People of the Black Sun(52)
Towa stared at her with an agonized expression. “Inside Canassatego Village, we lost one-hundred-eleven. Another one hundred fifty-two were wounded. But outside … I’d say Atotarho attacked with maybe seven hundred warriors, and when it was done, maybe two hundred fled back through the forest.”
Whispers began to eddy through the army, men and women relaying the story to those farther back who hadn’t been able to hear. A low moan, composed of many voices, drifted on the wind. They had been forced to kill their relatives. There would be blood feuds and weeping for generations.
Zateri said, “We can hear the rest of the story after we’ve arrived at Canassatego Village. Let’s move out.”
As Thona tramped onto the trail and fell into a steady trot, warriors swarmed onto the trail behind him. The sound of thousands of feet striking the frozen earth resembled a deep-throated growl. The forest went still, the animals afraid to move.
Hiyawento said, “Give me a moment, matrons?”
Zateri, Kwahseti, and Gwinodje turned to him. Chief Canassatego waited, as well.
“Now that we know our villagers have made it safely to Canassatego Village, I request permission to join Sky Messenger. He should soon be in the Landing People villages. That’s a single day’s run for me.”
Towa gripped his shoulder and a smile came to his exhausted face. “Will you let me join you? I know the Landing elders. I can make introductions.”
“Towa, you’re exhausted. I’ll be moving as fast as I can.”
“Even if I hold you back so that it takes two days to get there, I was in Shookas Village only one moon ago. They hate the Hills People so much that I assure you, without me, they will kill you on sight.”
Hiyawento studied the man’s fatigued eyes and trembling legs, but said, “Then I would welcome having you along, Towa.”
Kwahseti tucked short gray hair behind one ear. “I have no objections to this.”
Gwinodje turned to Canassatego. “What is your opinion, Chief?”
The man’s deeply wrinkled face twisted. “One man will make no difference at our village.”
Gwinodje nodded. “I agree.”
Zateri’s eyes tightened with worry. For a long time, she looked at him, as if memorizing his face should she never see it again. “I pray the Forest Spirits guide you. Be careful.”
Hiyawento hugged her tightly, kissed her, and said, “Thank you. We’ll return to Canassatego Village as quickly as we can.”
Seventeen
Pewter moonlight penetrated the gaps between the Cloud People and shone upon the narrow trail that wound through the towering chestnuts and sycamores. Baji took another step, maintaining the tension on her bowstring.
The scent of snow and wet bark suffused the wind. As Grandmother Moon traveled across the night sky, the branch shadows that created a lattice on the forest floor shifted, striping the snow and the white bark of birches. Then it flashed upon faces. Sometimes, owl eyes reflected, other times wolf eyes. Neither held her attention for more than an instant. Instead, she focused on the two men and the dog in the forest ahead of her.
Dekanawida’s knee-length cape, worn and soiled from the soot of many campfires, swayed around his tall body. Since she’d last seen him, he’d cut his black hair short in mourning for friends lost in the battle. It draped over his round face in irregular chopped-off locks. His brown eyes seemed focused on a small copse of pawpaws to his right, which meant he was paying no attention at all to his backtrail. Did he see another threat on the trail ahead? It was the only reason she could determine that he would be this careless. The unknown man sneaking through the forest twenty paces to Dekanawida’s left had already nocked his bow. He was smiling, his rotted front teeth exposed in the moonlit gleam.
Gitchi had his white muzzle up, dutifully scenting the air for danger, but the breeze was blowing in his face, shoving the man’s stink back over Baji. Gitchi’s eyes, too, clung to the pawpaws.
With ghostly skill, Baji used the massive sycamore trunks—four times as wide as her body—as cover, slipping from one to another, slowly moving around behind the unknown man. He seemed oblivious to her presence.
She flared her nostrils. The odor of the man’s sweat carried a particular pungency that she recognized. Despite his smile, he was afraid. Dekanawida was a formidable warrior. Even without weapons, if he got close enough, he would snap his assailant’s spine in less than three heartbeats. Not only that, if this man had been involved in the battle at Bur Oak and Yellowtail villages, he’d seen the freak storm rise over the eastern hills, and crash down upon him like a ferocious monster. He was probably terrified that Dekanawida’s Spirit Helpers were, even now, secreted in the forest shadows, waiting to attack anyone who attempted to harm the Dreamer.