“Well, I do!” Kelp blurted. “I don’t want you to go away, Pondwader!”
A sandy gust of wind battered the shelter. Pondwader closed his eyes, waiting for it to pass, and Kelp ducked her head. It careened through the village, making children scream and dogs bark, and dissipated out over the ocean.
When he turned back, Pondwader murmured, “I will miss you, too, Kelp, but I must do this. Soon. Please, Grandmother. Make the arrangements. I … I need to be in Windy Cove Village by the beginning of the Moon of Mist.”
Moonsnail’s gaze slid from Pondwader’s face to Kelp’s, then she frowned down into her cup of tea, clearly searching the eyes of her soul. The Moon of Mist began in seven days. “Do you wish to tell me about this rush?”
Pondwader replied, “Forgive me, Grandmother. I can’t. I promised.” His eyes fell closed, and his head tilted to the left. In a few heartbeats he was fast asleep.
Kelp and Moonsnail sat quietly for a full finger of time. Then her grandmother leaned forward and whispered, “What was he talking about, Kelp? Who did he promise?”
She shook her head, thinking about the incident with old Dogtooth at the Sacred Pond. Her brother had been so sick by the time they’d gotten home that she had never been able to ask him what the ghosts had told him … but she suspected that’s who he had promised. “I do not know, Grandmother.”
Moonsnail scowled at Kelp as if she didn’t believe her, but she let it go, and rose to her feet. “Well, come along, child. It’s time we faced the clan. They will be worried that Dark Rain has caused some new calamity. Let’s give them the good news. Quickly. Before they make any rash acts, like hanging your mother to stop the debate.”
Seedpod sat with the other Spirit Elders of Windy Cove Clan in the council shelter around the dead coals of last night’s fire. Old man Ashleaf’s tunic had a red wolf painted on the skirt. As he leaned forward to whisper to Seedpod, short white hair blew over his eyes. He brushed it away. “I tell you, we must do something. Now! Before it’s too late.”
Dreamstone nodded as if in agreement. The woman’s withered face changed expressions continually, going from terrified to amused in a heartbeat. She had left her long, gray hair loose to flutter in the wind. Both Dreamstone and Seedpod wore plain tan tunics belted with braided palm cord.
Seedpod concentrated on the feel of cool air moving in and out of his lungs while he studied his daughter.
Musselwhite sat cross-legged on a mat at the northeastern corner of the council shelter, her back against the support pole. She had bathed before dawn, washed her long silver-streaked black hair and braided it, then dressed in a clean tunic. Strings of oyster pearls chevroned the front. Not even their glistening beauty could lessen the frightening numbness that slackened her face. Every movement of her hands came sluggishly, as if a wall of black water had crashed down upon her while she slept, driving the air from her lungs, and no matter how hard she swam, trying to reach light and air, she could not. Ever.
Seedpod hurt for her. Musselwhite was undoubtedly realizing she would never again see the smiles of those she loved, feel their gentle touches, or hear the warmth in their voices.
“I tell you we cannot survive!” Ashleaf exclaimed and looked around the village to assure no one overheard. “We must go and beg another clan to take us in. It is our only choice!”
Seedpod wiped sweating hands on his hem and shook his head. “Our only choice is to give up our own clan and blend into another? Shall we allow our traditions, our special stories, to die, Ashleaf?”
The old man’s pained eyes narrowed. “I do not wish it, Seedpod, but—”
“Then there must be another way!” Dreamstone said. “Let us consider every other possibility first: What if we move our village far to the south? What will Cottonmouth—”
“He will hunt us down and kill every one of us,” Musselwhite answered softly, without taking her gaze from the hands folded in her lap. Scars crisscrossed the tanned skin. Many of the nails had been peeled to the quick. Diver used to grab her hands and hold them when he saw she was biting the nails so. When she tried to tug them back to peel them some more, he would refuse to let go and they would end up laughing and wrestling … . “Our only choice is to fight Cottonmouth.”
“Musselwhite, we have eleven warriors left!” Dreamstone objected. “Cottonmouth has at least ten tens, and his numbers are growing daily. We can’t fight him! There must be a place far away where we can run and he will not follow.” She extended her hands in a pleading gesture to the other Spirit Elders. “Think! What about the islands far to the south?”