Lending Light (Gives Light Series Book 5) (12 page)

Do you like video games?
Sky asked.  He mimed tapping on a controller with his thumbs.

"No," I said, disgusted.  "Don't even talk to me about them."

Sky gave me an unimpressed look.  It might have worked, too, if only his lips would stop twitching into a smile.

"Your hair's all wet," I said.  I ran my hands across it, flattening it, but it sprang back up every time, soft as air.

I'm kind of cold
, Sky said, rubbing his arms with his hands. 
Can we go back to my place?
he asked, pointing over his shoulder.

"Okay," I said.  I hated being indoors, but I didn't mind so much if I was with him.  "I want more juniper tea."

We stumbled on out of the badlands.  Sky's hand shot out toward mine when the clay slid under our feet, and I grabbed his hand and held it firmly, feeling him calm down.  We walked through the reserve and back to his house and went inside.  Rocking chairs stood to one side of the wall hearth, a giant loom to the other.  Handmade quilts hung off the wall, mismatched, but painstakingly detailed.

Granny finally got a radio
, Sky said.  He pointed at it, small and brass and standing on the mantel.

"Hmph!" said Granny herself, Catherine Looks Over.  Mrs. Looks Over came out of the kitchen with raw fabrics draped across her arm, eyeing us distrustfully, her snowy Rapunzel hair tumbling down her stooped back.  Sky blew kisses at her and she waved at him, her gnarled hand dismissive.

"Hi, Mrs. Looks Over," I mumbled, admittedly nervous.

Mrs. Looks Over appraised me.  "What is the matter with you!" she exclaimed.  It wasn't a question.  "Stop stuttering!  And stand up straight!  You're a man, for heavens' sakes; a man is only as good as he presents."

I stared at Mrs. Looks Over, stymied.  Sky slapped the small of my back and I jumped up.  He took hold of my shoulders, straightening them.  I narrowed my eyes at him and he smiled widely, innocent.  Faker.

"Hmph," said Mrs. Looks Over again.  I was beginning to think that was her favorite word.  "I am making frybread," she announced.  "Don't interrupt me."

She hobbled back into the kitchen.  Sky and I exchanged a look.  I fought to keep my face straight; Sky didn't even bother.

Come on
, Sky said.  He swiped the radio off the mantel.

We went upstairs to his bedroom.  The walls were unpainted, just like mine, except this was a log cabin, and the logs on the walls were exposed and round.  A yellow poster on one wall screamed, "California or Bust!"  California wasn't all that great.  Sky set up the radio in front of his sliding closet and turned the dial.  Horrible saxophone music squeaked out of the speakers.

"Nuh-uh," I said.  I hated saxophone music.

We fought for a while over the radio.  I wanted to listen to the station out in Gallup, all glam metal, all the time.  Sky batted at my hand and I shoved him and we settled on country western.  He went downstairs just long enough to fetch me a glass of iced juniper tea.

I don't know how you can drink that cold stuff right now
, Sky said, making a face.

"Shut up," I said, downing it.  I put the glass safely aside.  "It's not even cold out."

I prefer the sun
, Sky said.

"But you burn like a lobster," I said.

He took the pillow off his bed and hit me with it.

"I like the winter," I said.  I laid myself across his floor.  "I like when it's cold.  It doesn't get cold here in the winter, but my grandma lives in Idaho.  Sometimes we visit her and it's snowing.  That's my favorite kind of weather."

Sky glanced at the window beside his bed. 
I'd miss the sun too much, I think.

"You like the summer best?" I asked.

No, fall
, Sky said, shaking his head.  I didn't catch on until he let his hand fall on his lap.

"Fall's kind of nice in Nettlebush," I said.  "I told you about the Pine Nut Festival.  There's a huge harvest in October, too.  Anyway, the oaks turn color and the bergenias come out.  Bet you'd like it."

He looked like he would, his eyes mischievous.

We spent the afternoon talking.  First we talked about books--I told Sky about the library I liked to visit out in Yaqui Crossing, and he sat up suddenly and pointed at himself, and I said, "You?  The library?"  And he grabbed a fistful of change off his bedside table and told me he'd made spare cash in high school loaning banned books to his classmates.  This guy was boss.  I told him about the time I spent a summer on the Burnt Hope rez and the heyoka who housed me wouldn't stop following me, trying to cure me of imaginary ailments.  Sky didn't seem to know what a heyoka was.  "A healer who lives his life in opposites," I said.  "If it's hot in his house, he lights a fire.  If he's sad, he laughs hysterically."

I said, "I think you're a kind of heyoka."

Sky opened his mouth.  Sky closed his mouth.

"You do everything ass backwards," I said.  "You smile when you're upset.  And scared.  You think I don't know you were scared when you first saw me?"

Sky smiled bashfully, but didn't deny it.

"You were scared of me," I said.  "And you kept looking for me, and hanging out with me.  That makes no sense.  You're a heyoka."

Sky looked like he wanted to say something.  I waited for him to make a face so I could hear his voice.  He didn't make one, though.

"You still wanna be friends?" I asked quietly.  He'd seen enough of my personality to know me pretty well by now.  Maybe he didn't like what he'd seen.  I wouldn't have.

Sky grabbed my shoulders.  He held them in firm hands, his energy tingling under my skin.  A line appeared between his eyebrows.  I couldn't get over how brown they were.

"I said something stupid," I guessed.

I'm going to hit you
, Sky warned, pulling his hand back--and dropping it.

"No, you're not," I said.

Shh
, Sky said, his finger to his lips.  Warmth burst throughout my chest. 
Montgomery Gentry's singing.

Later that night, when Sky and I had parted ways, when the rain stopped falling and Uncle Gabe went to Andrew Nabako's house to listen to lacrosse scores, I stole back into the badlands, a flashlight in my hand, my spear on my back in case the coral snakes were awake.  I found my way back to that hickory tree where I'd buried the falcon fledgling from before.  I took the fledgling home with me.  I got game shears out of the basement and clipped the bird's wing carefully; and I brought it into the kitchen and washed it with boiling hot water.  It was quick work to strip the feathers away, even quicker to pry the wing bones apart with an old bone saw.  I took the longest of the bones, about the size of my hand, and used a pair of tongs to scrape the marrow out of the bore.  I stuffed sandpaper inside and scrubbed it until it was glossy and smooth.  With a chisel I hacked away the sharp edges, drilling six holes in the body from end to end.  I took a cedar block, small as my thumb, and ran it under cold water, and shoved it inside the bone until it swelled into place.  I made a smaller hole at the end of the bone for a leather cord to fit through.

I'd known how to make Plains flutes since I was three.  It was just something you grew up knowing, like how to work with iron, or how to make frybread.  In the old days the men of the tribe used to use flutes to court the girls they were interested in.  Somebody sat outside your tipi playing one, you knew they were asking for your hand.

The next day I went to Sky's house with the Plains flute.  He brought me into his grandma's kitchen and took a pitcher of juniper tea out of the icebox.  I showed him the Plains flute and he put the pitcher down on the counter.  I pushed the flute into his hands.

"Take it," I said, to mask my embarrassment.

He dangled the flute by the leather cord.  He looked dazed.

"Well, I mean," I said to the ceiling, my face burning.  "Maybe you can't sing.  But anyone can play the Plains flute.  You don't need vocal cords for that.  Just breath."

I wanted Sky to talk.  I wanted Sky to sing.  I wanted everyone to hear his voice the way I heard it, soft and mellow, mild.  His voice was already a song.  I heard it sometimes when I was alone, except I was never alone; he'd given me his light to keep.

Sky looped the flute around his covered neck, fingers tremulous.  He smiled at me--also tremulous, but warm.  My skin tingled.  He started to thank me with his eyes, but I looked away.  For starters, I didn't want to see his gratitude.  If you get in the habit of thanking people every time they're kind to you, you're letting them know that kindness is something extra, something they don't really owe you.  But there was something else.  I wanted to fold him into my arms.  I wanted to hide him away in me, so no one could reach him, or hurt him; not even a memory.

Sky grabbed my elbow. 
Let's go to the windmills
, he said.

That was pretty much our routine for the last leg of June: windmills by day, lake by night.  I brought books and notebooks with me and read to Sky, or sketched monsters, and he learned the Plains flute freakishly fast; maybe not how to play full songs, but it took him mere seconds to figure out beginners' tricks, like covering the third hole if he didn't know which note he was looking for.  I didn't know how to play flutes, just make 'em, which is something you'll see pretty often in Shoshone families:  The US outlawed our music until 1978, so a lot of knowledge was either passed down in secret or outright lost.  I told Sky as much one afternoon and he lowered his flute and looked at me, stunned.

"You didn't know that?" I asked.  "What do you and your dad even talk about?"

Not much
, Sky admitted quirking his mouth.  He was the Little Mermaid and we were underwater, the windmill field submerged in sea.  Only this time the Mermaid stole her voice back from the Sea Witch.

"Play Ring of Fire," I commanded.

Sky whacked my arm with his flute, grinning insouciantly.  I shoved his shoulder and knocked him over.

Get down here
, Sky said.

He yanked my arm until I toppled over at his side.  He righted me by my shoulders, rolling me on my back and signaling,
Stay
, with the palm of his hand.  He lay down beside me and pointed at the sky with his flute.

"What about it?" I asked, baffled.

Clouds
, he said.  He traced them with his fingers.

"They're just clouds," I said.  "What's it matter?"

He turned his head and gave me a dubious look.

"Your head's a freaking cloud," I said, running my fingers messily through his hair.

He leaned over me and blew into the flute.  Shrill air slapped my face.  I slapped his shoulder, which only served to delight him, his eyes going bright and unrepentant.  Damn mischievous elf.  I slung an arm around his shoulder and drew him against mine.  He kicked me lightly in the ankle.  He went back to mimicking the clouds.

"Okay," I said.  "Do you know the story about Waha Kopai?"

Sky's chin dug into my shoulder when he shook his head.  His small eyes were attentive, overwhelming.

"She's the woman with two faces," I said.  "That's what Waha Kopai means--Two Faces.  One half of her face is unbelievably beautiful.  If you saw her from the right side, you'd think she was the most gorgeous creature on Earth.  But the other half of her face is so ugly it makes babies cry.  If you saw her from the left side, you wouldn't even think she was human."

Sometimes I didn't think I was human.  I was feeling more human these days, less like Caliban, less like Frankenstein's abomination.

"It was her punishment," I said, "for craving the sun.  She'd conspired once to steal it.  She couldn't help herself.  How could she?  You've seen the sun.  She couldn't get enough of it.  She wanted all that light for herself."

Sky rolled more comfortably onto his back, his hands folded on his belly.  The sun was behind our heads, but I had the feeling he was tracing its yellow route on the clouds, his eyes missing nothing.

"So they punished her," I said.  "Wolf and Coyote and Mountain Lion and Black Bear.  They gave her her half beautiful, half ugly face.  And she had to go on like that forever."

Sky glanced at me, like he didn't like that ending.

"Yeah," I said.  "She was pretty lonely.  She holed herself up in a cave and wouldn't come out.  Except to catch pupfish, or whatever it is they eat out in Skull Valley.  But then Nue--you know who Nue is?"

Sky shook his head.

"He's the spirit of Wind and Sky," I said.  "Anyway, he came down from the sky and asked if he could marry her.  He didn't care what she looked like or what she had done.  And the more time she spent with him, the less ugly she felt.  And all the other Shoshone stopped seeing her as ugly, too."

Sky's face went still as he processed the story; then smiling as he turned to face me.

Why didn't she just keep half of her face covered to begin with?
Sky asked, covering his eye with his hand.

"Don't be a smartass," I said, fighting a grin and losing.

Sorry
, Sky said.