“Three days ago. The Sacred Pond—”
“Ah. The Pond, yes.” Turtle Bone Doll flips head over heels, then bounces around my eyes.
“You’ve been to the Pond?”
A magnificent flash of lightning turns the world blue, and I see a faint smile touch her faded red mouth. “I should say so. That Pond was once a Hole-in-the-Ice. I crawled up it in the pocket of an old woman named Broken Branch. But that’s not the first time I saw it. Hallowed Spirits, no. That Pond goes back to a time before the world. Of course it was much bigger then. Huge, in fact. It was the calm Eye of Hurricane Breather, the very spot where the first Thunder egg hatched and our blue world spun out.” Turtle Bone Doll cartwheels around me, flipping and laughing with childish delight. “That’s why I’m here tonight.”
“Why?”
“Blessed Shining People! Has no one taught you anything?”
“Well, I—I don’t know. Like what?”
Turtle Bone Doll’s frayed tunic billows as she leaps and skips about the shelter, Dancing over my grandmother and Kelp’s heads before twirling her way back. She looks irritated. “Maybe no one here knows. Well, I’ll tell you. By entering the Pond, you entered the Eye. For a few heartbeats, you dwelled in the timeless moment before the world was born. That’s why you lost your human souls. There weren’t any back then. So obviously you couldn’t have any.”
“I don’t understand. You said you were here tonight for a reason. Why?”
“To witness the conception.”
“The conception of what?”
“The deliverer. I knew him once. He was a part of me, and I loved him very much. He will come from that timeless moment that still lives in your eyes.”
“But … I’m dying.”
“What difference does that make?”
My vision is suddenly cut in half and terror grips me. The rafters seem to plunge down while the floor rises up. A sickening blur of colors swirls, brown, green, black. The Doll is the only thing in the world that does not move. She is my still point. My anchor. I stare at her hard.
“Too bad,” Turtle Bone Doll says. “You lost an eye. There’s not much of you left now.”
“W-what will happen,” I ask fearfully, “when my last eye falls away?”
Her joyous laughter spills around me, sounding like a summer-old child’s: free, innocent, as pure as dewdrops. Laughter that would sparkle in her eyes if she had any. “The only thing Power asks of you, Pondwader, is that when the Lightning is within your reach, you extend your hand and take hold of it. That’s simple enough, isn’t it?”
“No. I don’t have hands anymore.”
Turtle Bone Doll sighs, and the straggling hairs on her bony head begin, one by one, to stick straight up, pointing toward the sky. Sparks fly from the ends, like rubbed fox fur, and she goes still and quiet.
“What is it?” I ask. “What’s the matter.”
“Get ready,” she warns.
I glance around, terrified, as if some monster is going to leap from the forest and devour me whole. Lightning lances across the sky in constant blinding streamers, and thunder roars so loudly the ground heaves and bucks beneath me. The whole village should be falling down! Why isn’t it? Roofs should be collapsing, and people running for their lives! Grandmother and Kelp continue to sleep, their breathing deep, faces serene. Have they gone deaf?
“Here she comes,” Turtle Bone Doll’s voice is soft with reverence.
“Who?”
“First Mother.”
Out over the ocean, an enormous Lightning Bird crackles from the black heart of the storm, and soars down, splitting clouds as she plummets toward earth. A stunning blue-white trail flares behind her. As she nears, the world becomes as broad daylight.
The last thing I see is liquid blue fire pouring down around me, splattering the floor mats and support poles, filling the shelter with frosty radiance.
The bolt pierces my one eye, and I am blind, plunging like Falcon through air that is molten ivory.
Turtle Bone Doll’s sweet laughter penetrates the brilliance. She Sings, “Pondwader’s eye will bring life to the world! Just as Hurricane Breather’s did! Life to the world … to the whole world!”
Six
“Grandmother! Grandmother!”
Moonsnail briefly looked up to see Little Darter racing across the village toward her. Sand spurted beneath the girl’s heels. Her voice sounded urgent, but at five summers, urgent might mean she’d found an odd fish washed up on the shore. Moonsnail continued mopping Pondwader’s forehead. He lay beneath a mound of blankets, just his pale face and drenched white hair showing. His fever had raged for four days. Yesterday, during the lightning storm, there had been a terrifying moment when Moonsnail had feared she might lose him. She could sense Death, standing just at her grandson’s shoulder, watching, waiting … . But Pondwader seemed better today. He breathed easier, and had even eaten a little.