Attention turned in Wing Heart’s direction. In the eye of her soul, Cloud Heron was sitting behind her, his age-lined face somber as he steepled his fingers. She waited for him to speak.
Another memory drifted into focus, and she watched her son, White Bird, as he stood, alive, strong, straight, raising his hands to accept the cries of approbation that had risen from the gathered Elders, Speakers, and the crowd outside the confines of the Council.
Look at him, Cloud Heron! How proud he stands, his back straight, the sunlight beaming down on his head. Look at the smile, the ease with which he accepts leadership!
“Elder?” Water Petal said from behind.
“What?” Wing Heart blinked, her son vanished. She turned, but Cloud Heron was nowhere to be seen. Her souls staggered, only to remember her brother sinking into fever, his body wasting over the long moons. A nightmare image—a yellow tongue of fire—leaped from a torch to ignite the roof of the house that held his cleaned bones.
You are alone! Her souls shriveled at the knowledge.
“I was …” She blinked as she tried to find herself, to recall what was happening. Glancing around, she realized that everyone was waiting, waiting for her. “Cloud Heron, tell them,” she muttered.
At the stunned expressions on Water Petal’s and Moccasin Leaf’s faces, she whirled around, searching. Where was Cloud Heron? She had just seen him, his hand up, voice ringing as he addressed the Council.
“Where did he go?” she wondered.
“Who, Elder?” Moccasin Leaf had a horrified look on her face.
“Tell them.” Wing Heart looked into Water Petal’s eyes, and waved at the Council. “Just … tell them.” She tilted her head as she tried to understand what was happening. If Cloud Heron hadn’t brought this up, who had? Surely this was something that Water Petal had mentioned. She must know. “Speak for me.”
Water Petal swallowed hard and stepped forward. Moccasin Leaf’s eyes might have been deer-bone stilettos, piercing her souls with hate and embarrassment. Seated on a palmetto mat, young Mud Puppy watched her with wide, frightened eyes. Mud Puppy? What was he doing here?
“Does this Council not deserve the Elder’s respect?” Sweet Root demanded. “Does Wing Heart not speak for her clan when it comes to allowing an avowed enemy to step into our midst? I may be new here, but even as a freshly made Elder, it would appear that I have more respect for these proceedings than the revered Elder from Owl Clan.”
“If the Council will hear my words,” Water Petal stepped forward, a curious tremor in her voice.
“I, for one,” Sweet Root immediately answered, “wish to hear from the Clan Elder.”
“She’s not well!” It was Mud Puppy’s voice. He was on his feet, stepping out in front of Water Petal, his fists clenched at his sides. He wore a beautiful white mantle, one that shone in the afternoon sunlight.
Wing Heart turned, blinking hard. Why is he here? This was a place for Speakers recognized by the Council, not uninitiated boys. “Where is my brother? Where is Cloud Heron? Why isn’t he here?” Fear bloomed within her like a lotus.
It was Water Petal who swung around on one heel, deftly catching Wing Heart’s elbow. “Come, Elder. Let’s get you home. The Speaker can handle this.” But fear lay in Water Petal’s eyes.
“Yes,” Wing Heart agreed, quick with relief. “The Speaker can handle this. Cloud Heron always knows what to do.”
She was being led away as she heard Mud Puppy say, “The Elder meant no disrespect. If the Council will just be patient …” A roar of voices erupted in answer.
Cold shivers ran down Salamander’s body as he shot a quick look over his shoulder. Water Petal was leading his mother away, one hand on her elbow. Even from this distance, he could see his mother’s face—a stricken look etching her once-indomitable features.
He swallowed hard, turning his attention back to the jeering calls of the Council. His heart hammered at his ribs, fear bright in his veins. Behind him, Moccasin Leaf was hissing something in poisonous tones.
I can’t speak to the Council! I’m not a Speaker! He nerved himself to step out into the open where a Speaker should stand. His skin had the hot nervous prickle of embarrassment. For a moment, he couldn’t find words.
He glanced at Clay Fat, only to read disappointment in the appalled expression on his face. Turtle Mist, beside him, looked horrified. People shifted on their feet, clearly uncomfortable. Deep Hunter sat with his jaw cradled in his right hand, head tilted forward as he glared out with hard eyes. Stone Talon was shaking her head, tsking sounds coming from her toothless mouth. Three Moss, her hand on her mother’s shoulder, gaped incredulously.