“Yes, Gannajero.”
The old woman marches back to the fire and drags Spirit charms from her pack—painted weasel skins, carved buffalo horn sheaths, and what appear to be wolf fangs. She places them in a circle around her and begins singing a song that sounds like a series of growls and yips.
Ugly whispers, “What’s she doing?”
Worm shakes his head. “I swear she’s madder than a foaming-mouth dog.”
I crawl over to Wrass. “Wrass? Wrass! Why did you do that? You should have just let her hit me!”
Wrass is panting, groaning, but he manages to look up at me. Blood coats his entire face like a wash of paint. “We have to protect each other, Odion. No one else is going to protect us.”
“But they almost killed you!”
Father was right. Wrass is the warrior. He cannot stand by and watch any of his People hurt.
All of the other children gather around Wrass. Baji is weeping silently, and Hehaka looks like he longs to run away and hide, probably because he knows exactly how Wrass feels. Tutelo has both hands over her mouth, smothering her cries. Only Zateri has the courage to do what’s necessary to help Wrass.
“Wrass,” Zateri says. “I n-need to touch your head. Is that all right?”
He nods and lowers his hands. The sight almost makes me wretch again. Large patches of Wrass’ scalp have been torn loose, revealing the bloody skull beneath. Zateri pulls the scalp back into place and carefully uses her fingers to explore his head, stopping here and there to probe more thoroughly.
“Don’t worry,” she says to Wrass. “You’re going to be all right. They didn’t crack your skull, at least not that I can see or feel. But you’ll have a bad headache for days.” She reaches into her leggings and pulls out a small hide bag. As she loosens the ties, she glances up at the guards. They’ve returned to talking softly among themselves, smiling. “I gathered these strips of birch bark this morning. Chew on them, Wrass. They will help with the pain.” She tucks them in Wrass’ hand, but he barely seems to notice. He just shivers and seems to sink into the grass as though he’s melting away.
Then Zateri moves closer to me. Her brown eyes are ablaze as she whispers, “I gathered other things today. Special things. Skunk cabbage root, spoonwood leaves, thorn apple seeds, musquash roots.”
My heart pounds. “Keep them hidden. Tomorrow, we’ll figure out what to do with them.”
She nods and tucks the small bag back into her legging. “Odion?” she says, “Wrass needs to be warm. Let’s all sleep curled around him tonight.”
“Do as she says,” I order, as though I am now in charge. Me. The boy who is always afraid.
Zateri is the first to lie down and press her body against Wrass’ back. I lie down behind her and reach my arm over Wrass and Zateri, pulling them both close. One by one, the other children join in, pressing tightly together around Wrass, becoming one big warm animal with many legs and arms.
“Tutelo?” I call.
She is sitting a short distance away, staring out at the fire cherries. Her pretty face is taut with concentration. She must be looking for the Child.
“Tutelo? Are you coming?”
She turns and looks at me. She’s sucking on her lower lip, and it makes her face appear misshapen. “He’s coming back,” she whispers. “I know he is.”
I lower my head and rest it on my arm.
I don’t know who starts it, but a strange thrum begins. It’s like distant thunder, barely heard; then the whispers blend into one low growl as they flash through our group: “Gannajero says someone is following us. Someone’s coming for us. It’s my parents! They wouldn’t just abandon me! No, our war chief must be searching for us. It’s an entire war party. A thousand men!
Our guards chuckle. They are amused by hope. Perhaps because they’ve seen it die in the eyes of so many children.
I close my eyes and concentrate.
Beneath all the noise, I can hear Father’s voice as he jerks me from my bed: “Odion, take Tutelo. Run as far away as you can and hide. I’ll find you, no matter where you are. I’ll find you.”
Peace fills me. He’s coming.
Mother’s with him. They’ll be here before I wake in the morning. We’ll all go home together. We’ll help our clan build a new longhouse. We’ll be happy … .
Twenty-eight
As Gonda slogged through a swampy area on the east side of the pond, hopelessness taunted him. Every time they thought they were on the right path, it vanished. He felt weak and desperate. He didn’t know exactly when it had happened, but somewhere in the past few days, he’d lost himself. What remained sickened him—the husk of the man he’d once been. And he was weary enough, disheartened enough, that all he wanted to do was to crawl inside that husk and hide forever.