“Not long.” His gaze met hers. He squinted slightly. “But sometimes, Kelp, in the middle of that roar, I hear your voice—no, don’t look at me that way. It’s not a dream, it’s real. I know I should have told Grandmother Moonsnail about this, but I—I haven’t.”
“What do I say in the dream?” she asked.
“You are always yelling at me, but I can’t make out your words because the roar is so loud. Still,” he said and squeezed her hand. “I know you’re trying to warn me.”
“About what?”
“I don’t know. But I need you, Kelp. I think I need you badly.”
Kelp’s gaze drifted over the forest while she thought. A roar like thunder waking …
“Pondwader,” she murmured, “if you need me, I’ll stick to you like boiled pine sap, but promise me that you will tell no one about this roar inside you. Not even Grandmother. She would feel obliged to call a council meeting of the Spirit Elders, and I … Well, just don’t. It wouldn’t be good, not after the things Dogtooth told them. The elders have been watching you like rabbits that see Hawk circling overhead. Do you promise?”
He hesitated, as if not certain he could do that. “I promise. Now, come on. I’ve delayed us, and I think that indigo snake was trying to tell me that old Dogtooth is already waiting at the Pond.”
Turning around, he launched himself down the trail again, sliding on his stomach, like otter down a slick bank. When he’d piled too many leaves before him to keep going, he climbed over the mound and stood up.
Kelp got to her feet and walked down.
Pondwader waited for her in a copse of palmettos at the base of the hill. Black dirt and bits of forest duff clung to the front of his robe. He absently brushed at them as he watched her descend the hill. Standing there, he looked very tall and gangly. His long white hair streamed from within the loose frame of his hood, falling to his waist. Kelp shook her head. If only he’d had rich black hair, he might have been handsome—not that it mattered. Girls ran from him like schools of fish scattering at a thrown seashell. Kelp didn’t really blame them, either. Pondwader’s eyes affected people strangely. When Pondwader gazed intently at you, you felt as if you were being stripped naked inside, a layer peeled back here, one there, until all the layers you had so diligently woven to protect yourself had vanished—and your souls lay bare to him.
“I hear Dogtooth,” Pondwader whispered when she strode up beside him. “He’s Singing one of the Death Songs.”
Morosely, she said, “Fine. Let us go find him so you can learn to talk to ghosts, and we can get home before dark.”
Pondwader smiled. “Thank you for coming, Kelp.”
A worn trail cut a swath between the palmettos fringing the Pond and the vine-shrouded trees of the forest. Kelp walked quietly behind Pondwader, her hand on her warclub.
“Do you still hear Dogtooth?” she asked.
“No, I don’t. I …”
Pondwader stopped dead as they rounded the western curve of the trail. Kelp crowded close behind him and peered around his right arm.
“What’s the matter?” she demanded. “Do you see him?”
Pondwader slowly lifted his arm and pointed.
Kelp’s eyes widened. She swallowed hard. “Hallowed Brother Sky!”
In the black cavity of a lightning blasted oak, Dogtooth sat, his knobby old knees drawn up. He held a fire-sharpened wooden burial stake in his hands. Two white spots encircled his sparkling eyes, but the rest of his skinny body bore a thick coat of black paint. Antlers, covered with gray hair, curved up from his skull, as if the hair had been lifted by the antlers as they grew. He wore a deerhide breechclout and a polished palm seed necklace. Beneath the layer of paint deep wrinkles lined his thin face, old, so very old. He lifted his hooked nose and scented the breeze.
“Oh, you’re here!” Dogtooth said. “I had begun to fear you wouldn’t come.”
“But I promised I would, Grandfather,” Pondwader said.
“Well, yes, but promises are just words to most people. I’m glad you kept yours.”
Dogtooth braced a hand on the trunk and rose on stringy legs. His black body blended so well with the charred background of the tree that he almost disappeared. “I see your sister came, too. I do not recall inviting her. I hope the ghosts let her live. What’s her name?”
Kelp stepped from behind Pondwader as if walking on rattlesnake eggs. “Kelp. My name is Kelp.”
“Yes, that’s right.” Dogtooth pointed at her with the burial stake. “Kelp. Daughter of Dark Rain and … did your mother ever tell you who your father was?”