Twenty-seven
Cloud People blanketed the night sky, turning it pitch black and ominous. The mist rising from Reed Marsh had a damp, caressing feel against Gonda’s face. He adjusted his pack, checked his slung bow and quiver, and examined the shoulder-width hole they’d chopped from the frozen soil beneath the exterior palisade. The black oval was barely visible. Situated at the point farthest away from Yellowtail Village, the enemy warriors on the Yellowtail catwalks could not possibly observe their emergence from the ground. There could, however, be fifty men with bows sitting in the limbs of the nearby trees, watching for the slightest movements along the Bur Oak palisades.
Gonda turned to his volunteers. “Last chance. Anyone who wishes to back out should do so now.”
Three warriors stood with him, their breaths frosting and mingling in the night air. Each carried a bow and overstuffed quiver, and wore a knee-length black shirt and high-topped black moccasins. In addition, they’d covered every bit of exposed skin with soot. In the darkness he thought Sindak and Wampa had their arms folded, but couldn’t be sure. Young Papon noisily swallowed. Eighteen summers old, he had buck teeth that made him tend to slur his words. He also had a reputation for exaggeration. But Jigonsaseh insisted he was a bold fighter—and that’s what Gonda needed tonight.
He whispered, “All right. High Matron Kittle has ordered the fires extinguished to help cover our movements. Our opponents probably assume it is to conserve firewood. But they may also think we’re up to something.”
“They do,” Sindak said from Gonda’s right. “This isn’t normal. They know we have wounded and children to keep warm. They’ll be especially on guard.”
Gonda nodded, though he knew they probably couldn’t see it. “I just spoke with War Chief Deru. He’s ready. He’ll be watching for us to emerge from the marsh at the predetermined location. Once he either sees us, or the fires erupt, he will begin his diversion. When we’re in the marsh, we must take our time. We don’t want to startle any of the birds perched on the reeds and cattails. Any sudden squawking or chirping and we’re all dead.”
Sindak waited for Gonda to continue. When he didn’t, Sindak added, “Also, if you must get out of the marsh, be vigilant about the patches of snow that still cling against the western palisade wall. Not only will they crunch if you step on them, your blackened body will show up clear as day.”
Gonda looked for nodding heads, but the sable darkness cloaked their bodies so completely they were just faintly darker silhouettes cast against the cobalt background.
“One last thing,” Gonda said. “As soon as we’re through this hole, it will be covered up. The only way we’re getting back into Bur Oak Village is through the front gates, and the guards have orders not to open them for us unless we’re in the clear. Understand?”
Papon slurred, “So, if we’re being closhely followed, they won’t open the gates?”
“That’s right.”
Papon shifted uncomfortably. He had a wife and four children.
Gonda lowered his voice, and used a deadly tone. “And I don’t want any misunderstandings. Each of us is expendable. Our only purpose is to buy the people in Bur Oak Village a chance. Anyone who is caught, wounded, or doesn’t make the rendezvous will be left behind. Those are Matron Jigonsaseh’s orders. Am I clear?”
He heard grunts of assent.
“Very well. Everyone ready?”
“Ready.” Sindak’s voice.
“Me, too.” War Chief Wampa.
Barely audible, Papon hissed, “Yes.”
Gonda got down on his knees, shrugged out of his pack and weapons, and pushed them through ahead of him as he slid into the hole on his belly. Coming up on the other side like a muskrat through an ice hole, he shouldered his load and crawled toward the marsh. The old autumn leaves that covered the ground were drenched with mist, quiet and slick. When he reached the marsh’s edge, he eased aside the reeds, and glided into the water. He almost gasped at the bitter cold, but stopped himself. Sindak entered the water next, followed by Wampa and Papon.
Gonda looked around. Here, it was dark, but in forty paces the halo of firelight streaming from Yellowtail Village gave the calm water a supernatural sheen. The dark reflections of the trees stood out so clearly they might have been painted upon the marsh. Fortunately, the cattails grew thickly there, too. The stripes they cast upon the water would cloak their shapes … he hoped.
“You all know the plan,” Gonda whispered.
Silence.
“Sindak comes with me. Wampa, you and Papon are the best shots in the village. You will remain in the marsh, paralleling our course, with your bows aimed at the palisade. You’ll see warriors targeting us long before we do.”