The Dawn Country (13 page)

I call, “Thank you, Shago-niyoh,” and turn to run to Father.

Thirteen

A
s Grandmother Moon wavered through the clouds, the forest went from bright to impenetrably dark in a few heartbeats. The boulders two paces from Sindak resembled hunching beasts. He glanced at them, scanned the swaying pines, then folded his arms and gave the Flint warriors a lock-jawed stare. They were engaged in a discussion that sounded vaguely hostile, at least as hostile as men about to fall on their faces could sound. Koracoo and Gonda stood silently, listening.

War Chief Cord’s hood rested on his back and Sindak could get a good look at his face for the first time. His hair was shaved on the sides, in the fashion of Flint war chiefs, leaving a black bristly ridge down the center of his skull, and he had evil-looking serpents tattooed on his cheeks. He was curiously unpretentious. Most war chiefs seemed to be taken with their own wiles. Although his current lack of pretension could result from the fact that he was so tired he could barely stand, it looked genuine. When Cord shook his head at something Ogwed said, his long pointed nose cast a shadow across his cheek.
“What if it was your daughter, Ogwed?”
he asked.
“Or your niece?”

Sindak leaned sideways toward Towa and whispered, “What are they arguing about? I can only hear part of their whispers.”

“I don’t know, but if they were smart, they’d wait until later to argue, after we’re far enough away that the Dawnland warriors can’t use their malevolent expressions as an excuse to kill them.”

Sindak replied, “I agree. I saw up close the looks on the boy warriors’ faces. I suspect any excuse to toss a piece of our hearts into their mouths would do.”

Sindak tightened his folded arms and glared at the Flint warriors. He kept catching a few words of their conversation:
Flint children … can’t just … I’m going home!

Sindak said, “I don’t like them.”

“Why? Just because they’ve been slaughtering our people for generations?”

“That’s only one reason. I also don’t like their hair. They’re not going with us, are they? Surely they will continue on westward to Flint country?”

“I think that’s what they’re arguing about.”

Koracoo lifted a hand and called, “Baji? Come over here, please.”

Sindak and Towa watched the slender girl trot over to stand between Gonda and Koracoo.

“Let’s move closer so we can hear better,” Sindak said.

They both casually drifted up to stand behind Odion, Tutelo, and Hehaka.

“All right, Baji,” Gonda said, “repeat what you told us earlier.”

The moonlight tipped Baji’s lashes in silver as she looked up at Cord. “Last night in the warriors’ camp, I saw a Trader selling a Flint girl. She was about my age, twelve summers.”

Koracoo said, “Baji would know a Flint child, Cord.”

The war chief’s exhausted eyes tightened. “As I would. Just by the way she moved. Who sold her to Gannajero? Did you see?”

Baji glanced at the other Flint warriors, probably judging their moods. Ogwed was scowling unhappily at her. “He was a Flint Trader. I’ve seen him before in our village, but I don’t know his name.”

Cord said, “Was he an ugly little man with rotted teeth?”

“Yes.”

“Probably Tagohsah.”

The young warrior, Ogwed, threw up his hands. “War Chief, if we join these people, they will take us deeper into Dawnland country. Our people need us to help defend the new village while it is being built. We have no right to go traipsing off after a missing child, just because she
may
be Flint.”

Dzadi’s massive protruding jaw moved as he ground his teeth. “I agree, Cord. If we’d seen the girl with our own eyes, maybe, but—”

“I’m not lying!” Baji clenched her fists at her sides, daring any man to call her a liar out loud, so she could rip his throat out.

Sindak smiled. That little girl had fire in her belly. Someday she was going to be a frightening clan matron.

Cord said softly, “I believe you, Baji. And I won’t take the chance that Gannajero might have one of our children in her possession. If War Chief Koracoo does not object, I’ll send my men home and continue on with her party.”

Koracoo stared at him with unblinking eyes, as though evaluating the quality of his soul. She hesitated for a long time, clearly considering the ramifications, before she said, “Do you realize that at some point Wakdanek will ask if you were part of the war party that attacked his village?”

Their gazes locked for such a long time that everyone else started to shift and tighten his hold on his weapons. Finally, Cord replied, “I do.”

“I don’t want any trouble between you. Is that understood?”

“Perfectly.”

“Then gather your things. We’ll be leaving as soon as Wakdanek arrives.”

“I’ll be ready.” Cord braced a hand against the boulder where he’d been leaning and stood tall and straight before his men. “Dzadi, tell the elders what happened at Bog Willow Village. Let them know I will be home as soon as I can.”

Dzadi glanced suspiciously at the Standing Stone and Hills warriors. “Be careful, Cord. I don’t trust your new ‘allies.’”

Cord smiled grimly; then he turned to Baji. “Baji, I want you to go with Dzadi and Ogwed. They will make sure that you are cared for until our people can find your family and return you to them. You’ll be safe. I give you my oath.”

Baji looked longingly at Dzadi and Ogwed, as though she wished with all her heart to go with them. Her voice quavered when she said, “I can’t. I promised a friend that I would come back for him with a war party.”

“What friend? Another Flint child?” Cord asked.

“No, he’s Standing Stone. His name is Wrass. He …” Tears constricted her voice. “He saved me. Saved us. Last night, he killed the warrior who was guarding us and told us to run. I saw him. He took the dead warrior’s club and walked right into the middle of the camp and poured a bag of poisonous plants into Gannajero’s stew pot. Her warriors beat him half to death. I’m not going home until we save him.”

Odion and Tutelo walked up to stand shoulder to shoulder with Baji, creating a unified front. Only Hehaka hung back.

Odion said, “None of us are going home until we save Wrass and the other children.”

Cord frowned. “Are you sure, Baji? I have to be honest with you. It won’t help any of us to have you along on this trip. Children can be deadly on a war walk. They slow warriors down, and when it comes to a fight, they are distractions. Many of the warriors here are more likely to die because of you. Do you understand?”

She lifted her chin. “I am of the Flint People. I understand. But do you understand that I gave my word? I won’t go back on it.”

Cord exhaled hard. “There’s no time to argue about this.” He looked up at Koracoo. “War Chief, if it is your decision that she stays, I will take Baji as my personal responsibility. She is of my people. When the fight comes, leave her protection to me.”

Koracoo glanced at Baji, and sadness lined her face. She’d obviously been hoping Baji would go with Cord’s warriors. It would have been one less thing to worry about. She simply said, “After what she’s been through, it is Baji’s decision. And if you wish to protect her, it is your right.”

Cord turned to Dzadi. “Leave, old friend. Make it home safely.”

Dzadi stepped forward and embraced Cord hard enough to drive the air from his lungs. “We will be waiting for your return, War Chief.”

“Tell my daughter I love her.”

“I will.”

Dzadi reluctantly backed away. Turning, he and Ogwed trotted west.

Gonda put a hand on Cord’s shoulder, and the man locked his knees, as though the slight weight might cause them to buckle. Gonda noticed and removed his hand. “Can you run for one hand of time?”

“If not, leave me. I’ll catch up.”

In an utterly serious voice, Koracoo replied, “We will.”

She studied Cord in detail, as though absorbing every quaking muscle; then she subtly shook her head and turned to stare over the lip of the ravine at the Dawnland Healer trotting through the moonlight. The long hair of his moose-hump cap glimmered in the light. As he climbed up the steep wall of the ravine, the sheathed knife resting on his breast swayed back and forth. In addition to his slung bow and quiver, he had a ball-headed war club in his fist and a small pack on his back.

“What do you think of him?” Towa whispered to Sindak.

“He looks too hungry for me to ever be quite comfortable around him. I think I’ll sleep with my blanket knotted around my vulnerable throat.”

“Don’t be silly. You’re not going to get any sleep.”

“Really? Why not?”

“Because the first person Koracoo will allow to sleep is War Chief Cord, so he doesn’t slow us down. The second person will be Wakdanek, so she can keep an eye on him. I wager that you and I, my friend, are going to be standing first watch, followed by Gonda and Koracoo.”

Sindak had his eyes on Cord and Wakdanek. They both had faint amiable smiles on their faces, which was as good a way as any to hide their fangs. Sindak tried to imagine himself in Wakdanek’s moccasins. Surely he suspected that Cord had participated in the attack. If Sindak had been standing in the presence of one of the warriors who’d destroyed his village and slaughtered his family, he’d be filled with murderous rage. He might have to bide his time, but he
would
even the score. He suspected Wakdanek was thinking the same thing.

Wakdanek said, “We can’t go back over the pass. There will be too many warriors. I’m going to lead you along a tributary that curves south; then we’ll follow another trail to return north to the warriors’ camp.”

Koracoo said, “That is acceptable.”

The night had gone quiet again, and bitterly cold. Sindak longed to be on the trail, running, so he could warm up. Down by the campfire, the Dawnland elders sat, their gaunt faces gleaming orange in the light. Warriors prowled around them like young wolves. Frequently their faces shone as they gazed up at Sindak and Towa.

Sindak leaned closer to Towa to say, “I hope Koracoo knows what she’s doing. I think those two are trouble. When it is least convenient, I suspect they’re going to kill each other.”

Fourteen

G
randmother Moon’s face cast an opalescent glitter across the land, silvering the mist that wreathed the dark maples and leafless sycamores. The night was so quiet. It was as though the many voices of the forest had been silenced all at once by some great catastrophe.

Sonon stopped to listen. It wasn’t often that a man stood in such deafening silence that he was truly alone with himself and the enormity of his failures. Eternity seemed to open its eyes.

For a few blessed moments, he bowed his head and let the sensation filter through him.

Then he clutched the boy’s body against his chest and continued picking his way down the frozen bank toward the river.

Ice filled every hollow. The footing was treacherous. He breathed a sigh of relief when he reached the edge of the water, where willows clotted the shallows. Around the stems, he saw fish feeding. Concentric rings expanded each time they broke the surface.

The pithy fragrances of old autumn leaves drifted on the breeze. He sucked them deep into his lungs. His arms had been trembling off and on for two hands of time. The constant struggle of battling the ice to stay on his feet had taken his strength. He didn’t know how much longer he could carry the boy. Soon, he’d be forced to drag him.

But for now, he just held him close.

In a barely audible voice, he sang,
“The crow comes, the crow comes, pity the little children, beat the drum.”

As though the old song called her, a soft rhythmic pushing of air stirred the depths behind his eyes, and he knew she was sharing his vision. Staring out through his eyes. As she had since he’d seen six summers. Sometimes, especially at night, the beating of her wings was so frantic, he would rise from his blankets and run as hard as he could until dawn, when she finally went back to sleep.

He gazed down at the boy’s face. His eyelids sunk into his empty eye sockets. His blood-soaked shirt had frozen stiff. In the wash of moonlight, the boy’s oval face resembled a ceremonial mask carved from wood and painted a luminous white.