People of the Lightning(183)
“We swim past the village, all the way to the far northern boundary. I think that’s where Diver is being held. That’s where the council shelter used to sit, and I pray it still does.”
They swam in silence for a while, bobbing along side-by-side. Pondwader’s eyes looked like huge silver moons. “What if … if it doesn’t? What if Diver is being held in the center of the village, or—”
“Then we’ll scout the village until we find him. Don’t worry, Pondwader, everything is going to be all right. You are going to be all right.”
“I love you, my wife. Please, always remember that, no matter what happens.”
He closed his mouth, but Musselwhite could still hear his teeth clicking together. He bowed his head and focused his eyes on the moonlight dancing on the water.
“Stop worrying, we—”
“I can’t, my wife.”
A large piece of driftwood floated in front of her. She pushed it aside. “You’re not thinking about what Dogtooth said, are you?”
“Yes,” he whispered.
“Pondwader, please trust me. I have known Dogtooth for nearly three times as long as you have. I’m certain he did not mean you were really going to die. Besides, I have always found that a warrior who believes he’s going to die, will—and I would appreciate it if you didn’t.”
A fleeting smile graced his face. “Thank you. I’ll try not to, my wife.”
The shore began its outward swing near a treeless sandy spit that jutted into the water. As Musselwhite swam forward, she caught movement, just a waver of shadow against the white sand. She gripped Pondwader’s shoulder and pulled him back.
“What’s wrong?” he asked, looking around frantically.
“Movement,” she whispered, scrutinizing the shadows that now swayed in the moonlight. “Guards. On the bank at the tip of the point. I should have guessed as much.”
Pondwader squinted. “I can’t see anything. How many are there?”
“Too many.” Fear soured her belly. “Five or six.”
“Maybe they’re just people out fishing, or enjoying the moonlight. Sun Mother’s Winter Celebration Day is tomorrow, and many people will be in Standing Hollow Horn for the—”
“They move like warriors, Pondwader,” she said. “But why are they out here on the shore? Does Cottonmouth fear he may be attacked from the sea? By people in canoes … or … No. Blessed Spirits.”
“What?”
Her thoughts raced. “Does he know we’re coming by water? But that doesn’t make any sense. Not if what Hanging Star tojd Beaverpaw is correct—that Cottonmouth’s Dreams have assured him I bring no war party, that I’ll be entering the village from the northwestern corner. Why would he waste so many guards out here?”
“Do you think Hanging Star lied to Beaverpaw?” Pondwader asked. The vein in his white temple throbbed. “Or—or that Beaverpaw lied to you?”
“Not Beaverpaw, no.” She shook her head. “And perhaps not even Hanging Star. Cottonmouth may just be creating a solid wall of guards as a precaution.” But another possibility increased her dread. What if Cottonmouth had had a new Dream? That every time she changed her plans … Musselwhite dared not finish that thought.
“I must find out, Pondwader.”
“How?”
She turned. “I need to go and scout the village, which means I must alter our plans.”
“What? Now?”
“Yes. I want you to wait here for me. I’ll go on ahead, and—”
“No! Musselwhite, you need me! I thought you understood! I have to be there! You are in grave danger—”
“Listen to me,” she said, and reached out to put a hand on his cold shoulder. His mouth trembled. “Something is not right. I don’t know how to explain it, but I just feel something amiss. I need you to stand guard for me. If I don’t return within one hand of time, you must go for help. I’ll be depending upon you, Pondwader. Can you do that for me?”
Tears filled his eyes. He tried to blink them away, but she saw. “You listen to me,” he said in a forceful tone she had never heard before. “The ghosts in the Sacred Pond told me I must be with you when you face Cottonmouth! Glade must be there … to help you! I thought you believed me. You said you believed me!”
Panic laced his voice, and Musselwhite gripped his shoulders hard. “I do believe you, Pondwader, and because I do, I promise you that I am simply going to scout the village. That’s all. I’ll head north to examine the guards’ positions, and to see if the council shelter is in fact where I remember it being. Then I’ll swim back for you.”