People of the Lightning (retail) by Kathleen O'Neal Gear & W. Michael Gear

Author:Kathleen O'Neal Gear & W. Michael Gear
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Publisher: Tom Doherty Associates
Published: 1996-11-14T23:00:00+00:00

Twenty-four

Lavender light penetrated the heavy fog, announcing the arrival of dawn, but Moonsnail paid it little attention. She and the other members of the Council of Spirit Elders had been up and engaged in debate for more than a hand of time already. Floating Stick sat to her left, his gnarled old hands extended to the warmth of the crackling fire. His hooked nose and sparse white hair glimmered with mist. Directly across the fire from Moonsnail, Tailfeather sat beside Kelp. The War Leader’s triangular face with its flat nose could have been carved from wood, so little emotion did it show—despite the desperate topic of discussion. Kelp sat next to Tailfeather, her head down, as was appropriate. She was present only because she slept here. She was not, however, allowed to speak. To Moonsnail’s right, Rivercobble huddled under a blanket with her twin sister, Sun Hawk. Because of their extreme old ages, eight tens of summers, Moonsnail rarely called them to meet, unless the situation required the full council’s attention. The twins resembled skeletons more than living humans. They had no teeth, and only a few wisps of gray hair dotted their ancient heads. Their muscles had vanished long ago, leaving nearly transparent skin clinging to their bones. Their arms and legs looked like knobby sticks, and their faces were as gaunt as a corpse’s. Huge black eyes stared out from sunken eye sockets.

Moonsnail added another branch to the fire. Flames leaped and spat out sparks which wafted leisurely for the rafters. The fog had grown so thick she could not see to the next shelter thirty hands away, though sounds carried—people cooking breakfast, children speaking softly, a dog growling—and so did the delicious odors of roasting opossum and bottle gourds.

Floating Stick lowered his hands to grip his knees and turned to Tailfeather. “Did Dogtooth say how many people were killed at Windy Cove?”

The nostrils of Tailfeather’s flat nose flared. “No. Though he described the scene he saw in his Dream. He said that dead scattered the entire village, mostly mothers, children, and the elderly. But he said he saw several warriors, too.”

Floating Stick shook his head. “I recall Seedpod telling me they only had ten-and-one warriors left. If even a few were killed in the attack …” His mouth hung open, not wishing to finish the statement.

Rivercobble did it for him. “They are defenseless. We must assume that.”

Sun Hawk’s head shook in a frail nod. “Yes. Our new relatives need our help. We must decide what to do.”

Moonsnail saw Kelp squeeze her eyes closed and bite her lip, undoubtedly worrying about her brother. She had tied her long black hair with a cord, but strands had escaped and hung damply around her cheeks. The blanket snugged over her narrow shoulders had belonged to Pondwader. In fact, he had designed the red and blue geometric pattern. Kelp clutched the blanket as if it represented her last link with her best friend. Moonsnail felt sorry for her. She herself had been unable to sleep last night for worrying about Pondwader.

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