People of the Lightning(92)

“I honestly cannot say,” Moonsnail replied. “If he manages to extricate himself from Dark Rain’s clutches, I’m sure Waterbearer would be happy to see him. And I suspect the council would be lenient with him—just because his family loves him so much.”

“I hope he comes home.” Kelp frowned.

Moonsnail studied her. “If you’re feeling guilty, stop it. It was your duty as a member of this clan to inform the elders before his behavior became a scandal and reflected on all of us.” Moonsnail put a hand on top of Kelp’s head. “If you hadn’t told me what you’d seen, I would have beaten you bloody with a green willow switch.”

Kelp smiled, disbelieving, and looked so much like her grandfather that it warmed Moonsnail’s heart. “Grandmother,” Kelp said, “the closest you’ve ever come to beating me was a good whack on the shin with your walking stick.”

“Poor judgment on my part. I’ve always been too merciful where my children were concerned. If I’d taken a willow switch to Dark Rain she might have turned out to be a decent human being. Just look at the trouble my indulgence brought our clan.”

Dark Rain had asked everything of her, every possession, every shred of love in her heart; over and over again she’d begged Moonsnail to intercede with the clan on her behalf. Yet she’d repeatedly defiled the clan’s honor, and then casually turned her back on all of them. Moonsnail shook her head.

“You loved her, Grandmother,” Kelp said. “It isn’t your fault that she turned her back on us.”

“If I’d whacked her shins more often, it might have helped.”

Kelp shifted, pulling her knees up and propping her elbows on them. “Grandmother, you can’t even beat one of the dogs when you find it lapping stew right out of your supper bowl.”

“Well, I ought to,” Moonsnail responded tartly, “Softness is my greatest failing.”

Kelp jumped up and kissed her wrinkled cheek. “I love you, Grandmother.”

Moonsnail grinned. What would she do if anything happened to Kelp? Pondwader’s absence had left a bigger hole in her own life than she had feared. She longed to see him squinting curiously at something, or stroking rocks and trees in that gentle apologetic manner, as if soothing their hurts. Kelp was all she had left.

Moonsnail bent forward and said, “I love you, too, Granddaughter. Now finish your palm berries. I promised Floating Stick we would come by his shelter and help him … .”

She looked up when a flock of children raced down the beach, waving their arms, calling, “Tailfeather! It’s Tailfeather!”

Moonsnail gestured to Kelp. “Hand me my walking stick, girl. Let’s go see what our new War Leader has to say.”

Tailfeather trotted into the village surrounded by children, who clung to the hem of his tunic and pestered him with tens of questions. Adults abandoned whatever tasks they worked at and stood up. A crowd slowly developed.

“Give me your arm, Kelp,” Moonsnail said. “I’m awfully unsteady on my feet today.”

“Yes, Grandmother.” Kelp ran up and held out her elbow for Moonsnail to grip.

Holding tight to that strong, young arm, Moonsnail hobbled out of the shelter and into the bright sunshine. Kelp took slow steps, giving Moonsnail time to plant her walking stick and carefully place each foot. By the time they reached Tailfeather, the crowd had him surrounded.

When he spied Moonsnail, Tailfeather disengaged himself, and shouldered forward toward her. A tall youth, two-tens-and-one summers old, he had a triangular face with a broad flat nose and ears that stuck out through his shoulder-length black hair. He wore his atlatl hooked to his breechclout and carried three darts in his left hand. A sheen of sweat covered his muscular body.

“Greetings, Spirit Elder,” he said as he stopped before Moonsnail.

“You made good time,” she responded. “What did you find? Is the site suitable?”

Floating Stick came up beside Moonsnail, his sparse white hair awry, as if he’d just risen from his morning nap. His faded blue tunic bore ten tens of wrinkles; he must have slept in it. Through a wide yawn, he asked, “Well, is it a good place?”

Tailfeather nodded and propped his darts on the ground at his side. “Yes. It will work very well, I think. Manatee Lagoon contains many varieties of shellfish, clams, oysters, mussels, and conchs. Not only that, the freshwater pond that Seedpod spoke of is large, though shallow, and I saw many palmettos and palms. We should have no trouble spinning thread for our fabrics. I also—”

“What about defense?” Moonsnail asked pointedly. A cacophony of speculative voices rose, people relaying every word to those behind them. “Can we defend the site if we’re attacked?”