People of the Silence(253)

Swallowtail pulled up his hunting shirt, eagerly crawled forward and shoved her knees apart. She was dry, and tight, when he forced himself inside. The only other woman he’d been with had been Cloud Playing, and she’d been so close to death that all of her muscles had been slack. Cornsilk’s body held him like a firm hand. He stretched out on top of her and placed his knife against her throat again.

Hatred burned in her eyes, and he smiled. He would wait. Savor each moment of this. Then, just before ecstasy overtook him, he would kill her and watch the life drain from her eyes while the semen drained from his body—just as he’d done with Cloud Playing.

“Move,” he ordered in a hoarse whisper. “Move!”

Cornsilk made a feeble attempt, and he thrust violently against her hips.

“Blessed gods,” he whispered, “keep moving. Move faster!”

He felt the first prickling in the root of his penis—more quickly than last time, the sensation overpowering him, as if he were a hawk swooping through fire, soaring, ablaze! He pressed the knife against Cornsilk’s throat and gazed directly into her horrified eyes. The thrill nearly made him laugh out loud. Just a moment longer, not long now, and he’d slash through that thin veneer of skin …

Something struck the side of his head, the force strong enough to blast lights through his eyes and knock him sideways, off of Cornsilk. Swallowtail scrambled to his knees. “Who—”

He heard as well as felt the sickening thunk as a rock slammed into the back of his skull. Dazed, in shock, he knew he had to get to his feet to fight. He dragged himself up, staggering, and looked into the horrified face of Poor Singer. The youth stood in front of him with tears streaming down his narrow face and a huge round rock gripped in both hands. Swallowtail roared in angry defiance and lunged for Poor Singer …

Cornsilk kicked his legs out from under him. Swallowtail toppled to the ground, rolled, and grabbed for Cornsilk, but Poor Singer fell upon him, screaming, “Don’t you hurt her! Don’t you ever hurt Cornsilk!”

Swallowtail heard, more than felt, the next blow. His skull cracked, and lights, like a thousand splintered stars seared his vision. Lights … fading into the grayness …

* * *

Powered by terror and rage, Poor Singer barely realized it when Swallowtail slumped to the ground like a clubbed dog, his limbs twitching. Poor Singer kept beating, lifting the rock and bringing it down hard, screaming, “I won’t let you hurt her!”

Swallowtail’s body had grown flaccid, but the rock came down again, and again. With each blow, the boy’s rubbery limbs shook and flopped.

“Poor Singer? Poor Singer!”

Poor Singer blinked. He vaguely heard Cornsilk, but he kept grabbing up the bloody rock and bashing it down. Killing Swallowtail for what he’d done! He—

“Poor Singer!”

Cornsilk tugged the rock out of his hands and threw it into the forest, where it rolled and thumped against a tree trunk. Poor Singer sat with his fists suspended in midair, trembling, crying like a child. He looked up into Cornsilk’s face and saw the blood trickling from her throat.

“I—I had to make him s-stop.” Then he glanced at Swallowtail. Only red pulp and bone fragments marked the place his nose had been. The boy’s shirt was still pulled up, twisted around his torso to expose the wet penis, like a dead slug across his thigh. “Cornsilk, I … oh, gods…” He squeezed his eyes closed, trying to blot the sight from his soul. “I can’t believe I—”

Cornsilk knelt and embraced him, drawing Poor Singer against her as if she would never let go. “He was going to kill me, Poor Singer,” she said in a shaking voice. “I could see it in his eyes. He wanted to kill me.”

“But why! Why would he attack you? He had no reason! You hardly even knew him!”

Cornsilk pushed back and gazed into his blurry eyes. “I don’t know why. But he wanted me dead. The…” She swallowed. “The rape … I think that was just an afterthought.”

“You mean, you think he came up here to kill you?”

Her shaking was getting worse, as if now that it was over, the truth had begun to sink in. Cornsilk released Poor Singer to rub her arms. She clamped her jaw to still her chattering teeth.

“Oh, Cornsilk.” Poor Singer stroked her hair. “It’s all right, Cornsilk. You’re safe now. Everything’s going to be all right. Do you hear me? I won’t let anybody hurt you. Not ever.”

“If you hadn’t c-come when you did, I—”

“But I did come,” he said, and thought about how he’d almost missed Swallowtail’s trail. The boy had been very careful. His moccasins had barely scuffed the dust. When Poor Singer saw the faint prints, he’d immediately whirled and started back up the trail. That’s when he’d heard Swallowtail’s voice … and panicked.