People of the Silence(249)
As he pushed through the tangle of barberry and out into the bright moonlight, he felt something, like a hand upon his shoulder. Frightened, he whirled around, breathing hard, scanning the snowy meadow and the glistening peaks, but …
“Poor Singer?”
* * *
He jerked awake, gasping, staring wide-eyed at the coral gleam of dawn. Charcoal clouds drifted on the eastern horizon, their bellies clothed in the palest of golds. Cornsilk knelt beside him. She wore a clean black-and-white cape and buckskin moccasins. A thick black braid draped her left shoulder. Her wound had healed, but an ugly yellow bruise remained around the raw pink scar high on her cheek. His gaze drifted from the scar to her full lips, pointed nose, and the oval line of her jaw. He sat up and hugged her fiercely.
Heartsick and weary, he cried, “Oh, Cornsilk, I’m so glad to see you.” The feel of her slender body against his soothed him.
She slipped her arms around his waist and hugged him back. “I half-expected to find you spinning around and flapping your arms like a moth.”
“This time … well, I had to learn to be a cloud.”
She gently pushed back and looked him over in detail, as if checking to see what injuries he’d sustained during the transformation. Apparently satisfied he was all right, she unslung a small pack from her back and unlaced the ties. “I knew you’d be starving. Can you eat now? Did you learn to be a cloud?”
He nodded, feeling curiously floaty, and cold, terribly cold, deep down. “I’m starving. What did you bring?”
Cornsilk sat beside him on the gray limestone and pulled out two bags. “Your grandmother, Downy Girl, gave me venison jerky and ricegrass-seed bread.” Cornsilk’s dark brows drew together as she searched his face. “But you’ve been fasting for many days, Poor Singer. You’d better just eat a little. You might throw up.”
“I’m willing to take that chance.”
Cornsilk handed him a length of jerky and pulled out a gut water bag. “Drink this first, Poor Singer. It will cushion your empty stomach.”
Poor Singer took three sips and handed the bag back. “Thank you, that tasted good.” He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and took a small bite of the jerky. His stomach squealed and cramped.
Cornsilk watched him closely. Behind her an eagle soared through the morning sky. Its long wings flashed gold as it dipped into the wind and sailed westward. She said, “Are you all right, Poor Singer?”
He took another small bite. “So far.”
“Good. We have a long walk back to Gila Monster Cliffs Village.”
“We do?”
“Poor Singer,” she said with a frown, “it took me four days to find you. Fortunately you left a trail clear enough that a five-summers-old child could have followed. But, in your condition, it will take us at least three days to get back.” Cornsilk’s expression turned contemplative. “And I think, Poor Singer, that we should get back as soon as possible. Jay Bird is very worried about you.”
“I’m surprised he didn’t send ten men to drag me back.”
“Both Dune and I asked him not to.”
Poor Singer’s brows raised. “And he listened?”
“Dune had that look in his eyes, you know the one I mean? It’s like a shout, telling you that all the evil Spirits in Creation will be loosed upon you if you don’t obey?”
He nodded, and sighed. “Boy, do I know that look.”
“I pleaded with Jay Bird to let me search for you. He watched me for a long time with his eyes squinted. Then he nodded and said he trusted me—because you loved me. He gave me permission to find you.”
Poor Singer reached out and took her hand. Her fingers felt thin and delicate in his grasp. “Cornsilk, I do love you. I want to be with you always. If … if you want to be with me?”
She gave him a sad smile that broke his heart. “I want that more than anything in the world, Poor Singer.” And her smile faded. She turned away. “But I don’t know where we’ll ever find a home. My mother—Thistle—has decided to stay here, at Gila Monster Cliffs. But I can’t, Poor Singer. Nor can I go back to the Straight Path nation, and my father…”
Poor Singer lowered his jerky to his lap and frowned. He must be all right. The Keeper said … seemed to say …
“Cornsilk? What’s happened while I’ve been away?”
She shoved a rock out of the way and slid over next to him, as if needing his closeness. “Your grandfather regrets that he killed Sternlight in front of you.” She frowned at the ground. “I didn’t know Sternlight well, Poor Singer, but he was kind to me. I will miss him.”