People of the Lightning(192)
“Before I go,” he continued, voice softening, “there are things I must ask you.”
She finished her first piece of fish and reached for another, taking as much as she could wolf down. She might be bound and under heavy guard, but he had not beaten her. Not yet. Not until she lay dead at his feet would she stop trying to save Diver.
“Where is the Lightning Boy?” he asked.
Musselwhite’s pulse raced. Running south for help, as fast as he can! Please—just once—I pray that he’s doing what I told him.
Cottonmouth said, “I sent out a war party last night to search for him.”
She had to force a swallow to get her meat down. “Why?”
“He is the one who will kill the Shining Eagles. When he does, that storm out there will grow. It’s been waiting for him. When the Lightning Boy calls, it will sweep away the entire world … . Where is he?”
“You sent out a war party last night and they haven’t returned?” Mind racing, she struggled to read his expression.
“Not yet.”
So they had failed to find Pondwader and could not risk returning without him, or …
“They’re dead, Cottonmouth. You know it as well as I.”
“Maybe.” He inclined his head ever so slightly. “Though I can’t imagine one boy defeating four battle-honed warriors. But it doesn’t matter. I will just send out more warriors. Eventually, I will find him. He—”
“No, you won’t.”
He gave her a sharp glance, and she saw the first crack in his defenses. Fear. Deep. Overwhelming. Panic that his Dream might not come true.
“He’s very Powerful,” Musselwhite raised her voice so that the warriors standing nearby would hear. “I have seen the Lightning Boy do things that would terrify even you, Cottonmouth. With one word, he can call the Lightning Birds from the sky and order them to blast anything he wishes.” The guards edged closer, listening with wide eyes. “Pondwader can change himself into Lightning and shoot through the heavens. You’ll never find him. He—”
“I do hope he’s Powerful,” Cottonmouth answered. The crack closed. An eerie light lit his eyes. “After speaking with his mother, I had feared he might not be a Lightning Boy at all—and then, Musselwhite, all of my dreams would have died.”
“Dark Rain is here? Alive?”
Distaste twisted Cottonmouth’s lips. “Yes, Dark Rain is alive,” he said. “Tell me, Musselwhite, where did the pathetic survivors of the Windy Cove slaughter go? South? That’s where the Lightning Boy would seek shelter, isn’t it?”
He had said the word “slaughter” with no more emotion than if he had been speaking about mosquitoes. Memories from the Windy Cove battle reared: Ashleaf lying with a dart clutched in his withered old hand; children sprawled facedown in the sand; Dreamstone curled on her side in a pool of blood; and the pitiful wails and pain of the survivors.
If only I could get my hands around his throat. “No,” she said lightly, unable to keep tremors of rage from her voice. “I’m certain that after ‘slaughtering’ your best warriors, Pondwader is on his way here.” She watched him through slitted eyes. “You still have time. Turn me loose, and I will try to save you.”
She glanced at the guards. Was it working? They peered uneasily at each other, frowns lining their brows. If she could keep them anxious, afraid of their own shadow-souls, they might lose their vigilance, and when they did …
Cottonmouth leaned toward her. “Yes,” he whispered. “I know he’s on his way. My Dreams have shown his arrival.”
“Is that so? Then why did you have to dispatch a war party to search for him? To drag him back here? You’re still a fool, Cottonmouth—desperate to convince yourself and your clan of things you don’t believe.”
The guards muttered uneasily.
Cottonmouth turned his head ever so slightly to glare at them. Silence followed.
Surreptitiously, Musselwhite studied the men; not one of them bore an expression of reverence, or devotion. Had the recent raids depleted Cottonmouth’s supply of loyal warriors? Yes, there is weakness … . I could split this village in two if I had the time … but do I?
Cottonmouth rose to his feet, and went to the southeastern shelter pole where his ritual tunic hung. He removed his plain tunic, and threw it on the floor, standing before her, naked, muscular.
She twisted her head away, closing her eyes, hating the memories of his body, his strong arms around her … .
Hallowed Spirits, how could two people who had loved each other with such passion and sweetness come to fear each other so much, to hate each other so much?