The Dawn Country (22 page)

She whispered, “Wrass, I thought I saw a canoe following us.”

Wrass stiffened. The possibility was more painful than his headache. Hope could be a knife in the belly—and she had probably imagined it. “What kind of canoe?”

“I didn’t get a very good look at it. It might have been birch bark. Do you think—?”

“How long ago did you see it?”

“Two hands of time, maybe a little longer.”

Wrass considered that. It might be more of the warriors heading home from the big camp last night. “Did you see any markings on the canoe?”

Auma shook her head. “I only caught a glimpse of it as we cut around a bend. When the man saw me looking at him, he immediately dragged his oar and disappeared. I think he was trying to stay hidden.”

“Man? One man?”

Auma spread her hands uncertainly. “I only saw one.”

Wrass let his gaze drift to where Conkesema slept on the packs. Old leaves had swirled into the boat and stuck in her black hair. He prayed her souls were walking in serene meadows far away from here.

“Do you think it’s a war party?” Auma whispered.

“One man is not a war party.”

“But he could be a scout. Maybe once he knows for sure that we’re here, he’ll turn around and go get a war party? My parents may be with them.”

Auma’s gaze bored into Wrass, silently begging him to say yes, that they were moments away.

He couldn’t.

As the day warmed, the scent of the river grew stronger. It had a bitter tang, a mixture of rotting leaves and frost-killed plants. Wrass leaned over the gunwale to look past the bow to the canoe ahead of them. Zateri’s boat was now in the lead, with Waswan sitting in the bow. Zateri knelt in the middle next to the Flint girl. Her mouth was moving, probably speaking gently, trying to ease the girl’s fears.

“Ho, Waswan!” Kotin cupped a hand to his mouth and called, “Put ashore! We need to talk!”

Waswan swiveled around and lifted a hand to indicate that he’d heard; then he gestured to the warriors paddling in the rear, and they guided the canoe to the bank. At the sight of Waswan’s ugly face, hatred flushed Wrass’ veins. The man was sapling-thin, with dark inhuman eyes and a knobby nose, obviously broken in one too many fights. Waswan had enjoyed it as he’d beaten Wrass half to death.

Someday I’ll repay the favor.

The man jumped onto the sand, followed by Akio and Ojib, who leaped out and finished shoving the canoe up onto the shore.

Wrass braced his hands on the gunwale as their canoe grounded next to the first. Kotin and Gannajero climbed out while the new man, Dakion, got into the water to continue pushing the canoe’s bow up onto the bank. When he’d finished, Dakion waded alongside Wrass and growled, “Stay in the boat. All of you.”

Wrass looked into Dakion’s bark-colored eyes and nodded. He had broad muscular shoulders and enormous hands. A thick scar marred his chin. Dakion glowered at the children, then stalked up the bank toward where Gannajero and Kotin stood.

“What are they talking about?” Auma asked.

“I don’t know, but if there really is a canoe traveling behind us, they might have seen it.”

“So … what does that mean? Are they going to try to ambush the man?”

Wrass shrugged. “We’ll know soon enough.”

Gannajero and her five warriors formed a circle ten paces from the shore near a copse of maple saplings. As the old woman listened to Kotin, she sucked her lips; her mouth resembled a shriveled berry. The greasy twists of graying hair that hung around her wrinkled face flapped in the breeze blowing up the river.

Wrass took the opportunity to crawl across the canoe and call, “Zateri? Are you all right?”

She worked her way down the length of the gunwale and sat down less than six hands away. “We’re all right. How are you feeling?”

“My headache is better, thanks to you.”

“Keep chewing the willow twigs, Wrass. I’ll gather more if I can.”

“Have you heard any of Gannajero’s conversations? What’s she so worried about?”

Zateri nervously licked her lips and leaned as far out of her canoe as she could. He did the same. From less than three hands away, she hissed, “I’m not sure, but when we rounded that last bend, I heard her tell Kotin that she thought she’d glimpsed—”

The Flint girl in Zateri’s canoe leaped out and made a run for it, dashing away through the forest. Branches cracked in her wake.

“No! Neche, no!” Zateri jumped to her feet.

Auma got on her knees as though ready to bolt after Neche, and Wrass leaped for her and knocked her flat in the bottom of the canoe.

“Get off me, you fool!” Auma shouted. “Let me go! This is our
chance
!”

Gannajero shouted, “Kotin, find her! Make sure the other children understand.”

Kotin nocked his bow and charged away into the trees. Thirty heartbeats later a shriek silenced the birdsong. As though nothing had happened, Gannajero returned to her discussion with her warriors.

Wrass released Auma and sat up. His head thundered. He leaned back and fought to slow his pounding heart by taking deep even breaths. Nausea tickled the back of his throat.

Conkesema and Auma stared at the place where Neche had disappeared. The shadows of swaying branches painted the ground.

“She escaped,” Auma said. “I should have run after her. I would have if you hadn’t stopped me!”

Wrass said, “If she escaped, what was that scream?”

Fifty heartbeats later, Kotin returned dragging the girl by her long black hair. An arrow stuck out of her chest, and blood soaked her dress.

Auma stood up to get a better look. “Is she … is she … ?”

“Never try to run away alone,” Wrass said. “Never.”

Kotin hauled the girl to the sand in front of the canoes and dropped her body; then his lips parted, revealing broken yellow teeth. He smiled at the children. “Which one of you is her friend?”

Conkesema was the only one brave enough to stand up. She was shaking. Her pretty face had gone pale.

Kotin said, “So, you were her only friend, eh? That’s interesting. Well, later, I’m going to cut this piece of dead meat apart and scatter the bits for the wolves. Do you want to help me?”

Conkesema’s knees failed. She slumped into the canoe with tears streaming down her face.

“Answer me!” he ordered. “Or I’ll—”

“Stop it, Kotin,” Zateri said. “She hasn’t spoken a word since her village was attacked.”

Kotin laughed at Zateri’s bravado. “You’re getting too bold, girl. Soon, I’m going to have to teach you a lesson.”

Zateri swallowed hard and stiffened her spine to keep her head from trembling. Kotin chuckled, turned his back, and stalked over to take his place at Gannajero’s side again.

Auma stared at Neche’s dead body as though stunned. “I can’t believe it,” she whispered. “You saved my life, Wrass. I—”

“Shh!” Zateri hushed them. “Listen.”

Gannajero’s voice was low but clear: “ … around to the north.” She used her knotted finger to show Waswan the path she wanted him to take through the trees. Next, she turned and fixed Kotin with obsidian-dark eyes. “You circle to the east. If we play this right, they won’t have a chance.”

Both men trotted into the shadows.

Gannajero stood for a moment. It was as though she’d suddenly been turned to stone. She wasn’t breathing. Her eyes didn’t blink. As though her souls had fled, leaving a lifeless shell of flesh behind, she just stared.

The other warriors—Ojib, Akio, and Dakion—kept shifting, waiting for instructions. She stood like that so long that a dribble of saliva leaked from the corner of her mouth and ran down her wrinkled chin.

Finally, Dakion clenched his fists and walked toward her. “Listen, old woman, we need to—”

“No.” It was more growl than word. Still staring at some vast nothingness, she ordered, “I want you and Ojib to hide in that thicket of brush fifty paces north along the shore. Kill anyone you see. Akio, take the children down the southern trail. Keep quiet. Don’t move unless I call out to you.”

The pudgy, florid-faced young warrior hurried to the canoes and hissed, “Get out. Now! Come with me.” He nocked his bow, pulled it back halfway, and aimed it in their general direction.

The other children scrambled from the canoe. It took Wrass longer. The instant he stood up, the world spun in a blur of colors. He had to grab the gunwale to keep his balance.

“Hurry it up, boy!” Akio snarled.

“I—I’m … coming.” Wrass carefully made his way down the length of the canoe, braced a hand on the gunwale, and eased over the side onto the shore. The damp sand sank beneath his moccasins.

“Move!” Akio aimed his bow at the trail that led into the trees.

Zateri marched out front, heading into the cold forest shadows. Everyone fell into line behind her. Wrass brought up the rear, walking just in front of Akio.

Behind him, he heard Akio say, “If any of the others try to run, I’ll know you’re responsible, boy, and I’ll kill you first. Do you understand?”

Wrass spread his arms in a gesture of surrender.

Twenty-two

Odion

I sit in the rear of the canoe, holding Gitchi in my lap, petting him. His soft gray fur soothes me.

Tutelo sleeps soundly on the packs in front of me, and beyond her, Mother kneels in the bow with her paddle fluidly stroking the water. Far ahead of us, Father’s canoe, carrying Hehaka and Baji, slices through the mist, appearing and disappearing with ghostly regularity. Father sits in the bow, while War Chief Cord and Towa paddle in the rear. I’m not sure, but I think both Hehaka and Baji are asleep. I can only see the top halves of their bodies propped on the packs, but their eyes look closed.

I should be sleeping, too. I’m so tired I can barely think, but my body refuses. Every time I stretch out, my hands and feet twitch like a clubbed dog’s. Perhaps when all this is over the terror will leak out of my muscles and I will finally be able to rest.

I glance back at Sindak and Wakdanek, who ride behind me. Their oars pull hard at the current, driving us forward. From the moment we shoved the canoes into the water, we’ve been shooting down the river like needle-nosed gars. Twice today Wakdanek has asked if we could stop for a while to rest. Each time, Mother answered in a clipped voice, “No. Whatever you must do, do it over the side.”

Wakdanek wears a stern expression. He is a big man with wide shoulders. His facial bones stick out, and his brown eyes seem to have sunken into their sockets. Bushy black eyebrows create a single line across his forehead.

He has been watching me.

I do not know what to make of this. Every time I look up to meet his gaze, he shifts his eyes, as though in silent apology for staring at me again.

Sindak says, “Are you all right, Odion?”

“Yes.” I pet Gitchi. The dog is trying to sleep. He sighs, vaguely annoyed by my constant attention.

Sindak gives me a nod, as though we are speaking man-to-man. He’s never treated me like a child, and I find this a curious relief. Splotches, mostly sooty handprints, darken his cape. He has tied his shoulder-length black hair back with a piece of leather. He must have seen eighteen or nineteen summers, but he seems older to me.

Wakdanek is staring at me again. I turn, and he instantly looks away.

“Why do you keep looking at me?”

Wakdanek’s heavy brow pinches. “I’m worried about you.”

“It’s all right. I’m better.”

Wakdanek doesn’t answer for a long time. Finally, he says, “Are you? I suspect you’ve endured many terrible things since the attack on Yellowtail Village.”

I scratch Gitchi behind the ears. I don’t know what Wakdanek wants. Does he expect me to tell him what I’ve seen? I don’t even want to remember, let alone speak of these things. I swear I will never tell anyone what I’ve been through. If I can, I will forget it myself.

I silently stare back at him.

The crow’s-feet at the corners of his eyes deepen. His voice is kind when he says, “It might help to talk about it.”

Sindak orders, “Leave him alone.”

Wakdanek swivels around. “I don’t think you understand, my friend. We all need to talk about—”

“No,” Sindak says firmly. “We don’t.”

“Maybe you don’t, but children are more fragile. They need—”

“The moment you tell anyone about a traumatic event they never let you forget. Every time you look into their eyes, you see it. Oh, they may just squint slightly, or perhaps their smile is just a little more sympathetic than it used to be, but you know they’re thinking about it, and so you have to, too.” He glares at Wakdanek. “Believe me, there are things a man needs to forget. Leave Odion alone.”

Wakdanek returns to paddling. Deep swirls flow away from his oar and drift through the cool green water behind us. We enter a section of the river where giant hickories and maples lean over us. Birdsong fills the air. I see finches fluttering in the branches. Gitchi sees them too. A low growl rumbles in this throat.

“They’re just birds, Gitchi. They can’t hurt you.”

Gitchi props his nose on my leg and wags his tail.

But my gaze clings to Sindak. What has he seen that he needs to forget? He is a warrior; perhaps that is answer enough.