People of the Lightning(199)

Pondwader whirled around to stare in terror. Three or four tens of men stood with their atlatls aimed at Musselwhite. The misty rain had drenched her long hair, slicking it down around her beautiful face. “Oh … no, please. Don’t hurt her! She hasn’t done anything!”

Cottonmouth pointed a finger at the sullen black heavens. “Lift your dart, Lightning Boy. Get ready to cast!”

Pondwader closed his eyes a moment, and Cottonmouth saw the tears that fell from the corners of his eyes. Softly, he answered, “I’m ready.”

“Shoot down the Eagles!”

Using all of his strength, he cast the dart out over the ocean. It arced upward and vanished into the glistening rain.

It had been a pitiful cast. Hisses and laughter erupted … then a terrifying bolt of bright white streaked the sky. A heartbeat later the crash of thunder pounded the shore, drowning out all other sounds. Cries of awe laced the gathering. Every head tipped up. Through the gray drizzle, Lightning Birds Danced, shooting and leaping, soaring with wild abandon.

Cottonmouth shouted, “Cast another dart, Pondwader. Do it! Hurry!

The boy wept as he pulled the dart from under his arm, nocked it, and cast.

A Lightning Bird crackled down in violent blue-white fire, and blasted the beach just north of them. The deafening roar of thunder that followed devoured people’s screams. The crowd fled, stumbling over each other to get away.

Cottonmouth took two steps after them, yelling, “No, come back! Our time has come! A shining new world awaits those brave enough! Stay with me!”

The Spirit Elders and six or seven tens of young people crowded around the council shelter, their eyes huge with faith, waiting.

“Another, Pondwader!” Cottonmouth said. “Cast another dart! You are a Lightning Boy. I knew it! Go on, kill the last Shining Eagle. Save me. Please, save me, White Lightning Boy!”

Pondwader bent to pick up the last dart—and a wail went up from the believers. Cottonmouth spun. A swaying black serpent descended from the clouds. The blackness twisted and writhed, driven by tortured winds. Like a hunting snake it dropped its pointed tip, touched the water beyond the beach, and bounced across the frothy swells.

Cottonmouth raised his hands to the waterspout as the wind increased, ripping at his hair and clothing. “The End has come! Cast the last dart, Lightning Boy! Do it now!”





Diver gasped when seashells and pieces of coral began falling from the sky; they bounced and tumbled across the sand. The waterspout! It must have sucked them up and now spewed them out again. Believers shrieked and covered their heads … and Diver pulled the stiletto from beneath the mat and rose to his feet to stand among them, breathing hard. Diamondback and two other young warriors huddled beneath a pine only two tens of paces away.

The eerie howling, like the end of the world, sent shivers through Diver’s souls. When the bizarre downpour ceased, the crowd fled like hunted rabbits. A running man dashed Diver sideways, and he staggered. Weak, he caught his balance, and forced his shaking legs on toward his son. The fury of the wind almost sucked him off his feet just before he entered the trees.

“Father!” Diamondback embraced him in a powerful hug. A girl and a boy were with him. The boy knelt to finger the shells that had fallen from the sky.

“Oh, my son,” Diver said, gripping Diamondback’s shoulders. “We’ve no time. Your mother is in grave danger.”

“Father, this is Kelp, Pondwader’s sister, and her friend Dace. Tell us what to do.”

Diver turned. The rain had stopped almost completely now. Here and there, sunlight lanced the clouds. He saw Pondwader stagger, one arm thrown up as he squinted at the waterspout.

Littlehorn shouted, “Run! Everybody, get off the beach! Hurry. Spirit Elders, run, run!” He violently waved his arms, yelling orders to other guards, directing fleeing people. The terrible wind almost drowned the warrior’s shouts as men, women, and children ran for their lives.

Only the most devoted, a handful, still stood with the Spirit Elders in the council shelter. The structure shuddered in the wind, palm frond roofing flying off to careen across the village.

When Pondwader clutched the last dart to his chest, Cottonmouth turned, and the wind ripped the turtle bone doll from his belt. She flew through the air toward the Lightning Boy, somersaulting, flipping, as if Dancing. When she hit the sand and started to blow away, Pondwader lunged for her, gripping her tightly in both hands.

“Pondwader!” Cottonmouth shouted. “Throw the last dart! Finish it!”

The boy gripped the last dart, but shook his head. “No. No, I won’t!” He watched the waterspout gyrate through the surf just east of the beach.