His brother really was a pain sometimes. He just wanted to sleep. Close his eyes and go to sleep. He was wounded. His leg—couldn’t he see that and maybe, just this once, give him a break? But no, Diego was gripping him by the shoulder, shaking him hard.
“Take a breath. Now. Right now.”
Rubin tried to tell him he would, but no sound emerged, so he just did it to shut him up. He drew in a deep lungful of air. It burned at first, as if his lungs had forgotten how to breathe in and out. He frowned and concentrated on the mechanics of breathing. Finally, his lungs caught on as if remembering a long-ago performance and they began to work automatically. The air circulated through his system.
You happy? His voice wouldn’t work, but he managed to get the words out—he thought—to his brother telepathically. Maybe he hadn’t or he’d slurred them. Who knew? He just wanted sleep.
13
Luther glanced over his shoulder at Rubin and Diego as he led the way through the labyrinth below the ground. It might not be the largest cave system, but it was big enough, with so many twists and turns that the brothers were more than impressed with it. “Shouldn’t even be alive, let alone up and walking, yet here I am. You boys are a bit on the scary side.”
“You’re the one that has more lives than a cat,” Diego pointed out.
“No way could I live through that one. Which one of you did the mumbo jumbo?” He threw another suspicious look over his shoulder.
“Diego gave you his blood,” Rubin volunteered. “Figured you were both ornery, so if you got any more bad-tempered no one would notice.”
“I guess I oughta thank you for the blood, kid,” Luther said.
The old man limped as he walked, but other than that, he showed no additional signs that he’d had such a severe injury that he should be dead. His color was good and he ate his portion of the rations Rubin and Diego shared with him. It was Rubin who looked pale. If one looked closely, he walked with a limp as well. He was directly behind Luther, with Diego bringing up the rear. He hadn’t objected when Diego had silently picked up Rubin’s heaviest pack and shouldered it along with his own, something Rubin would ordinarily never allow.
They were going into combat, and Rubin knew he had to recover. That meant resting. He’d slept, and that had helped, but they didn’t want to take any chances that the elite soldiers would get to the Gunthrie property before they took out the ground crew and could keep the plane from landing. They meant to take back Jonquille before the soldiers could take her wherever they were planning on doing their experiments on her. He wasn’t willing to risk waiting any longer.
Luther kept walking, but when Diego remained silent, he shot another look over his shoulder, his gaze assessing Rubin this time. “You did the mumbo jumbo, then, Rubin,” he said. “Suspected for some time you had the gift. ’Course, what you got is more powerful than any I’ve ever witnessed. Shouldn’t have wasted it on an old man like me when you got to have your strength to take back your woman.”
Rubin didn’t respond. He kept walking. Luther was fishing. He knew their mother had had the healing gift, but he also was astute. He’d been watching them closely each time they came back to the mountains. Knowing how intelligent Luther really was, Rubin was wondering just how much Diego and he had inadvertently given away.
“We’ll get Jonquille back,” Diego said, confidence in his voice. “Did you take out their equipment?” If he had, that would be one less thing to do.
“’Course I did. You think cuz I’m old I lost my brains?”
“I’ll ponder on that for a piece before I answer,” Diego responded.
Rubin wasn’t so certain he wanted to be between the two of them. Diego, I’ve been thinking quite a bit about that sequence of strikes Jonquille hit me with. After we used the indigo bunting, I remembered a conversation we had about songs. It was all about various songs we knew about that had lightning in the lyrics. Some were modern, some not. We knew most of the same ones, but she mentioned one I hadn’t heard of. It was by a group out of Liverpool, I believe. In any case, she repeated the lyrics to me and then sang a phrase. She repeated it several times. When she did, she tapped the rhythm on her thigh. I watched her fingers moving, and it was fascinating how she did it.
Diego processed in his mind, watching the images Rubin replayed.
The little strikes with Jonquille’s fingers on her thigh as she tapped were not as if she were playing an instrument but as if she were the lightning striking a specific target on the ground. The rhythm to the song was mellow, almost sweet, not at all hard-hitting like a bolt of lightning would be. When I matched those taps on her thigh to the ones of the sequence, they seem to fit.