She didn’t say a word.
Gonda girded himself, and lifted his eyes to look at her quiet, tormented face.
“Gonda,” she whispered with difficulty. “I should never have split our forces and gone out that morning.” A sob spasmed her chest. She forced it down. “If I’d kept all six hundred of our warriors in the village, not even one thousand could have breached our walls. We could have saved … so many.”
She turned away, and her shoulders shook as though there was an earthquake inside her.
For a moment, he just stood there. Afraid. Then he said, “Blessed gods. Forgive me, Koracoo. If I hadn’t been drowning in my own guilt, I would have seen that you …”
He stepped forward and pulled her against him. How long had it been since she’d let him hold her? For a few blessed moments, he enjoyed the sensation of her body against his. “Don’t look back,” he said. “If we start looking back, it’s all we’ll be able to do.”
Slowly, Koracoo’s arms went around his back, and she clutched him so hard her arms shuddered.
“You lied to me, didn’t you?” he asked.
“About what?”
“You told me your greatest fear was the same as mine, that you’d fail to protect your family … but that’s not true, is it?”
She hesitated. “No.”
“No,” he softly repeated. “Of course not. You are war chief. Your greatest duty is to keep your village safe.”
He could see it all so clearly now. The fear that tied her soul to her body was that she would fail to protect her People. In her heart, she must be swimming toward a shore she couldn’t even see.
Gonda kissed her hair, and it was as if a gentle, cool hand were stealing over his wounded souls. He could feel the quiet hush of the autumn evening in the mountains and smell the pleasant fragrance of burning plum branches. The peaceful faces of the children reflected the fluttering firelight. They would never be able to go home. They no longer had a home to go to.
He hugged Koracoo tighter. He didn’t want to think of that now. All he wanted was a place where they could lick their wounds, a quiet place to heal, and try to imagine a future.
Against his shoulder, Koracoo said, “Tomorrow, we’ll find the rest of the children.”
He took a deep breath.
“Yes,” he answered. “We will.”
Forty-nine
Stand up, Odion. It’s time.
Sky Messenger lowered the trembling hands that covered his face and fought to blot out the images. He was jerking and twitching, still hurting, just as his child’s body had the night of Manidos’ assault. He filled his lungs with air and let it out slowly, then lifted his blurry gaze to look up at Sonon. The creature’s quartz-crystal eyes shimmered in the black frame of his hood. “Now? Already?”
Yes.
Sky Messenger picked up his walking stick and used it to brace himself as he staggered to his feet. To the east, he saw the trail he’d walked to get here. It was long and twisting. It slithered through the vast forests like a dark serpent, scaled impossible cliffs, and fought its way across wide, rushing rivers. Had it been so difficult?
Yes, perhaps it had. He remembered how, at the age of eleven summers, the mysteries had been physically painful. He’d been sick with dread, wondering what had happened to Agres’ baby sister, and trying to decipher the mystery of the two gorgets. The most powerful mystery of all, of course, had been the identity of the strange bone-carrying creature that pursued him. If any of them had known at the time that one of those little boys was destined to don a cape of white clouds and ride the winds of destruction across the face of the land, or that the strange creature would …
Let’s walk together, Odion.
He bowed his head and nodded. “I’m ready. Take me.”
Sonon turned westward. Elder Brother Sun’s shining face had torched the evening horizon. The Cloud People blazed as though burning, and a swath of crimson blanketed the sky just above the bridge. Birdsong filled the fragrant air.
For a few blessed moments, Sky Messenger watched the flocks of wrens and finches fluttering over the bridge. Some of the birds perched upon the planks with their feathers fluffed out. The white-tailed doe stood a short distance away, grazing serenely. And the young wolf sat on his haunches in front of the bridge, his tail wagging, guarding the path, as he had always done.
… Gitchi—yes, his name is Gitchi, which meant “great.” The wolf had earned that name a thousand times over.
Sky Messenger propped his walking stick and started toward the bridge.
He’d taken less than ten steps when he realized that Sonon was not following him, and looked back. The Spirit stood tall in the middle of the trail, his black cape gently blowing around him.