People of the Lightning(5)

“Echo,” Diver added with a tired sigh, “the Windy Cove Clan has kept the same autumn camp for generations. Ten and two of your grandmothers are buried there. We can’t just give it up because Cottonmouth wishes it.”

“But why does he hate Mother so? Do you know, Father? It is almost as if she’d done something terrible to—”

“I will not listen to this,” Diver warned in a low, hoarse voice. He gripped his gourd cup hard. “You are her son. Do not speculate about your mother’s life before you were born. What she did and why is none of your concern. You—”

“You don’t know, do you?” Blue Echo taunted. Firelight gilded his young face as he stepped closer to Diver. “Is that it? She has never told you? And you are her husband!”

Diver rose to his feet to face his son. “I know what she wishes me to know, and that is enough for me. I trust your mother.”

“But, Father, surely you have heard the stories? People say—”

“Stories? You have been listening to stories? Did it give you pleasure to hear people saying bad things about your mother? Any of her other children would have killed the storyteller!”

“Father.” Pain tinged the boy’s voice. He extended his hands, pleading. “Will you tell me the truth? It is said that Mother and Cottonmouth used to be lovers. That she lived in his village. That she even bore him—”

Diver clenched both fists and shook them at the heavens. “Do not ask me these things!” he shouted. “Only your mother can answer such questions. If you had the courage to ask her, she might tell you. But no! You are too timid, too cowardly to face her with these, these, tales!”

For a sickening moment, images whirled … leaves blowing from the trees, spiraling across the ground … . Blue Echo’s chest covered with blood, his eyes staring sightlessly at the tree boughs … leaves falling down, down … a dart thrusting up from Morning Glory’s back … men running … screams … horrible screams.

Could his memory be correct? Had Cottonmouth’s warriors attacked less than half a hand of time after Diver’s shouting died away?

Diver opened his eyes. Darkness had flowed into the spaces between the trees, rousing the night insects. Hoppers churred in the grass while mosquitoes buzzed around his head.

Diver lowered a numb hand to pick up a golden leaf. Water droplets shimmered and twinkled in the gray twilight. Had any of his warriors escaped unhurt? Made it home? Was Musselwhite even now racing through the forests trying to find him?

“Oh, Musselwhite, forgive me.”

Blessed Spirits, if he died, too, what would happen to her?

His gut twisted. She would take her children’s deaths hard, but his death? Losing him would wound her very soul.

Diver plastered the cool leaf on the club wound, and tears filled his eyes.

“Oh, my wife, my wife. I have loved you so completely.”

He dipped a handful of water to wash his face. The leaf came off. Blood smeared his fingers. His gaze focused on the red stain, but he did not really see it. Musselwhite’s face smiled at him—from across a great distance. A time when they’d both been young, and filled with laughter and hope.

Diver had been her sole confidant for more than two-tens-and-five summers. She had shared her soul with him. Only Diver knew about the frightened little girl who lived inside Musselwhite’s bones. Sometimes, at night, she wept in that child’s pitiful voice, and he comforted her. Before every battle, every council meeting, every time the renowned warrior woman shouted, or negotiated, or displayed great courage, that little girl filled her dreams, and Diver could see the girl in her eyes, running, frantic, trying to find a place to hide.

A mournful smile moved Diver’s lips. Long, long ago, he had built a shelter for that child in his heart—so she would always have a place to run to, a place where she would be safe. Would that little girl die without him as a refuge?

Heart pounding, Diver picked up his dart and dragged himself to his feet. Blood gushed from his wound. He bowed his head, gritting his teeth against the pain. For a time, he stood shaking. The alligator’s eyes watched him. Quiet. Speculative. Probably wondering how much longer Diver could stay on his feet.

He forced his legs forward. As he entered the forest, Diver ducked low to clear a pine bough … and froze.

Cautious voices punctured the silence, coming toward him.

No. Oh, no.

Diver limped backward, then got down on his stomach and slid across the ground. The growing darkness might shield him if he could get far enough away from the trail. Pungent scents of rotting vegetation and moss rose as he scrambled for cover. Finally, he pulled himself behind a fallen log. Palmettos had grown up around it. Diver used his dart to push a frond to the left so he could see the deer trail.