People of the Sea(12)
Lambkill smiled. “Your confession has decided your fate, Iceplant.” He spun to Old Porcupine again. “Isn’t that so, elder? I have the right to choose Iceplant’s punishment as well as hers!”
Porcupine’s ancient face fell into sorrow-laden lines. He adjusted the deer hide over his head, perhaps to better block the chill wind. “It is your right.”
“And you, Owlwoman?” Lambkill said to Kestrel’s mother. “What do you think? Your daughter is guilty of incest! She bedded your own dead husband’s nephew! What do you think her fate should be?”
Kestrel gazed for a long moment into her mother’s eyes, and a pain began in her chest, like a wrenching scream working its way up from her soul to her lips. It came out a moan as Owlwoman placed a quaking hand on Willowstem’s shoulder and turned her back.
A chant rose on the wings of the darkness, rising and falling in mournful tones as Owlwoman Sang Kestrel’s Deathsong. Someone else joined in, a man, deep in the crowd. More and more people lifted their voices and tipped their faces to the rain to Sing.
Heya hey a a yo ho yo ho yaha. Hear us, Thunderbeings! In beauty, it is finished. In beauty, it is finished.
Our beloved daughter is done.
Heya heya a yo ho yo ho yaha.
With your headdresses of lightning flaming, fly to us!
With your bellies full of rain, come to us!
We beg you to take this beloved daughter away. Hey a hey a a yo ho yo ho yaha. Take her away to the Land of the Dead, Bear her upon your wings.
Heya heya a yo ho yo ho yaha. Our beloved daughter is done. In beauty it is finished. In beauty it is finished…. Lightning crackled through the clouds, and thunder rolled over the hills. People blinked away the rain, searching for the shining wings of the Thunderbeings, expecting to see them plunge from the heavens.
Kestrel whispered, “No, Grandmother…. Mother? Please?”
Lambkill gestured shortly to Tannin and Cottontail. “Get Iceplant out of my way.”
Kestrel tugged at her ripped dress, trying to shield herself from the people’s eyes and the rain. She watched blindly as Cottontail and Tannin dragged Iceplant back and shoved him down by the hissing fire. Around him, puddles shimmered radiantly in the firelight. Overhead, flashes of lightning slashed the gloomy skies and thunder rolled solemnly from the blackness.
Lambkill lifted both hands and began a speech about his love for clan law, about Kestrel’s sacrilege, and of how hard he found it to murder his own wife.
But her eyes stayed on Iceplant, and her ears heard a different voice, three days old, soft, pleading … “Kestrel, please, I beg you. I want to be with you. Come with me to the sea. My mother’s people will take us in. The Otter Clan traces its family line through the women—not through the men. You’re my father’s brother’s daughter. You’re not my cousin to them!”
“We’d never be safe, Iceplant. Lambkill would search the world to find us and then he would murder all three of us.
He knows every chief and every trail. We’d never escape.”
“I’ll’protect you from him! Kestrel, listen to me. I love you so much. Come with me!”
The abyss in Kestrel’s soul yawned wider, threatening to swallow her. Barely audible above the wind and pattering rain, she said, “Forgive me, Iceplant. Forgive me.”
Iceplant seemed to hear. He looked up at her through tear-filled eyes, then doubled over as his broad shoulders shook with sobs. The last of Kestrel’s soul drained away into the slate-gray echoes of twilight. She felt empty. So empty.
Another paean of thunder shuddered the heavens.
Lambkill strode back to stand nose to nose with her, blocking her view of Iceplant. “The laws of our people say I may do with you as I wish, woman.” He smiled and lifted his fist. The force of the blow sent Kestrel reeling backward. Her arms flailed wildly as her moccasins skidded in the mud.
Lambkill danced around her with his knife drawn, bouncing from foot to foot, screaming, “Incest! Incest!” The obsidian blade glinted as he stabbed her bare shoulder, then slashed across her forehead. Hot blood ran into her eyes, and Kestrel let out a cry of shock. She heard Iceplant moan. Through blurry eyes, she saw him. He was kneeling before the fire, holding his stomach while he vomited.
“I’m going to kill you, wife!” Lambkill yelled and lunged at her, his knife aimed at her heart.
People gasped, rushing forward to witness her death, and a narrow slit opened in the crowd. Kestrel sidestepped and wildly sprinted through the gap and across the plaza, her child-heavy belly bouncing. Cries of outrage laced the misty air.
Lambkill shouted, “Come on!” and an angry mob coalesced from the crowd of her family and friends and followed in pursuit. When she reached the edge of the plaza and could see the slash of wet trail heading downhill, she heard the swift