People of the Lightning(55)

“What do you mean? Why wouldn’t they heal, with time and—”

“Well, it’s hard to explain,” she replied, and exhaled a breath. “It’s as if the evil person maintains a magical control over his victims, and forever, as long as that victim lives, all it takes is a single harsh word from the evil person and the wounds on the victim’s souls bleed again. I don’t really understand it myself … . Grown people should be able to overcome such things, shouldn’t they?”

Pondwader thought about that. Musselwhite’s face had tensed, the lines across her forehead deepening. “Does an evil person have that kind of magical control over your souls? As my mother does mine?”

For a time, she didn’t answer. Then, in a hard bitter voice, she said, “I don’t like to think so, but probably. I haven’t seen him in a long time.”

Pondwader blinked and watched the leaf-strewn trail passing beneath his sandaled feet. Did she mean Cottonmouth? For as long as Pondwader could remember, he’d heard people whisper about things that had happened summers before he’d been born, terrible things, brutal raiding, senseless murder—horrors he could not believe this kind honorable woman capable of, or perhaps it was that he would not believe them. Not until he had proof. Even then, he did not care what she had been. He cared only about who she was now.

They walked in silence the rest of the way, listening to the soft shishing of rain and the hooting of night owls that filtered through the wet forest.

The marriage shelter nestled in a copse of oaks half a hand of time from the village. Small, it spread barely large enough to shield them from the rain. Their bedding had been laid out over floor mats. To keep the blankets from blowing away in the wind, pieces of coral held down the corners. A small fire crackled at the southern end of the shelter, hissing at the raindrops that landed in the flames. Bowls of food made a circle around the fire, keeping warm, as if either of them could still be hungry. He couldn’t see the contents, because other bowls had been turned upside-down over the tops, but the rich sweet scents of roast goose and persimmons filled the air.

Musselwhite left Pondwader standing and folded back the top blanket. A taut expression pinched her face, as though she dreaded the rest of the marriage ritual, or had to will herself to carry it out for the sake of duty. Pondwader thought about the things his grandmother had said, about Musselwhite’s grief, and how she had wanted to take her life after her husband’s death, about how she would probably be dreaming of Diver while loving him …

“You don’t have to, you know,” he said quickly. “We can wait. I—I’m not very strong anyway, and I wouldn’t mind. I mean, it would not bother me at all if you wished to wait for a better—”

“Pondwader,” she said softly and sat on the bottom blanket, curling her long legs around her right side. “Come here. Sit by me.”

He bit his lip and did as she said. He anxiously cradled his knees to his chest.

Musselwhite pushed his hood back to reveal his long white hair, then put her hand beneath his chin, and turned his face toward hers. “I thank you for that,” she said. “You are right that my souls are hurting. I can’t give you as much as I would like—but I owe you as much as I can give. Are you strong enough?”

He nodded. “I—I think so.”

“Your grandmother says you are a virgin, but grandmothers aren’t always aware of facts. Is it true?”

“Yes. It is. Most girls scream and run when they see me. I’ve never been fast enough to catch one. Or maybe it’s that I don’t see well enough. Once they get ten or two tens of hands away, all I see is a blur of color. And it’s hard to tell one blur from another. I’ve always been afraid I might grab the wrong blur and get beaten half to death for it.”

Musselwhite laughed and lessened some of Pondwader’s fear. He smiled.

She reached out to take his hand. “I never expected humor from a bo—from a man your age. And it is so important. Other qualities fade over time, Pondwader, beauty goes, strength wanes, but so long as we can laugh, everything will be all right.”

“I want it to be. So much.”

She leaned forward and kissed him lightly on the lips. “Let’s begin slowly. Can you stand up?”

He braced a hand and got to his feet. She stood beside him, untied her belt and slipped her tunic over her head. Pondwader could only stare. She was beautiful. Long, shapely legs spread to wide hips, then narrowed to a slim waist, and her breasts … they were perfect. When she began unbraiding her hair, his heart pounded—from fear and exhilaration. She fluffed her hair around her shoulders and reached for him.