The Dawn Country (27 page)

Twenty-eight

“G
onda! Wait!”

Gonda spun around at the call and pulled his oar out of the water. In the rear, Towa and Wakdanek turned to watch the approaching canoe. Sindak and Cord were stroking hard, trying to catch them. Their canoe shot forward, piercing the green water like an arrow.

Gonda realized that Koracoo and the children were missing, and he shouted, “Put ashore. Hurry. Something’s wrong!”

Wakdanek and Towa backed water, turning the canoe; then they all fought the current to head to a small spit of sand on the eastern shore. Thick willows filled in the spaces between the towering trees. The spit was the only place to land. Gonda leaped out as they glided in and helped drag the boat up onto the bank. As the cold shadows of the trees enveloped him, a thousand possible explanations for Koracoo and the children’s absence skittered across his souls—none of them good.

As the canoe sliced through the water toward them, Tutelo got on her knees, and called, “Father? Where’s Mother? Where’s Odion and Baji?”

“I’m sure they’re fine,” he answered. “You and Hehaka can get out. Just stay close.”

“Yes, Father.”

Tutelo’s long braid switched across her back as she climbed over packs and oars to get out of the canoe. Hehaka followed more slowly, but both children ended up standing beside Gonda, staring up at him worriedly.

Towa and Wakdanek slogged ashore and waited beside the canoe.

Gonda yelled, “Where are Koracoo and the children? What happened?”

Cord shipped his paddle and shouted back, “We found a Dawnland boy. They stayed with him while we came after you.”

“A boy?” Wakdanek called. “Who is he?”

Sindak’s canoe grounded with a loud grating sound. As Cord jumped into the water and waded ashore, he answered, “The child was hiding thirty paces from our camp.”

The two feathers on Wakdanek’s moosehide hat wafted in the wind as he closed on Cord. “What’s his name?”

“He said he was your cousin. His name is Toksus.”

Wakdanek straightened. “Blessed gods! Is he all right?” He ran forward.

“He appears to be, but Koracoo wants you there immediately. Sindak will guide the rest of you back. Gonda and I will remain here to guard the canoes.”

Gonda vented a low ugly laugh. “I’m not staying here. You can guard the canoes by yourself. I want to talk to the boy. How did he get this far south? What—?”

Cord turned to Sindak. “Hurry. We know we’re on the right path now. The sooner we’re on the water again, the sooner we’ll catch Gannajero.”

Sindak dipped his head in a nod and called, “Everyone, follow me.”

Towa, Wakdanek, and the children gathered around Sindak.

When Gonda started to join Sindak’s group, Cord caught him by the arm and forcibly pulled him back. “These aren’t my orders. They’re hers.”

Gonda’s muscles bulged as he shook off Cord’s restraining hand. Murderous rage was filling him up, threatening to burst loose in a frenzy of fists or clashing war clubs. It took every bit of strength he had to calm himself enough to say through gritted teeth, “She did this on purpose, you know.”

Cord just stared at him. “What?”

“Left us here together.”

“Why would that be?”

“Don’t be a dimwit. You’ve seen how she splits up her warriors.”

Cord appeared to think about that for a moment; then the knife scar that cut across his jaw tilted up in admiration. “Yes. I’ve marveled at it. Or rather, marveled at the fact that it seems to work. I would never separate friends and create teams of enemies. I’d be afraid they’d kill each other before they arrived at some sort of reconciliation.”

“This time her strategy isn’t going to work.”

“Why not?”

“I’m not going to get over being demoted and having an enemy warrior installed in my place—even if I do come to respect him.”

Cord’s mouth set into a grim line. “I’m not sure I would either.”

As his anger began to drain away, Gonda had to clench his jaw to steady his nerves. He said, “Tell me what happened with the child. How did you find him?”

Cord’s wary attention remained on the river, the trees. “Just before we shoved off we heard him crying. He was hiding, entangled with a corpse, beneath a thicket of dogwoods.”

“A corpse?”

“Yes, there were actually two Dawnland children—one was dead.”

“What killed him?”

As though to ease his tension, Cord ran a hand over the black roach of hair that lined the top of his head. Several yellow larch needles fell out. “The living boy, Toksus, said that the dead boy had been witched, and then stabbed, by Gannajero.”

“Gannajero? Toksus was with Gannajero?” Panic tingled Gonda’s veins. He grabbed Cord’s arm. “H-How long ago?”

“Yesterday.”

“So she’s just ahead of us on the river?” He swung around to look downstream, as though expecting to see her canoes. Only swaying maples met his gaze. A few old leaves blew from the branches and fluttered into the rushing water.

“Apparently.”

“The other children with her, what did Toksus—?”

“He said he’d talked to Wrass. That’s all. But we shouldn’t make too much of that. Koracoo ordered me to find you, and I left immediately.”

Gonda felt light-headed. He took a few steps away from Cord and struggled to control his hope. What would Koracoo be thinking? She’d be vacillating, wondering what to do with the Dawnland child. They couldn’t just leave him wandering alone in the forest. It was inhuman. The boy had been through unimaginable terrors. He needed to go home to his family … whatever was left of it. But they didn’t have the luxury of turning around and taking the boy home. They had to …

“It will be a problem.” Cord still had his attention focused on the trees.

“What will?” Gonda turned around.

“Another child.”

It didn’t surprise him that the Flint war chief was worried about the same thing he was. The danger increased tenfold with every additional child: more noise, more distractions, more chances that they’d all be killed.

Gonda gave the man an annoyed look. “So … what am I supposed to call you now? War Chief Cord or Deputy Cord?”

Cord calmly responded, “Our duty is to rescue the children, Gonda. She asked me. Not the reverse. And since she did, I plan to carry out my responsibilities to the best of my ability. You can call me whatever you like.”

Gonda had the irrational desire to shout at him, which was sheer foolishness. Instead, he shook his fists at nothing and said, “I know this isn’t your fault. I just … I thought Koracoo and I had resolved our differences. Obviously, I was wrong.”

After a long pause, Cord asked, “What happened between you, Gonda?”

Taken aback by the boldness of the question, Gonda snapped, “What makes you think I’d tell you?”

Cord lifted a shoulder. “I’ll find out anyway, but it will come from Sindak or Towa. Maybe small details from the children. Is that who you want to tell me?”

Gonda felt slightly ill. It was actually chilling to imagine Sindak relating the story of the fall of Yellowtail Village. He rubbed his forehead. “I disobeyed one of Koracoo’s orders.”

Cord shifted slightly. “Why?”

“
Why?
Because she was wrong. She wasn’t there. I was. I had to make a decision.”

“And what happened as a result?”

Gonda laughed softly, more in despair than amusement. “Do you know Yenda?”

Cord’s mouth puckered. “The Mountain war chief? I’ve fought him many times. He’s a worthless, arrogant fool. Why?”

Gonda searched the surrounding forest before he replied, “On the morning of the attack, a Trader came through bearing news that he’d heard Yenda was skulking around Yellowtail Village with a huge war party. The rumor could have been false. Koracoo, however, leaves nothing to chance. She took half our warriors out to investigate. She left me in charge of the village defense.”

“Was your ‘decision’ the reason the village was destroyed?”

Images of the battle flooded through Gonda. He saw again the dead piling up in the plaza, heard the screams and cries of the wounded … felt the palisade catwalk shake as the onslaught of warriors hit it. He squeezed his eyes closed.

Finally, Cord asked, “How many warriors did Yenda have?”

“I’m not sure. My scouts reported somewhere around one thousand. But they were terrified; they could have exaggerated.”

“How many did you have?”

“Three hundred.”

When Gonda opened his eyes, he found Cord staring at him in sympathy. “So … in the last desperate moments something changed that made you disobey Koracoo’s order. What was her order?”

Gonda crossed his arms over his aching heart and gazed out at the river, where an uprooted tree bobbed along in the current. As it rolled over, whole branches spun up and glittered in the sunlight. “Before she left, Koracoo ordered me to keep everyone inside the palisade. She feared that if I split my forces by sending even a handful of warriors outside, I’d never be able to hold the palisade.”

“Was she right?”

“At the time, it seemed the only hope of saving a few of our people.”

“So, you split your forces?”

“Yes, but I didn’t make the decision hastily. I waited until the last possible moment. The palisade had been burned through in fifty places. Mountain warriors were crawling in and out like rats in a corn bin. Every longhouse was on fire.”

Cord’s gaze took on a faraway look, as though he was seeing it all play out on the fabric of his souls. “How many men did you send outside?”

“I led one hundred warriors out with our women and children, hoping we’d be able to protect them long enough that some could escape.”

Cord didn’t say anything.

Through a long exhalation, Gonda finished, “Everything fell apart. The village was overrun. Most of the warriors I’d led outside were killed, and many of the women and children were rounded up and marched away as slaves. Including my own children.” The incapacitating ache he’d been suppressing swelled around his heart.

“Did some escape?”

“Yes. But not many.”

Cord rubbed his chin with the back of his hand and nodded. “And when Koracoo returned, what did she do?”

“She found me in the forest, held me tightly while I wept … then she walked back into the village and started questioning people. She listened to the stories told by our remaining elders, talked to the people I’d left to guard the palisade, and questioned the few surviving warriors who’d gone outside with me. They all agreed I was to blame. They said I should have never split my forces. After that, Koracoo marched straight to the smoldering husk of our longhouse, gathered what remained of my belongings, and set them outside the door. We’d been joined for twelve summers, and she divorced me without ever asking me a single question.”

A thousand summers from now as he slumbered in an old oak tree, that wound would still be bleeding. To make matters worse, his heartache was suffocating him. He’d do anything to be able to hold her in his arms again.

A gust of wind rattled the branches, and a whirlwind of old leaves swept out across the river. Gonda watched them settle upon the surface. Like a fleet of tiny rafts, the current swiftly carried them downstream.

Cord said, “I know it means nothing now, but I doubt that splitting your forces is what caused the destruction of Yellowtail Village. If I’d been in your situation, outnumbered three to one, with the village collapsing around me, I would probably have taken the same desperate risk you did. By the time you made the decision, the battle was already lost. It was the only thing you could have done.”

For a brief instant, Gonda’s pain lessened. He had the feeling Cord meant it.

“Well, you would be wise not to mention that to Koracoo. She’ll demote you and name Sindak as her new deputy.”

Cord smiled. “Actually, I suggested him for the position. I think he’d make a good one.”

“Yes, well, you don’t know him very well yet. He’s young.”

Cord dipped his head in deference to Gonda’s experience. “If you say so.”

In irritation, Gonda unslung his bow and pulled an arrow from his quiver. As he nocked it, he said, “I’ve had enough of making friends with you. I feel like killing something. Let’s hunt.”

Cord shook his head. “Koracoo ordered us to guard the canoes. However, I have no objections to allowing you to hunt, providing you stay within sight of the canoes. Agreed?”

Gonda jerked a nod. “Agreed … Deputy.”

Twenty-nine

K
oracoo stood guard two paces from where Odion, Baji, and Toksus sat talking. Now and then, one of them jerked around to look out into the larches, as though certain Gannajero and her warriors were sneaking up on them.

Koracoo understood the feeling. Toksus might well be bait for a trap. His story about how he’d gotten here was curious enough, but his insistence that he’d awakened beside the dead boy was truly bizarre.

She clutched CorpseEye and started walking in a small circle around the children, studying the ground for tracks. If Toksus wasn’t making it up, someone must have placed Sassacus’ body beside him. Who? Why? Had someone been trying to frighten Toksus? That seemed unlikely. Perhaps in some twisted way, Sassacus had been a gift. Company for a lost little boy? Or something more sinister. A warning not to tell anyone what had happened to him?