People of the Lightning(177)

Only Hanging Star remained, seated to her right, his ugly face congealed in sheer terror. Dark Rain lifted an elegant brow. It could not be bravery that kept him here. Why did he stay? He had a reputation for curiosity. Was that it? He had to know how the night would end?

Cottonmouth stretched out on his side on the sand and propped his head on his fist. “Proceed,” he said.

Dark Rain picked up the dice. An eerie chill climbed her spine. She swiftly handed them to Cottonmouth. “Why don’t you throw first?”

“If you wish.” He held the dice in his right palm, gently, as though they were a bird’s fragile eggs. “That means it’s my wager, doesn’t it?”

“yes.”

Hanging Star slid around, repositioning himself to get a better view. Sweat trickled down his jaw.

Dark Rain studied Cottonmouth. What sort of game would he play? The man could wager any sum and his village would cover it. And Standing Hollow Horn possessed great wealth. One had only to look around to see furs, rare stone tools, magnificently woven blankets and baskets … .

An almost orgasmic thrill taunted her. If she ran the stakes up … and won! Hallowed Sister Moon. Luckily, she had never truly believed in Cottonmouth’s “powers.” To Dark Rain, he represented just another man … one inexperienced in the finer points of gambling.

“Let me see,” Cottonmouth said. “I wager one red and blue striped blanket—made by the finest weaver in the village. Do you wish to see it before I throw?”

“That’s not necessary,” Dark Rain said. “I trust you, Cottonmouth.”

“Do you?”

“Yes, of course.”

A smile touched his face, but his eyes remained as cold as frozen lakes.

Dark Rain picked up the bone dart point and tossed it on the sand in front of him. He looked down, and waited. Grudgingly, she added the chert point. “Is that sufficient?”

“Throw in the bowl, too,” he responded.

Angry, she did.

His gaze held hers as he threw out the dice. Two white. Dark Rain paled.

Hanging Star leaned closer. “Cottonmouth has earned two points. Are you scared, Dark Rain?”

“Certainly not,” she said and forced a smile. “It’s still your turn, Cottonmouth. Do you wish to up your wager?”

Cottonmouth used one finger to push the dice around the sand. They left curving trails. “I think I will throw in another two blankets.”

Dark Rain looked down at her pile, knowing that her pitiful array of necklaces, bowls, and hairpins would not match his wager. “What will you take to cover me?”

“I don’t wish anything you have in front of you, Dark Rain.”

“You mean you came over here just to force me out of the game?” she said indignantly. “One Hunt was doing that all by himself, you needn’t have troubled—”

“Let’s discuss other ‘goods.’”

Dark Rain sat back. Could he mean it the way it sounded? Cottonmouth had spurned her advances so many times it seemed unlikely. Still, perhaps he’d come to his senses. And what a rare pleasure it would be to bed this powerful holy man. Just the thought sent a sexual tingle through her.

She stretched out on her side next to him, her face no more than four hands from Cottonmouth’s, and asked, “What other ‘goods’ did you have in mind?”

He picked up the dice, and shook them. A silver lock had come loose from his braid, and danced beside his handsome face. “Tell me about your son.”

“My son?”

“Yes. Pondwader is his name, isn’t that right? As a Lightning Boy he must have special talents.”

Dark Rain snorted. “If he does, I’ve never noticed them.”

“Never?”

“No. Pondwader can’t do anything, Cottonmouth. He’s half blind. He can’t hunt, or fight, or fish. He’s a weakling, a puny, worthless human being.”

Cottonmouth tilted his head. “You’ve covered your bet,” he said, and threw out the dice.

Two black.

Dark Rain clenched her fists. She growled, “That’s three points. It’s still your turn.”

Cottonmouth braced himself up on his elbow. “I’ll add two chert scrapers, if you will tell me everything you noticed about Musselwhite.” When he said her name, tenderness tinged his voice. “What she was wearing. What she looked like. The—”

“That’s easy,” she said. “Musselwhite wore a torn and bloody tunic and had a bandage around her head. Holding in her brains, I think. One of your warriors tried to split her skull with his warclub.”

Cottonmouth stared at her unblinking. “She was hurt?”