People of the Lightning(142)

Musselwhite jumped, breathing hard, her head throbbing.

It began to rain harder, big drops cascading down, batting at tree leaves and palmetto fronds, splatting on deadfall. She stared at Pondwader. He had not moved. Where anxiety had furrowed his brow, now serenity shone on his young face.

A huge Lightning Bird swooped from the clouds and crackled downward in a blue-white arc, blasting a tree a short distance away. Musselwhite dodged behind a hackberry and cupped hands to her ears to block the roar.

“Pondwader!” she called.

Rain poured down in blinding sheets, drenching the world.

Another Lightning Bird flashed through the sky, the glare so brilliant that Musselwhite jerked her eyes away. An explosion rocked the ground, and wood splinters showered her. The lightning-blasted air sizzled with the scent of destruction. Blue afterimages seared her gaze when she pulled her eyes open, and fought to get a good look at the riven tree. It lay, split down the middle, each half lying on either side of Pondwader.

Musselwhite ran forward, sick to her stomach, and placed a hand on the top of his white head while she watched the sky. Rain had soaked her through. “Pondwader,” she said. “That’s enough. I believe. Do you hear me? I believe you!”

“What?” he murmured. He tipped his head to examine her, and water slid from his cheeks as if poured from a basket. “What did you say? Oh! Look, my wife! It’s raining!” He lurched to his feet and shouted, “I did it! It’s raining, Musselwhite!” He jumped up and down excitedly. “I did it! Look!”

“You certainly did do it. Now, stop it, will you?”

Another Lightning Bird soared right over their heads, roaring so loud Musselwhite cried out. She threw up an arm, and Pondwader hit the ground on his stomach, his face in the mud.

“Pondwader!”

“I’m trying!”

He rolled to his back and squinted upward into the deluge of rain. The flood washed his long hair away from his face, and sent tendrils slithering onto the trail like a fleeing swarm of white snakes.

Musselwhite gaped as the clouds parted. Lances of golden sunlight shot through the misty forest. Before her heart could pound ten times, the storm had dissolved into a clean bright blue bowl which arched into infinity above them.

Pondwader sat up, covered from head to toe with mud, his hair dark with it. He whirled to gaze in astonishment at Musselwhite. “I can’t believe it worked!”

She just stared at him, mouth open.

He scrambled to his feet, then hesitantly edged toward her. “Did I scare you?”

“How did you do that?”

Pondwader flashed a wide grin. “I just asked the baby Lightning Bird if he would please give us some rain to cool the day. Of course, I had to concentrate, to make sure that Gl—the Bird heard me. But that was all, Musselwhite. And it worked!”

Her gaze landed on the charred halves of the tree. The spot where Pondwader had sat still dimpled the wet ground.

She wiped the rain from her face. Her heartbeat felt like hammerstone blows to her skull. As she skirted the smoldering trunk and angled onto the trail again, she struggled to slow her pulse. Small, shimmering ponds filled every depression. She stepped wide around them.

Pondwader ran up behind her, walking so close she could feel his heavy breathing on the back of her neck.

“My wife?” he asked. He speeded up to walk alongside her. “Are you all right?”

“Well, you’ve spoiled it.”

“Spoiled what?”

Musselwhite stopped and scowled at him. “I always thought it was coincidence. I never actually believed those Soul Dancers called the rain. I thought it was all”—she made an airy gesture—“trickery.”

Pondwader chewed his lip anxiously. “Did you wish to keep believing that?”

“It was singularly comforting; Pondwader.”

“But, my wife, then why did you ask me to call the rain?”

“Probably because I didn’t believe you could.”

Pondwader shifted his weight to his opposite foot. “That’s all right. I didn’t either.”

Musselwhite glanced at the forest. Despite the drenching downpour, tiny spirals of smoke twisted up from the charred trees. With a sigh, she replied, “So much for logic and common sense,” and started down the trail again.

“Are you sorry I did it?” he asked as he followed.

She shook her head. “No, Pondwader.”

“Then, you’re all right?”

“No, of course not! I feel much sicker now, and it isn’t just my body that’s queasy.”

“But I did it for you. Because you asked me to. I wanted you to—”

“I know that, Pondwader.” She put a hand on his shoulder. “Come along. Now that it’s so much cooler, we should be able to reach Marshtail Lagoon by dusk.”