People of the Silence(55)
Thistle’s hands hovered over Cornsilk’s pack. A difficult swallow went down her throat. “Cornsilk … forgive me. I always meant to tell you.”
Tears filled Cornsilk’s eyes. The admission was like a blow to her stomach. She couldn’t speak. She stood there in silence, her mouth open, as the tears spilled hotly down her cheeks.
“Oh, Cornsilk.” Thistle left the pack on the ground and rose to embrace her. Holding Cornsilk tightly, she kissed her hair and whispered, “I love you so much. You will always be my daughter, even if I am not your birth mother. I—”
“Who is?” Cornsilk gazed up at her. “Who is my mother? And my father?” Desperation tickled the base of her throat. She had to know this.
Thistle shook her head. “I don’t know. Truly. I wish I did.” Gently, she stroked Cornsilk’s back. “When you return, I will tell you everything I know, and all the things I suspect. For now, remember that … that I did not tell you before because I feared for your safety. If my suspicions are true, you would make a great prize, or a target for some ambitious warrior, Cornsilk. Tell no one about this. Promise me.” When Cornsilk just stared at her, Thistle demanded, “Promise me! You must not even tell Fledgling. No one! Do you understand?”
Cornsilk managed to nod. “Yes.”
Thistle lifted the pack and held it out for Cornsilk. Numb, she slipped her arms through the shoulder straps and knelt to retrieve her bow and quiver from where they leaned against the wall by the door. She slung her quiver over her left shoulder.
“Mother, I wish you to know that I love you more now than I ever have. For … for all the kindness you have shown me. I promise to take very good care of that blanket.”
Thistle put her hands on either side of Cornsilk’s face and said, “There is one more thing, my daughter: if you are ever in trouble and need help…” Words seemed to have evaporated from her lips. Finally, her gaze hardened and she continued, “If you are ever desperate, take that blanket to Talon Town and present it to the great priest Sternlight. Tell him that I gave it to you. He will understand.”
“But isn’t he a witch? Why would—”
“Don’t ask me, my daughter. I can tell you only that I believe he will help you.”
Questions plagued Cornsilk, and things she longed to say. Was Sternlight her father? Where was her mother? Still at Talon Town? Why had neither of them ever come to see her? Even secretly, just to get a glimpse of their little girl?… Didn’t they care about her?
She hugged Thistle’s shoulders. “I love you, Mother. I’ll see you soon.”
In a strained voice, Thistle answered, “I know you will. I love you, too.”
With their arms around each other, they looked down over the familiar sights of Lanceleaf Village—the square of buildings that enclosed the plaza, the kiva that made a circle on the ground to the left. Two old men leaned against the ladder that stuck up through the roof of the holy structure, smiling, talking. A group of laughing children raced across the plaza with dogs barking and leaping at their heels.
Cornsilk turned to the road where Fledgling stood with their father. Beargrass wore a long gray shirt and red leggings. His black braid hung down his back.
“Fledgling is very frightened by all this,” her mother said as they walked. “You are braver than he is, Cornsilk. Please, try to ease his fears as you walk him toward the split in the road.”
Cornsilk squinted against the sun. Her heart had gone dead in her chest. “Should I walk him all the way to Grandfather Standing Gourd’s village?”
“No, just to the split in the road. Deer Bird expects you to arrive before dark tonight. He’ll be worried if you’re late.”
“All right, mother, I—”
Her mother suddenly hugged her so hard it forced the air from her lungs. Cornsilk jumped in surprise.
“Oh, my daughter,” Thistle said as she nuzzled her cheek against Cornsilk’s. “You are my joy. Never forget that.”
Cornsilk kissed her mother’s temple. “I love you, Mother. Don’t worry. I’ll be fine. And so will Fledgling. I won’t let anyone hurt him. He is like … he is my brother. We’ll see you when the threat of war is over.”
Thistle released Cornsilk, her dark eyes moist. At that moment, Leafhopper ran from the gate with little Brave Boy sprinting at her heels. Five summers old, Brave Boy wore a perpetual grin. Leafhopper, however, looked sad. Every time one of her feet hit the ground, her chin-length black hair flapped over her ears like wings, and her chunky body jiggled.