People of the Lightning(20)

“Indeed?” Cottonmouth replied. His bare feet whispered against the palmetto mats as he walked all the way around Diver. “And what would a man of the Sea Turtle Clan be doing on a war walk with Windy Cove warriors?” Cottonmouth smiled, but what filled his eyes bore no resemblance to amusement.

The young men around the fire had gone silent, clenching their cups of tea and watching with sweaty faces. The smaller of the men, who sat to Diver’s right, keep swirling the liquid in his cup as if nervous that Cottonmouth’s wrath might be turned upon him. Why? What had he done? Or not done?

“Answer me,” Cottonmouth ordered.

Diver replied, “Many clans are banding together, Cottonmouth, to fight you. We must, or … or you will kill us all.”

“Yes,” Cottonmouth said softly. “I might.”

Diver’s legs gave way suddenly, and he staggered until he could brace them again. The young warriors laughed. Diver clamped his teeth and focused his gaze on the firelit shelters strewn like patches of sunlight through the dark forest behind the shelter. There had to be ten tens of them. Children played on the floors, men knapped out dart points, women sat before their looms, weaving. The faint strains of a flute carried on the damp air. Diver concentrated on it. If he could just stay conscious, and keep Cottonmouth talking, he might live to see another sunrise.

Diver twisted to look at Cottonmouth, who had walked to stand behind him, arms folded across his broad naked chest. “Why do you hate us so? Your raiding—”

“I raid,” Cottonmouth said and tilted his head ever so slightly, “to fill my villages with new women and valuable trade items. I hate no one. Except your wife, Musselwhite. I mean to kill her.”

Diver managed to wiggle his swollen fingers, and gripped the ropes above him to take some of the strain from his bound wrists. That simple movement made him wince and tremble again. His wounds had festered. He could feel the evil Spirits feeding on his flesh, eating his strength. “From what I have heard about Musselwhite,” he said, “you had better be very very good with an atlatl, or she’ll skewer your heart before you so much as see her.”

Cottonmouth’s expression seemed frozen, his eyes so cold that Diver suspected the man’s gaze alone could make strong men quail.

Diver filled his lungs with precious air, and said through a long exhalation, “Is what people say about you true?”

“That depends. What do they say?”

“They say you have lost your souls. That the Lightning Birds soared down and killed them.”

Cottonmouth appeared to be pondering that. “I think I will let my warriors use your miserable body for dart practice. Then I will have them carry you back and dump you in your wife’s bedding.”

“If you mean Musselwhite’s bedding, that will not disturb my wife at all. She sleeps two days’ walk to the north.”

The small man by the fire lurched to his knees. “He is Diver! I swear it, Cottonmouth. I, myself, darted his son Blue Echo, and before the boy died, he reached out for this man and called, ‘Father!’ Didn’t he, Hanging Star?” he demanded of the warrior next to him, who nodded. “There is no doubt! He is the one you wished us to capture!”

Diver closed his eyes against the words. Blue Echo called to me? I must have been so engaged in the battle … . A deep dark chasm opened in his heart, making it pound and ache. Had Morning Glory called to him as well? Diamondback … ? Had they all died because Cottonmouth sought to trap Diver?

Cottonmouth took a step toward the small warrior, and the man eased back to the mat, as if he feared Cottonmouth so much he had to nerve himself to breathe in the man’s presence.

Cottonmouth said, “You needn’t worry, Mulberry. I know he’s Diver.”

“You … you do?” Mulberry asked, glancing at the warrior beside him. “How?”

Cottonmouth turned, and firelight slid along the smooth curve of his jaw. He peered deeply into Diver’s eyes.

“Musselwhite is perfectly reflected in his soul,” Cottonmouth said. “I recognize her because every time I look into a pool of water, I see her in my own eyes. Once she has shared her soul with a man, she lives forever inside him. And she has only shared her soul with two men in her life.” Cottonmouth walked closer to Diver, and his tanned face contrasted sharply with the silver in his temples. “Do you see her in my eyes?”

Diver looked for her there, longing for a glimpse of her strength, or tenderness. Maybe a shred of her passionate loyalty … a lingering moment of her love.

“No,” he answered with a tired sigh. “I do not. In fact, I see nothing in your eyes, Cottonmouth. You truly have lost your souls.”