People of the Lightning(141)

“Are you all right?” Pondwader asked. “Do you need to rest again?”

“Just … just for a moment. Then we can be on our way.” She leaned her aching head against the trunk.

If only she’d let him, Pondwader could have searched out a patch of willow, boiled down the stems, and made an effective headache powder. Maypop roots would have worked, too, though not as well. But she had told him no, that they had to keep moving. Perhaps tomorrow, before she woke, he would find the time.

With a shaking hand, she massaged the base of her skull, then lowered her hand to her stomach … .

Pondwader walked back to her. “Are you feeling nauseated again?”

Musselwhite smiled feebly. “My stomach has tied itself in knots trying not to throw up.”

Gently, he laid a cool hand on her cheek. “Would you like some water?”

“Yes, that might help. Thank you.”

He unslung his pack from his shoulder, drew out the gourd of water, and removed the stem-lid. As he handed it to her, he shivered suddenly and squeezed his eyes closed.

Musselwhite sipped the water. “What’s wrong?”

Pondwader peered at her with glistening eyes. “It’s—it’s the Lightning Bird. He’s rumbling.”

Her brows pulled together. She took a long drink from the gourd. “If that Bird is so eager to talk, ask him to call out to Storm Girl. We could use some rain to cool off the day.”

“Rain?” Pondwader said. He studied the cloudless sky, and his smooth forehead puckered.

“Yes,” Musselwhite answered. “I’ve known several Soul Dancers who claimed to have the souls of birds. They could call storms.”

“Dogtooth mentioned something about that.”

She handed him the gourd and wiped the sweat from her chin with the back of her hand, then leaned more heavily against the oak. “Dogtooth ought to know. Why don’t you try? After all, Lightning Birds are related to Storm Girl. And I would very much enjoy a few cool drops of rain.”

Pondwader blinked worriedly. “But maybe this Lightning Bird can’t call Storm Girl.”

“Well,” she said. “We will have wasted only a little time.”

Nervous, Pondwader flapped his long arms against his sides. “If you are ready, let’s … let’s keep walking down the deer trail. I’ll speak to the Lightning Bird while we’re moving. That might be easier. I won’t feel so much pressure if we’re walking.”

Musselwhite nodded, and smiled. “Go ahead. I’ll follow you.”

Pondwader walked forward, his head down, biting his lip.

Musselwhite resumed her own pace, one step at a time. She had to use caution. A single fall might confine her to her bedding again. It couldn’t be risked. An eerie whisper seeped through the trees … then it vanished. She frowned.

In the branches overhead, a squirrel leaped and ran, trying to keep up with Pondwader. Chittering and jumping, the tiny animal ran down a hickory trunk and bounded into the deer trail in front of Pondwader. Pondwader halted. The squirrel stood up on its hind legs, chest puffing in and out quickly, and cocked its head.

“What is it, little one?” Pondwader whispered. “You want it to rain, too?”

Musselwhite stopped. The way the trail curved, she could see Pondwader from a side view. He had his chin up, frowning at the blue sky visible through the tangle of branches. The squirrel twisted around to peer up, too. Both stood, quiet, completely still, expectant.

Musselwhite braced a hand against a hackberry tree to keep herself standing. Her knees had started to shake. High in the sky above them, a few wisps of cloud sailed. A smile touched her lips. The squirrel cheeped, and dropped on all fours—but it didn’t run.

Pondwader closed his eyes. A gentle breeze rustled the leaves, blowing cool up the trail, fluttering Pondwader’s white hair. Sunlight flooded the damp strands, adding pink glints.

Musselwhite turned her face into the breeze. Oh, it felt good.

The squirrel cheeped again, and its soft brown eyes widened as it looked upward.

Musselwhite followed its gaze. The wisps of cloud had woven themselves together, forming a puff. As she watched, more puffs sailed in, coming from every direction, and melded with the first.

She glanced back at Pondwader. He’d lifted a hand to his chest, placing two fingers over his heart. The faint rumble of thunder echoed. Fascinated, Musselwhite searched the sky for the Lightning Birds. But she saw only the constant movement of clouds, rolling in to crowd the sky.

Scattered drops of rain fell, soft on her upturned face.

The squirrel let out a high-pitched chur and bounded into the brush, bending blades of grass in its wake. Just as the animal scrambled into a hole in a rotten tree trunk, lightning flashed. A thunderclap split the day.