People of the Lightning(80)

Musselwhite gave them no time to recover. She cast three darts on the run, nocking, aiming, and letting fly. Two men fell immediately, the third kept standing, but his mouth dropped open in shock as he gripped the shaft piercing his belly and ran his fingers over the fine eagle-feather fletching. Warriors raced around him, barely noticing when he collapsed to stare sightlessly at the night sky.

Diamondback grabbed his attacker’s warclub, hoisted himself to his feet, and swung hard at a charging warrior. He caught the man in the stomach, hurling him over the club and sending him sprawling across the sand with his belly ripped open. The pungent reek of torn intestines filled the air. Diamondback quickly turned, took aim at the man’s dazed face, and brought his club down at an angle, crushing the nose, driving splinters of bone upward through the eye sockets and into the brain.

A hail of responding darts flew, and Diamondback hit the ground and dragged himself forward on his stomach to take shelter behind the dead man. His mother stayed on her feet, dodging between the shelters, using them as cover, picking up miscast darts, and flinging them back with deadly accuracy. Two more men lay in her wake, blood draining from their wounds to pool on the white sand.

A warrior charged from Musselwhite’s left, and Diamondback screamed, “Mother! On your left!”

The man swung his warclub, but she ducked with the fleetness of a weasel, grabbed her stiletto from her belt, pivoted, and drove the sharpened deerbone between the man’s ribs. As she withdrew the weapon, the victim gripped her hand and stumbled into her. His weight made Musselwhite stagger backward, and two enemy warriors leaped on her from behind, grabbing her arms.

“We have her!” one of the men shouted, jumping up and down like an excited boy. “We’ll take her dead body back to Cottonmouth and live in glory for the rest of our lives!”

Despite his terror, Diamondback got to his feet, his warclub in his hands, and hobbled forward. His injured leg throbbed sickeningly. The tall thin warrior holding Musselwhite’s right arm laughed at Diamondback and ordered, “Kill him. Quickly! So we can hunt down the survivors and go home!”

Before the warrior could lift his atlatl, another dart hissed, and Diamondback saw the chert point glint in the firelight as it sailed across the village. The impact flung the young warrior forward in a shambling trot, and Musselwhite threw all of her weight into breaking the other warrior’s grip. The action sent both of them sprawling across the ground. The warrior rolled, got his knees under him, and prepared to leap on her. In mid-jump, his mother thrust her deerbone stiletto into the man’s vulnerable throat. Then she was on her feet again, racing forward, the man on the ground not even dead yet, though he would be—soon enough.

Stunned gasps came from Cottonmouth’s remaining warriors. One of them, small and skinny, pointed and shouted, “Look!”

Diamondback jerked around.

A hooded figure emerged from the trees. His long sleeves hung down over his hands, and the hem of his tan robe dragged the ground, but in the frame of that hood white hair streamed around a ghostly pale face. As he walked forward, he was so graceful he seemed to float over the sand, and his eyes—Blessed Spirits!—they burned with a pink glittering light. He spread his arms … .

“It’s the Lightning Boy!”

The cry spread through the enemy warriors like wildfire.

“Look! There he is!”

“It’s Cottonmouth’s Lightning Boy!”

And Musselwhite used every moment of their gaping fear to kill them. She had plucked up a warclub somewhere and swung it with lethal expertise. The hollow smack! of a skull-crushing blow was followed by startled yell, and another smack! Cottonmouth’s warriors stumbled over each other, whispering darkly. Then they broke and ran.

Musselwhite followed them into the forest.

Diamondback whirled around again and saw the Lightning Boy lower his outstretched arms. As if suddenly weak, the youth slumped to the ground, and clutched the fabric over his heart. “Blessed Sun Mother,” the boy panted.

Seedpod trotted out of the forest with his atlatl raised. “Pondwader,” he shouted, “stand up! I want them to see you!”

The youth did it, but barely. White hair fluttered around his taut face as he pushed back his hood, braced his legs, and stood shaking like a blade of grass in a gale.

Seedpod strode by the Lightning Boy, his eyes scanning the forest as he made his way to Diamondback.

“Grandfather,” Diamondback said in relief as they embraced. “Thank the Spirits you got here when you did, or we’d all be dead.”

“You mean thank the Spirits your mother got here. She sensed something was wrong about half a hand of time ago. She threw her pack at us and ran with all her strength. Pondwader and I came along as quickly as we could—but we only just arrived. I got to the edge of the trees in time to see the two warriors grab your mother. That was my dart that skewered the one on her right.”