Kelp glanced at her mother. Her face was angry, but she was not looking at Moonsnail or Seedpod, or even Polished Shells. Her eyes were riveted on Beaverpaw, who was holding his squat wife’s hand. When Beaverpaw caught her gaze, he hastily released his wife’s hand and folded his arms. Kelp’s brows lowered, wondering at that. She glanced back at her mother and found Dark Rain’s pointed teeth gleaming in triumph.
Seedpod and Moonsnail walked toward Musselwhite and Pondwader. As they did so, Seedpod unfolded the marriage blanket and shook it out in the wind. It was dyed in the sacred colors, with alternating red, yellow, black, and blue strips. Moonsnail grabbed two corners, and together they draped the blanket around the couple’s shoulders.
A roar of exultation went up from the crowd as Musselwhite and Pondwader turned and waded out into the sea.
Pondwader clutched Musselwhite tightly as the backwash of water sought to trip him.
“Are you all right?” she asked softly.
“So far.”
“Just hold on to me. I won’t let you fall.”
“I will. I—I like holding on to you,” he answered timidly.
Musselwhite carefully led him out until the cool water came up to their breasts, then she turned to him, removed the wet blanket from around their shoulders, and cast it upward as high as she could. The wind caught it, whipped it around, and hurled it down into the water again. People on shore called congratulations to them, and began dancing, whirling and swinging each other around.
Musselwhite took Pondwader’s face between both her hands, looked him in the eyes, and gently kissed his lips. Joy filled him. He longed to gaze into her eyes forever. The Lightning Bird in his chest thundered softly, sounding oddly like a child crying—suffocating tears that would not stop. Pondwader frowned and listened more closely. He could almost make out words. Rain began falling in earnest, stippling the water around them.
“We’re supposed to swim back,” Musselwhite said. “Can you?”
“I’m not much of a swimmer,” he admitted. “When I’m in the water, I’m usually weighted down with chunks of coral and breathing through a hollow reed. But I’ll try.”
Her eyes examined him, moving from his hood to his long blue sleeves. “Maybe you shouldn’t, after all. I tell you what: Gather up the hem of your robe in one hand, and hold tight to my belt with the other. If you can float, I’ll get us to shore. No one will know the difference.”
Pondwader reached out and stroked her arm affectionately. “You are so kind to me.” Then he gathered up the hem of his robe, as she had instructed, and slipped his fingers into her belt.
“Ready?”
“Yes.”
A strong swimmer, she took long, even strokes. The chilly water raised bumps on his skin. He noticed that Dark Rain had waded into the surf, watching. A writhing halo of black hair encircled her face.
Musselwhite said, “Your mother is very concerned about you.”
“Yes, but not the way you think,” he answered. “I’m sure she’s worried I might drown and she’d have to find another way to pay her debts.”
“Well, you won’t drown. We’re almost there,” Musselwhite said and stood up in the water, which now reached the middle of her thighs. “Step down.”
Pondwader did, and his knees hit bottom. Musselwhite gripped his arm and helped him to stand. His legs shook badly.
“Blessed Spirits,” he said. “My wet robe feels as heavy as a dead whale.”
“Put your arm over my shoulder again.”
Musselwhite hauled him from the water and up onto the beach. People danced around them, slapping them on the backs, as they headed for the council shelter where the feast had been laid out. Pondwader breathed deeply. He was married. A boy no longer, but a man. He belonged to Musselwhite, the greatest warrior in memory, and she belonged to him. A giddy, light-headed feeling possessed him. He would have new responsibilities now. People would treat him differently, expect more from him. The thought thrilled him.
The marriage mat had been laid out along the northern side of the shelter. Musselwhite eased Pondwader down, then sat beside him. Rain pattered on the thatched roof and gusted into the shelter. Pondwader wrung out the hem of his robe and smiled. Outside, people dug up the geese buried in the coals and unwrapped the protective fabric layers before putting the big birds into broad shallow baskets. Steam rose and twisted away in the wind.
“Are you cold?” Musselwhite asked.
“Just a little.”
She reached to the stack of folded blankets that always lay near the northwestern shelter pole, and draped one around Pondwader’s shoulders. “Better?”