Koracoo looked up at him. “The only question that matters now is what does Odion fear? If we know, we may be able to save his life. He—”
“He fears he won’t be able to protect Tutelo.” Gonda hated to say it. “And he won’t. He’s not a fighter. We both know that.”
Odion feared everything: wolves howling in the distance, unfamiliar sounds in the night. The first time Gonda had taken the boy hunting, Odion had seen six summers. As nightfall descended upon the forests, the boy had started crying, and no matter what Gonda said to comfort him, Odion would not stop. He loved his son with all his heart, but Odion was timid and girlish.
“Fortunately, Wrass is there. That boy is a born warrior.”
Koracoo’s face tensed. She looked away, and he realized she must have thought his comment was meant as an insult to their son or his upbringing. Because their people traced descent through the female, Koracoo’s children belonged to her clan, not his. While a father might be concerned about his children’s upbringing, it was none of his business. He was responsible only for bringing up his sister ’s children.
“Koracoo, I didn’t mean to intrude or suggest—”
“No one is born a warrior, Gonda,” she said stiffly, and frowned at the flickering oil lamp. “We are made warriors by suffering, anger, and hatred. You fear that your son will never become a warrior. I fear that he will.” She squared her shoulders, as though bracing herself for a calamity. “I fear that his training started five days ago.”
Fifteen
Sindak waited for Towa just outside the Wolf Clan longhouse. He had a bow and a quiver of arrows slung over his left shoulder, and carried a knife, war club, and two deerbone stilettos tied to his belt. Inside his belt pouch, he’d stuffed as much food as he could. And in the pack he wore on his back, he’d placed his cup, a horn spoon, and boiling bag, as well as an antler tine for resharpening stone tools, a blanket woven of twisted lengths of rabbit hide, and an extra pair of moccasins.
He sighed and looked around Atotarho Village. In Grandmother Moon’s glow, the frost-coated walls of the longhouses glittered. It was cold tonight, and getting colder. He longed to be on the trail. When a man was walking, he could keep warm. He rubbed his arms beneath his cape and shivered.
From inside the longhouse, he heard Towa say in a low voice, “Yes, my chief.” Then, “Yes, I will.”
Towa ducked beneath the curtain that covered the longhouse entry and marched toward him. Sindak frowned. Towa’s face had a sober, vaguely lost expression.
Towa passed Sindak, said, “Let’s go,” and continued on toward the prisoners’ house.
Sindak trotted to catch up. “What happened in there? It took a long time.”
Towa flipped up the hood of his cape. “The chief just wanted to make sure I understood my duties.”
“I assume those are also my duties, so what did he tell you?”
Towa glanced at him. He’d pulled his hair back and braided it. The style made his face look leaner, more dangerous. His unblinking eyes resembled moonlit holes. “We are to find his daughter and bring her back. No matter the cost.”
“It would have taken five heartbeats for the chief to tell you that. What else did he say?”
Towa shook his head, indicating that he couldn’t repeat a word of it.
“Are you telling me he gave you secret orders?”
Towa looked away.
“But I’m much braver than you and a better warrior. If anybody was going to be trusted with secrets, it should have been me.”
Towa glared at him. “I didn’t ask for this burden. I’d gladly give it to you if I could.”
“Burden? What burden?”
Towa focused his gaze on the prisoners’ house, where Akio and Ober stood guard on either side of the door. Both friends were watching them with wide, expectant eyes. As Towa and Sindak came closer, they started whispering to each other.
Akio called, “Is the chief coming?”
“No,” Towa answered. “You are to release the Standing Stone warriors and open the palisade gates for us.”
Suspiciously, Ober said, “On whose authority? Yours?”
“Yes, mine.” Grumbling, Towa jerked a magnificent carved gorget from his shirt and let it swing before their eyes.
“Blessed gods,” Ober hissed. “The chief gave you his sacred pendant? That means he grants you his authority. Whatever you say comes as if from the chief’s own mouth.”
Sindak stared openly at the pendant. Very few people had ever seen it up close. It was not a thing for ordinary eyes. He could feel Power pulsing around the hideous False Face, representing Horned Serpent, and the falling stars that filled the background. It was big enough to cover half of a man’s chest. Legend said that at the time of the cataclysm, two pendants had been carved by the breath of Horned Serpent. One belonged to the chief. The other to the human False Face who would don a cape of white clouds and ride the winds of destruction across the face of the world.