The Dawn Country (7 page)

Two warriors stepped from the trees. The first thing Gonda noticed was their empty quivers. Then he saw the men. The big bear of a man had a wide, heavy jaw and pink burn scars mottling his face and hands. He slitted his brown eyes menacingly. The other warrior was young, perhaps seventeen or eighteen summers. He had a catlike face, with a broad nose. Both men had to lock their trembling knees to keep standing.

“How long have they been chasing you?” Gonda dumped out the boiling bag, rolled it, and tucked it into his belt. Then he slung his pack over his shoulder and cautiously picked up his war club.

“For just a few hands of time, but we haven’t slept in two and a half days. Now,
hurry,
they’re coming.” Cord swung around to look up the mountain trail.

“How many are there?”

“Twenty. Maybe more.”

A faint far cry split the air, then was joined by a cacophony of yips and snarls that persisted for ten heartbeats before dying away.

Gonda’s skin crawled. “Wolf Clan.” He looked at Sindak and Towa, who were staring at the newcomers uncertainly. Gonda ordered, “Sindak, Towa, split your arrows. Give half to Cord’s men.”

Cord looked at him, taken aback.

As did Sindak, whose jaw dropped. “But Gonda, these are Flint People. Our sworn enemies.” Sindak had seen nineteen summers. Shoulder-length black hair framed his lean face. He was homely, with a hooked nose and deeply sunken brown eyes.

“Do it,” Koracoo ordered.

Sindak hissed something disparaging but unslung his quiver, counted the arrows, and walked forward to hand four of them to Cord, saying, “I’d appreciate it if you didn’t shoot me in the back with my own arrows.”

Cord replied, “I only shoot cowards in the back.”

“That doesn’t make me feel better, War Chief.” Sindak glared as he walked back to stand beside Towa.

Towa was a handsome youth, with waist-length black hair, a straight nose, and eyes like midnight. “Koracoo, are you sure about this? I don’t—”

Annoyed, Koracoo answered, “Don’t make me tell you again.”

Towa reluctantly pulled three arrows from his quiver and handed them to Cord, who distributed them.

With genuine gratitude, Cord said, “You go first with the children; we’ll cover the back trail,” and gestured to the path that led down the western slope of the mountain.

“Sindak, you lead,” Koracoo ordered. “Towa, follow him. Children, you’ll be next in line. Gonda and I will be behind the child—”

Sindak interrupted, “Cord and his men should run in front where we can watch them, War Chief.”

“Move, Sindak,”
Koracoo ordered.

Sindak shook his head, but he and Towa trotted down the trail with their war clubs in tight fists. The children fell into line behind them, followed by Koracoo and Gonda.

Odion led the children at a fast clip, his moccasins leaving dark splotches in the frost. The two girls, Tutelo and Baji, ran practically on his heels. Hehaka, however, lagged behind. He was a strange boy, not quite
right,
though Gonda hadn’t had enough time to discover exactly what was wrong with him. Perhaps he’d simply been a slave for so long he didn’t know how to deal with his sudden freedom.

Gonda looked back over his shoulder and saw Cord and his men staggering after them. If they made it more than a few hundred paces before their shaking knees gave out, he’d be amazed.

Seven

Odion

I scramble up the steep trail behind Sindak and Towa. I’m exhausted, but I’ll never give up. When we reach the crest of a low hill, I look back over my shoulder. Baji is right behind me. Tutelo and Hehaka walk ten paces away. Mother and Father are close on their heels. But the Flint warriors are strung out far apart, staggering more than running. I scan the moonlit forest, where pine needles shimmer and the bare branches of oaks seem made of polished silver. I don’t see the people chasing us, but their yips echo at regular intervals. Every time I hear them, my throat constricts as though the huge hands of the gods have closed around it. “Sindak,” I say, “give me a weapon. You have three stilettos tucked into your belt.” I extend my hand.

The warrior stares at me; then his eyes narrow in respect. He pulls a deerbone stiletto from his belt and hands it to me. “Don’t let anyone know you have this until you need it.”

“I understand.” I tuck it into my belt beneath my cape.

Sindak turns around and frowns at our party. “Towa, let’s stop for a few moments and let the Flint warriors catch up.” His hooked nose shines with sweat. Despite the cold, the run has made us all hot.

Towa halts and walks back to stand beside Sindak. His brows draw together. He’s tall and broad shouldered. His long black hair hangs over the front of his cape. “I thought you didn’t want them to catch up.”

Sindak heaves a sigh and shrugs. “If it were my choice, they wouldn’t be here at all, but I’m too much of a coward to stand up to Koracoo.”

“That’s wise, friend. She’d crush your skull without a second thought.”

Sindak gives him an askance look. “That’s not true. There’s a war party behind us. I’m at least moderately valuable.”

Towa chuckles. “Always the optimist.”

Baji walks to my side and says, “Odion? Are you all right?”

“Yes, are you?”

“Just tired.” She gazes back, looking beyond the Flint warriors into the dark forest where our pursuers must be. For a time, there is silence; then she whispers, “Odion, do you think these are the warriors you dreamed about? The footsteps you felt in your heart? Maybe it wasn’t
her
warriors.”

I blink, considering, and say, “No. The steps … I recognized them. One was K-Kotin’s.” When I can’t say his name without stuttering, my blood goes cold. Kotin is Gannajero’s deputy. The scariest of her warriors. He hurt so many children … including Baji. I sneak a glance at her, thinking maybe I shouldn’t have said his name out loud; then my fingers go tight around the stiletto beneath my cape.

Baji rubs her nose on her sleeve. Even if I didn’t know her, I would recognize the hate twisting her face. “Who else’s steps?”

“Waswan’s. You know how he shuffled?”

She jerks a nod. When she exhales, her breath shakes as it comes out. “I hope you’re wrong, but if not, we need to be ready for them.”

“Yes, I—”

Behind me, Sindak says to Towa, “You’re brooding. Stop it.”

“I’m not brooding,” Towa replies.

“Yes, you are. You’ve been brooding ever since you saw Chief Atotarho in the warriors’ camp last night.”

“I
thought
I saw him. I’m still not sure.”

Baji and I stare at each other and turn to study them. Sindak is scowling, while Towa looks worried.

Sindak whispers, “Aren’t you ever going to tell me the secret orders he gave you just before we left the village?”

My gaze jerks to Baji in surprise and find her glaring at Towa as though she’s just discovered he’s a spy and longs to get her hands around his throat.

Towa goes still. He doesn’t blink or even seem to be breathing. After a time, he replies, “I can’t. You’ve never kept a secret in your life.”

“I won’t tell! And I already know it has to do with the sacred gorget he gave you. What are you supposed to do with it?”

Towa grips his war club in both hands. “That’s none of your concern.”

“You’re just worried about what your mother will say if you betray our chief.”

Towa nods. “Yes, I admit it. The fact that she’d order me flayed alive in front of the entire village does have some small influence on my loyalty.”

Sindak smiles and looks back down the trail again. “Someday soon you’re going to have to decide if that loyalty is worth your life, friend. Or, more importantly, if it’s worth mine.” He gestures to me and Baji. “Or the children’s lives. Think about that.”

Towa’s voice goes low and serious. “I’ve been thinking of little else, Sindak.”

Sindak stares at him for a long time. “Good. Now, do you think we’ve let them catch up enough, or should we—?”

A shrill howl erupts and echoes across the icy woods.

I shove between Sindak and Towa and charge up the slope, taking the lead.

Baji’s steps are close behind me.

Eight

G
randmother Moon edged over the horizon, and her light ran across the mountains in a silver wave. The silent forest seemed to awaken. Gonda watched as a bare breeze swayed the branches.

The silence had been unbroken except for the sounds of their own moccasins striking the frozen earth, and the hunting yelps of their pursuers. Every now and then, the Dawnland warriors sounded closer, and the panicked children whimpered and threw themselves down the trail in an uncontrollable rush. Except for Odion. He acted as their leader, scolding them for getting too far ahead, keeping them in line. Once, he’d been forced to shout at Hehaka to stop running. And told the enemy their exact whereabouts. Each time the children made a sound, Cord and his men clenched their jaws and stoically stared straight ahead.

Gonda turned around to check on the Flint warriors. They were still there, still on their feet, staggering up the trail through a grove of gigantic sycamores. He almost couldn’t believe it. They had the endurance of starving wolves on a blood trail.

Gonda looked ahead again. The children had started to stumble. One of them, he couldn’t tell which, was gasping hoarse breaths, as though his lungs were desperate for air. They couldn’t keep this up much longer.

He glanced at Koracoo. The lines around her eyes were tight. She knew it, too.

When the trail entered a narrow ravine lined with boulders, Koracoo threw an arm out in front of Gonda, and said, “Stop. We’re being foolish.”

Gonda halted. Cord and his men staggered to a stop beside them. Sindak and Towa whirled, and Odion held the children in a group, waiting.

“Why are we … stopping?” Cord gasped.

“We can’t outrun them,” Koracoo said. As she turned to face him, the frost crystals on her hood winked. “The children can’t continue this pace, and you and your men will die on your feet if we try to. This is as good a place as any to make a stand.”

“Make a stand?” Ogwed said in shock. The youth’s entire body shook. If he cracked into a thousand pieces in the next heartbeat, it would surprise no one. “They outnumber us three to one! We won’t be standing for long. We should—”

“Let her finish,” Cord said, and stared at Koracoo with calm, utterly exhausted eyes. “What do you have in mind, War Chief?”

She looked around, studying the terrain. The ravine was fifty paces long and, in places, twenty or thirty hands deep. Granite boulders, smoothed into egg shapes, lined the slopes. In the crevices between the boulders, trees and brush grew. Some of the trees stood two hundred hands tall.

Koracoo said, “We have to try to talk to them. If we can—”

“Talk to them!” Ogwed exclaimed. “Have you lost your wits, woman? They don’t want to talk, they want to kill us! We have to run until we—”

Koracoo strode to within a hand’s width of him and with soft, implacable precision, said, “Are you prepared to fight me? If you
ever
challenge me again, you’ll have to.”

Ogwed blinked as though stunned. He backed away. “I … I don’t want to fight you.”

Cord said to Koracoo, “How do you plan to get the enemy to sling their bows long enough to exchange words?”

“I’m still figuring out that part.” She scanned the terrain again, apparently devising her strategy. “The first thing we have to do is lure them into the drainage. That way, if they refuse to talk, we can keep them busy long enough for the children to make a run for it.”

Cord smiled. “You realize, of course, that while they are pretending to talk with you, their warriors will be moving through the trees, surrounding us? When they’re in place, it will be a simple matter for them to push us down into the ravine and slaughter us like spring deer.”

Koracoo smiled back, but it wasn’t pretty. Gonda had seen it before, and it made the hair on his arms stand up. Wisps of hair fell over her high cheekbones, making her eyes seem huge and impossibly black. She had one of those perfect female faces that made men stare. Koracoo replied, “Then I expect you and your men to fight to the death, War Chief. No one is to lay down his weapons. The longer we’re on our feet, the more time the children will have to escape.”