People of the Lightning(69)

“But you believe the world is evil. I’ve heard you say it.”

“Yes. The world is filled with pain and suffering. I have always believed that. That is why those years without Sun Mother were so terrible. If the world is all you believe in … well, you are destined to an infinity of suffering yourself. Indeed, I was so devoured by cares, I could barely live at all. I felt dead, and hopeless inside myself.”

Diver tipped his bowl to finish the last few drops of his broth, and set it aside. He closed his eyes, preferring the red-tinged backs of his eyelids to Cottonmouth’s curiously reverent face. “And that is when the Dream of a shining new world came to you?”

“Yes, two summers ago.”

“So, tell me, what happens to all those people who do not follow you? Who think your Dream is just foolishness?”

Diver opened his eyes when Cottonmouth got to his feet. The man folded his arms tightly across his bare breast and came to stand over Diver. Silver wisps of hair blew around his cheeks. His eyes looked … odd, glistening. As though the empty wells of his souls had been overturned and all of the dark hollowness had flooded out like black water.

Diver clutched Musselwhite’s deerbone awl in his right hand, and glanced toward the guards. They had ceased watching, totally engrossed in their gambling. Curses and shouts of triumph rang out from their circle. The rest of the villagers had retired to their shelters, lit their cook fires, and begun preparing supper.

A burst of adrenaline pumped through Diver’s veins. What if … ? Could the broken awl go deep enough to puncture a lung? If it did, could he escape in the commotion? Darkness fell quickly these autumn days. If he could just get into the forest, he might be able to hide. His back wound still ached constantly, but his shoulder wound had begun to heal, and some of his strength had returned.

“Those who do not believe in my Dream,” Cottonmouth said, “will be crushed beneath the heel of Hurricane Breather and their souls cast to the winds of destruction.”

“Hurricane Breather will kill their souls in punishment? For refusing to follow you?”

“Oh, yes, I’ve seen it.”

“Seen it?” Diver’s pulse raced so fast he felt light-headed. “What do you mean? How could you see souls dying?”

Cottonmouth crouched beside Diver to stare him in the eyes, no more than eight hands away. His voice took on that ghostly quality. “It was like watching fires being smothered, Diver. Little by little, all the light went out of the universe until only darkness remained.”

“What about the Lightning Birds?”

“Oh, he killed them, too. Hurricane Breather devoured all the light.”

That bizarre look in his eyes intensified, reminding Diver of a dead animal’s sightless gaze. There was nothing human there. Nothing at all.

For an eternity, their gazes held, then the lines of Cottonmouth’s perfect face sagged and he sat back on the sand. He said, “Forgive me, sometimes I fall back into that Dream when—”

Diver struck, launching himself from his seated position with the awl gripped like a knife and aimed at Cottonmouth’s chest. Cottonmouth gasped, threw up his arm to deflect the blow and dove out of the way. Diver landed face-first in the sand, and scrambled up just in time to see Cottonmouth lunging for the awl in Diver’s fist. He knocked Diver backward, and the pain in Diver’s wounded kidney sent such a white hot flash through him that it wrung a cry from his throat. Instantly feet pounded the sand, and guards encircled them, holding their long darts like spears, shouting and cursing.

Cottonmouth lay on top of Diver, nose to nose, breathing hard. In one quick movement, he jerked the awl from Diver’s hand and held it up before Diver’s eyes. The bone shone a gray-white in the twilight.

“That’s how she did it,” Cottonmouth whispered to him. “She took the awl and plunged it into my little son’s chest and punctured his heart.” He looked straight into Diver’s eyes. “The boy didn’t die right away, Diver. You know how stab wounds are. It took a while for his blood to run out. I held him. Rocked him in my arms. I Sang to Sun Mother, praying for his life.” His gaze shifted to the awl again. “But I had abandoned her, shunned her for most of my life, so Sun Mother refused to hear me.”

“How did the awl get broken?” Mulberry asked from behind Cottonmouth. The young warrior had a fearful, fascinated expression on his face. He was such a small man, and so skinny, he seemed nothing more than a grim-faced boy.

“I broke it,” Cottonmouth murmured, “withdrawing it from my son’s dying body.”