People of the Lightning(197)
“Yes, Elder.”
Littlehorn trotted down the line, arranging his warriors to form a barricade. They let only the Spirit Elders through. Basketmaker and the other elders nodded reverently to Cottonmouth as they passed, walking inside the council shelter. Cottonmouth returned their nods, and filled his lungs.
As he turned to Musselwhite, mist sheathed his face. Soon, they would be together again. Forever.
Musselwhite stopped ten hands away. Pondwader stood behind Musselwhite, peering over her shoulder at Cottonmouth, his pink eyes huge.
Cottonmouth pulled the deerbone awl from his belt and pointed it. “Come over here, Lightning Boy.” Nothing. “Now!”
Pondwader flinched. Gently, he touched Musselwhite’s shoulder as he stepped around her on wobbly legs and came to stand in front of Cottonmouth. He tried very hard to look Cottonmouth in the eyes, but he was shaking so badly, he couldn’t.
“Are you the White Lightning Boy?” Cottonmouth asked. “The one sent to save us?”
Pondwader squinted. “Others s-say that I am.”
“Do you believe it?”
“I—I don’t disbelieve it. I’ve just never been certain.”
“You’ve never felt Power moving inside you?”
The boy hesitated, and Cottonmouth saw the truth reflected in his eyes. A joy like spring sunlight glowed inside him. “You have felt it. I can see that. And with stunning intensity … Haven’t you?”
Pondwader jerked a nod.
“Have you ever used it?” Cottonmouth asked. “To call the animals, or—”
“I called the Lightning Birds once.”
Yes. Oh, yes! Soon … “I want you to do that again, Lightning Boy. Concentrate on the blaze that lives inside you, and—”
From nowhere, everywhere, Dark Rain’s derisive laughter echoed, and she shouted, “Hallowed Shining People, Cottonmouth! Couldn’t you have found a more convincing savior? You’ll disappoint all of your followers. Look at them! They were expecting a grand and glorious hero to come striding into their village. And what do you offer them? A pitiful boy. And a skinny one at that.”
Her attack on Cottonmouth sent a wave of nervous laughter among the visitors, punctuated by enraged shouts from his followers. Two men begin shoving each other and yelling, on the verge of a fist fight.
Cottonmouth’s brows drew down. I should have killed her. About to shout the order, he hesitated. That wasn’t in the Dream. He could not take chances now. No. He dared not.
He ignored her, and returned his attention to Pondwader. “Not even your mother believes in you.”
“That’s not un—unusual,” Pondwader stammered. “Even w-worse, here she comes.”
Cottonmouth looked up to see Dark Rain pushing through the crowd. She had braided her hair and wore a bright scarlet tunic. Soaked, it hugged every curve of her body. Hate twisted her face. Dark Rain walked up to the circle of guards, and tried to shove her way through. The guards glanced at Cottonmouth, and he shook his head.
Dark Rain shrilled, “You’re afraid to have me in there! You know Pondwader is not a Lightning Boy. You are tricking all of your followers!”
“I find it hard to believe that you know anything about holy people, Dark Rain,” Cottonmouth called. “Or care to.”
“Oh, Cottonmouth!” Hanging Star yelled. “She claims to know intimate details about Soul Dancers! Just ask her!”
More laughter.
Dark Rain propped slim hands on her shapely hips. “If he were a Lightning Boy, surely by now he would have shown it. I assure you, he has not. You might as well let him go. He’s just a boy!”
Pondwader frowned his confusion, and sudden terror gripped Cottonmouth. Was this some sort of trick? Some way of wounding or distracting the Lightning Boy so he could not concentrate on calling the Lightning Birds?
Cottonmouth leaned down and murmured, “What’s wrong?”
“I just … I don’t know why my mother—of all people—would be trying to help me.”
“She’s not. She hasn’t changed a bit. She seeks only to embarrass me—helping you is purely accidental.”
Pondwader appeared to think about that, then he nodded, and sighed.
“He’s my son!” Dark Rain shouted. “I should know!”
“The whore is his mother?” An unknown man in the rear of the crowd yelled. “Great Ghosts, Cottonmouth! If Dark Rain gave him birth he can’t possibly be a Lightning Boy! We all know the stories. Lightning Boys are born to good women!”
“Oh, she’s good,” Hanging Star bellowed. “She’s very good. Why, every man here knows that!”