People of the Lightning(162)
“Hanging Star hasn’t said,” Beaverpaw replied. “But I’ll find out for you.”
Dark Rain’s seductive laughter rose into the air, and Beaverpaw’s gut clenched. He spat to clean his mouth of the foul taste of it.
Musselwhite asked, “What is it?”
He shook his head. Inhaling a deep breath, he glanced sympathetically at Pondwader’s pale face, then said, “You will not be fighting alone when you enter Standing Hollow Horn Village, Musselwhite. I don’t know what good it will do, but I—”
“Beaverpaw, let me be honest with you. If we are forced to fight, we will lose. Cottonmouth has too many warriors. We must find a way of sneaking into the village, locating Diver, and getting out. Otherwise, none of us will live to enjoy our triumphs. Do you understand? We can’t fight Cottonmouth.”
Beaverpaw nodded. “I do understand. Perhaps, then, I could create a diversion for you, to give you time to get to Diver.”
Musselwhite reached out and placed a hand on his shoulder. “I would be very grateful for your help, War Leader.”
Shame welled powerfully inside him. “I do not deserve that title, Musselwhite, though I thank you for—”
“But …” Pondwader blurted, and turned to Musselwhite as if asking approval before he continued.
Musselwhite’s gaze went over his face. Gently, she said, “What did you wish to say, Pondwader?”
He reached for her hand again, as if her touch reassured him. Pondwader murmured, “Well, just that … I’m sure … I mean, if we succeed at Standing Hollow Horn, Beaverpaw, I’m sure my grandmother will speak to the Council on your behalf. And … Beaverpaw? Waterbearer never stopped loving you. She wants you back very much.”
Beaverpaw bowed his head to keep his heartache hidden. In a constricted voice, he said, “I hope so, Pondwader. I cannot tell you how hard I am praying for exactly that.”
Thirty-six
Diamondback leaned against the gnarled trunk of a scrub oak, massaging his aching leg, and watching the tiny flames leap through the kindling he’d piled in the firepit. Mornings always brought him the most pain. His leg stiffened up overnight, so that he hobbled like an old man gathering wood and lighting the breakfast fires. They had divided the duties. Diamondback found the trails, selected the campsites and built the fires, while Dace and Kelp hunted, fished, located freshwater and filled their water gourds.
They had been making good time. So far, the only obstacle they had encountered was a fat, belligerent bear that wanted to walk the same trail they did. Dace suggested they dart it, but Kelp pointed out that they didn’t have the time to clean and butcher the animal, and wasting such fine meat and hide would have been unforgivable. Diamondback had backtracked and taken a parallel trail.
He scratched his back on the tree. Twisted branches hung down around him, suspended like Eagle Above’s talons ready to clutch him up and carry him off to eat in the Daybreak Land. He smiled at the thought. Milky morning sunlight shimmered from the wind-blown leaves on the branches. A half a hand past dawn, Sun Mother rose through a black curtain of clouds and hung, huge and crimson, in a clear blue sky. Sea Girl’s green face shimmered with flecks of deep scarlet.
Diamondback threw two large pieces of wood on the fire, arranging them so they wouldn’t smother his modest blaze, then prodded the coals with a long stick. Sparks leaped and whirled upward, winking as they tumbled away in the breeze. The sweet scent of burning pine sap encircled him.
Just as he had settled back against the tree trunk again, he saw Dace break out of the trees and trot toward him. He looked frightened. Diamondback shoved to his feet, and hobbled stiff-legged out across the sand to meet him.
“What’s wrong?” Diamondback asked.
Dace came to a halt, breathing hard, his pointed chin and straight nose coated with perspiration. His atlatl and stiletto hung from the belt of his breechclout. He said. “Come and see for yourself. I don’t know what to make of this.”
Dace led the way back down a section of trail lined by head-high prickly pear cactus. Red fruits dotted the end of most pads, and gave off a faintly tangy scent. Diamondback frequently had to turn sideways to avoid the long thorns. Ahead, he saw Dace kneel behind a thicket of palmettos, and then the stench hit Diamondback: decomposing flesh … . And fear swelled his chest until he could scarcely think. Not my mother! Please, Brother Earth …
Dace stood up.
Diamondback called, “Who is it? Tell me!”
Dace shook his head. “I don’t know. Two men.”
“You’re sure?” Diamondback asked as he came to a halt beside Dace.