People of the Lightning(155)

Thirty-four

The barks and whines of foxes carried on the warm night wind. Pondwader drew his blanket up to his throat and listened. They had prey in sight. He could tell because the female kept signaling the pack, demanding to know the locations of each hunter, calling them in closer, closer, so they could make their kill. It required only a finger of time. A rabbit let out a terrified cry—followed by a few sharp fox yips, then utter silence.

He breathed in the night air and looked up at the persimmon branches that created a black filigree over his head. They had made camp in the woods at the edge of a grassy clearing. High, stringy clouds sheathed the sky. When Sister Moon found an opening, her gleam fluttered across the meadow like a dropped scarf of glistening spider silk.

Pondwader turned his head to the side. Musselwhite lay beside him, wrapped in blankets, sound asleep. She had fallen three times today. Once, she had tripped over an exposed root. The other times, he had heard her gasp, then turned to see her reel, and collapse. She’d told him that she had tripped again … . But he feared it was more. After each event, the mere effort of standing had left her panting. She had braced a hand upon Pondwader’s shoulder and breathed deeply, her nostrils flaring as she struggled to stay on her feet.

Pondwader did not know what to do. If only she …

He winced. The Lightning Bird shifted inside him. He could feel its life, like a restless fetus grown huge and eager to be free of its mother’s body. Each time it moved, Pondwader heard faint strains of music. Deep-throated drum rolls and booms, overlain with a cracking like someone playing dried bones, the constant shishing of a palm brush moved over leather, sounding like raindrops … Thunder music. Every part of Pondwader’s body filled with this unutterably beautiful Song; and sometimes he thought he caught words—about billowing clouds, and infinite blue sky, and soaring euphorically across endless expanses of darkness. It filled Pondwader with such longing, he could scarcely endure it. Like a lover’s arms, the Song promised things he dared not believe possible. Light shimmering along his limbs, plummeting through unearthly silence … . The thunder music seeped into the marrow of his bones and made him ache for that blinding flight. If only he could—

You have but to reach out your hand, Lightning Boy, a soft voice said. And you, too, can soar.

Pondwader stiffened with fear. He whispered, “Who are you?”

He hadn’t heard that voice since the night when he’d grabbed hold of the Lightning Bird’s burning tailfeathers. His breathing grew rapid and shallow, hissing through his nostrils. He waited for the voice to speak again.

“Pondwader?” Musselwhite murmured.

“Y-yes, my wife?” He turned to look at her.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. Go back to sleep. You must rest.”

She rolled to her side to face him. Silvered hair fell over her shoulder in the wavering moonlight. “You jumped as if bitten by something.”

“I had a dream.”

“A dream?” she softly pressed. “Or a Spirit Dream?”

Pondwader sat up and his blanket coiled around his waist in bluish folds. He briskly rubbed his cheeks. “I don’t know how to tell the difference any longer.”

“You’re shaking,” she said.

“Am I?” He looked down at himself in bewilderment and discovered she was right. “I don’t know when it started.”

“Why did it start? What happened in the dream?”

“It’s not important.”

Musselwhite lifted a hand to him. “Come, Pondwader. Lie down next to me.”

Her voice sounded so strong and sure, it comforted him. Pulling his blanket over his shoulders again, he slid against her, his face no more than a hand’s breadth from hers. She put her arm around him and stroked his back tenderly. Pondwader sighed as relief stole through him.

“You’re all right,” she whispered. “We’re all right. Try to sleep.”

Pondwader tucked his head in the hollow of her shoulder, and she smoothed his long white hair, as if enjoying the softness.

“I love you, Musselwhite. Thank you.”

“For what?”

“For taking care of me.”

He felt her smile against his hair. She patted his back. “You’ve been taking care of me, too.”

“Not very well. Though I’ve been trying hard. I just don’t seem to be able—”

“I’ve been very grateful to have you on this journey. You bandaged my injury, made me willow bark tea, hunted, and caught fish. What would I have done without you?”

Pondwader pushed back and lifted his head, his whole aching heart in his eyes. “Thank you for saying that, I know you don’t mean a word of it. I haven’t caught very many animals.” He thought about his inept efforts at hunting. “Though my last snare worked pretty well, didn’t it?”