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People of the Lightning(30)

By:W. Michael Gear


Kelp squeezed her eyes closed. “Who?”

“The War Leader of Windy Cove Clan.”

“Have I met her?”

“Yes, a few times. She was not War Leader then. I’ve forgotten what her title was. Her name is Musselwhite.”

Kelp gasped and Pondwader’s lips moved, but no words came out. He turned his head and opened his eyes. “Musselwhite?” he whispered. “She mentioned marriage, but I … I never dreamed …”

Moonsnail brushed soaked white hair from Pondwader’s brow. “Are you strong enough to speak of this? It can wait. Your health is more important.”

“I wish to speak of it,” he answered weakly. “Kelp … could you bring some extra blankets … pile them so I can sit up?”

“Yes!” She ran to the opposite side of the shelter and gathered an armload, then came back, folded them until they seemed to be the right height. She lifted Pondwader and shoved them beneath his shoulders. “Is that all right?”

He nodded. “Thank you.”

Kelp sat down again. The three blankets elevated Pondwader’s torso just enough so that he could see over his feet to look at both of them. Kelp and Moonsnail moved to sit on either side of him. He seemed half dazed, his eyes moving erratically, as if he were dizzy, or had overindulged on fermented elderberries. Wet locks of white hair glued themselves to his cheeks, highlighting the arc of his cheekbones, and his straight nose. In the village behind him, a pack of new puppies romped in play, growling and nipping at each other as they loped around the shelters.

“Musselwhite,” Pondwader breathed, sounding awed.

Kelp recalled their first meeting vividly, though she could not have been more than four summers. She and Pondwader had been playing, and they’d both run into the ceremonial shelter where the evening’s feast lay on long mats—and could not be touched until Sun Mother slipped into the Village of Wounded Souls to sleep. Pit-roasted deer hindquarters, boiled clams, and other dishes—all delicious-smelling—had filled the shelter; just the sorts of things children longed to get their hands on. People packed the shelter, men laughing, talking, women holding crying babies, young couples preparing to be married, everyone sparkling in their shell-covered tunics and jewelry. Pondwader had attempted to follow Kelp through the tangle of grownup legs, and had run smack into Musselwhite before he’d seen her. Kelp had turned to find out where he was, and seen the warrior woman kneel before Pondwader, smiling. Musselwhite had asked, “Are you as hungry as I am, little Lightning Boy?” Speechless, Pondwader had only nodded, and the great Musselwhite had reached out, pulled off the leg of a roast quail, and smuggled it to him. “Here, this should keep your belly from grumbling until feast time.”

Kelp knew that Pondwader had dreamed of Musselwhite’s magnificent voice for years. He’d told her often enough.

“We need this marriage,” Moonsnail said. “Being related to Musselwhite will give us power we would not dream of now, and not just in war. Trade would benefit as well. But I would never wish you to be unhappy, Pondwader. I will not force—”

“Grandmother …” He tried to straighten himself against the blankets. “Why me?

“That’s a good question,” Kelp said. “Musselwhite could have any man she wished. Why skinny Pondwader?”

“I will not lie to either of you,” Moonsnail said. “You deserve to know the circumstances of this arrangement. It seems your mother gambled away everything else she had, and when she had nothing left to pay her debts to Windy Cove Clan, she offered them her son.”

Kelp’s mouth dropped open in indignation, but Pondwader just smiled weakly.

“Have they accepted?”

“Not yet. If you agree to this, I will contact Seedpod, Patron of Windy Cove, and we will sit down and haggle about it.”

“Musselwhite ... does she even know my name?” His tone sounded wounded, as if he very much wanted her to know his name.”Or just that an alliance is being ‘haggled’ with Heartwood Clan?”

Moonsnail took his hand and squeezed tightly. “The Lightning Birds are flashing in your eyes, Grandson. Quiet them down. This is only a beginning.” Moonsnail’s face fell into a mass of wrinkles. “There is another reason I believe this would be good, Grandson. Dogtooth’s Dream, and Cottonmouth’s raids … well, people are frightened.”

“I know.” Pondwader looked down at the coarsely woven blanket covering him. Though his people dyed everything, the colors faded quickly, leaving vague red and yellow patterns. “I feel their fears growing. It will be better for everyone if I go away. I don’t mind, Grandmother. In fact, I—”