eyes, and he had to Sing an apology over its soul before he could use it for fishing bait.

Kelp just couldn’t believe he was truly a Lightning Boy. It didn’t make sense. Lightning Boys happened when a bolt of lightning penetrated the womb of a very good woman—and, Hallowed Spirits knew, their mother rivaled Hurricane Breather for wickedness. Kelp hated her mother. Dark Rain had shamed their clan so many times Kelp had lost count. Only yesterday Pondwader had fought with his best friend, Dace, because he’d called their mother “a whore who would trade her souls for a clamshell necklace.” Clamshells, of course, possessed no value because they could be found anywhere. Pondwader had lost the bout in less than ten heartbeats. He couldn’t fight any better than he could use an atlatl. Grandmother Moonsnail said Pondwader would outgrow his awkwardness some day soon. Kelp prayed it happened before Pondwader had so many sharp knots on his head that he resembled an alligator snapping turtle.

“Kelp?” Pondwader lifted a hand and motioned to her, then strode up the hill with his long robe flowing about him.

Sunlight permeated the tree branches, scattering fistfuls of golden diamonds across her path as she picked her way around a huge prickly pear cactus, and followed him up the slope.

When Kelp crested the hill, she saw Pondwader lying on the top, examining the opposite side. He called, “Kelp? Are you sure this is the right trail?”

“Of course,” she answered. “There’s the old burned out tree over there, Pondwader.”

“Huh?” He turned around. “Near that black splotch?”

“That splotch is the tree, Pondwader.”

He blinked. “Oh.”

She shook her head and trudged toward him. The understory had thinned out, and huge pine, hickory, and oak trees rose, their branches lacing together into a many-shaded mosaic over her head. Yellow leaves pirouetted out of the sky. Kelp slid the warclub hooked to her belt around to her back, and lay on the damp leaf mat beside Pondwader.

“If you stay very quiet,” Pondwader murmured, “you can hear them from here.” He tilted his head, listening, and his white hair dragged in the leaves.

Kelp concentrated. Sounds echoed from every part of the forest. Squirrels chittered in the branches around them, several different sorts of birds sang, frogs croaked. “Hear what?”

Pondwader squinted curiously. “You don’t hear them?”

“I hear geese quacking, a jaybird chattering …” Her voice trailed away when an indigo snake slithered around the trunk of an oak and headed straight for her. She stiffened. Longer than both of their bodies laid end to end, it had a reddish jaw and almost black scales.

“It’s not poisonous,” Pondwader whispered.

“No, but … but it’s so …” She swallowed hard. “ … big. Look how big it is!”

Pondwader smiled at her and turned to the snake. “Hello, Grandfather,” he said. The snake halted and coiled, as if the rabbit fur softness of Pondwader’s voice soothed and fascinated it. “It’s all right,” Pondwader continued. “We are not hunting snakes today, just old Dogtooth. Have you seen him?”

“Dogtooth!” Kelp spun to glare. “What—”

Pondwader held up a hand to halt her words.

The snake’s tongue licked out, then it slithered off in the direction of the Pond, tumbling acorns aside as it fled into the shadows.

Kelp grabbed the fabric over her pounding heart. “That was a warning, Pondwader! Did you see the look in its eyes? Snake Above sent it to tell us to go back to the village before it’s too late!”

“Too late?” he inquired. “Too late for what?”

“I don’t know! Those ghosts down there might not like us coming to see them! Maybe they’ll wring our necks, or drown us or—”

“But, Kelp,” Pondwader said gently, “don’t you hear them calling to us, welcoming us? Besides, even if they wished to, Dogtooth wouldn’t let them. He’s meeting us and he’s almost as Powerful as Sun Mother. Dogtooth wants us to speak with Aunt Fin. He says—”

“What are you talking about?” Kelp stared open-mouthed at her brother. “Aunt Fin died in Cottonmouth’s raid half a moon ago!”