“Yes,” Mulberry whispered and frowned.
Two summers ago, Mulberry had believed Cottonmouth’s Dream with all his heart, but now doubts consumed him. The Spirit Elder simply seemed to have gone mad. Mulberry had the urge to sneak into Standing Hollow Horn Village, secretly pack up his family, and escape into the night before Cottonmouth got him killed.
He turned to Loonfoot. “Have you ever wondered … I mean, if we killed the Lightning Boy, it might assure that Cottonmouth’s Dream didn’t come true. Maybe the world wouldn’t end if there was no Lightning Boy to shoot down the Four Shining Eagles.”
A nervous swallow went down Loonfoot’s throat. “Yes … I—I have wondered about that.”
They stared at each other. A goose honked out in the trees, and then a flurry of startled wings erupted as the flock burst into the night sky, honking and quacking at whatever had disturbed them.
Loonfoot whispered, “I don’t wish the world to end.”
“Neither do I.”
They both turned back and peered at the Lightning Boy. The youth lay completely vulnerable. One could come up behind the boy, while the other stood in front of him. Even if he woke, they would have surprise on their side.
“Shh! What’s that? Did you hear it?” Loonfoot asked.
“What?”
Loonfoot suddenly peered over Mulberry’s shoulder. He half rose, his mouth open to speak, but the dart pierced his right eye and sliced through his brain. As silent as a feather, he toppled to the sand. Mulberry ripped his stiletto from his belt and whirled to meet his assailant.
The hard arm that closed over his throat yanked his feet off the ground. “Drop your stiletto,” her voice hissed. “Now.”
He threw all of his weight into swiftly turning, his stiletto lifted … .
She shoved him away so hard that he stumbled. In the instant it took him to regain his balance, he saw her warclub slicing the darkness, the chert studs glinting in the starlight. Instinctively, he lunged for her, but the club’s impact against his head slammed him face-first into the soft sand. Dazed, he pushed himself up, and nausea overwhelmed him. He vomited repeatedly. Footsteps brushed the sand, but he couldn’t focus his eyes. A gray haze fluttered around him, like tens of bat wings. He worked his stiff fingers into the sand, grasping, trying to hold onto consciousness, but his muscles betrayed him. He fell.
The hollow smack of the warclub bashing his head again was the last sound Mulberry ever heard.
Twenty-two
Oh, no, child. The Turtle Bone Doll really existed. I saw her once. No one would let me touch her because she was so Powerful and I was just a boy, but I looked upon her with these very eyes.
Hmm?
Well, let me see, it was shortly after old Snailtoes’ death. He had been the Keeper of the Sacred Doll for three or four tens of summers by then. I was present at the Transfer Ritual, where the Doll was placed into a new Keeper’s hands. Her name was Cloud-Walking-Over-the-Earth. I recall very clearly the terror and reverence with which she touched it. She took that doll, wrapped it in a swaddling cloth, and rocked it in her arms like a baby.
Then, we all Sang to the Doll.
Cloud-Walking-Over-the-Earth told me later that the instant she laid hands on the Turtle Bone Doll, she heard echoes of the things the Doll had said to Pondwader.
… What?
Yes, she did. She cleaned the Doll, and made a new tunic for her. Cloud-Walking-Over-the-Earth swore that Musselwhite’s mark was still visible on the bone of the Doll’s back. I never saw that. Though I would have liked to. I think the sight would have eased my sorrow. I had a hard time of it after Musselwhite’s death. I remember her burial. There were tens of tens of people present. They had come from all over just to …
What’s wrong?
Oh.
Yes, of course I saw you waving your hand, child. That’s why I stopped! Did you shout at me before that?
Well, I warned you. My ears have minds of their own.
All right, where was I?
… Yes, that’s right. Pondwader and Musselwhite on the sacred journey to Standing Hollow Horn Village.
Pondwader was no warrior, you’ll recall. In fact, he had trouble convincing himself to swat mosquitoes. He loved everything alive, and worried about it, too, but he knew so little about the world …
Orange flickers danced on the backs of Pondwader’s eyelids. For a long time, he saw them in the context of his dream; he was sitting in his grandmother’s shelter at Heartwood Village, laughing and talking with Kelp, discussing where they would go to hunt mushrooms that morning … . Then the sound of a log snapping in the fire brought him straight out of his sleep. He lay still, listening in terror to the crackling flames. I’m not at Heartwood … . Where am I? Sea Girl’s voice sounded different, deeper and stronger, dashing the shore. I left Windy Cove this morning. Yes, I left Windy Cove and went searching for Musselwhite. He’d camped on the beach beneath a tall pine tree. But he hadn’t lit a fire. Had he? Wind whistled through the trees, slapping a few pine cones from the branches and sending them thudding down against the sand. The scent of wood smoke mixed with sea salt.