People of the Longhouse(82)

“Blessed gods,” Hagnon murmured darkly. “How many have we lost?”

“Too many,” Gonda answered. “I need to know what the matrons think. Has Chief Yellowtail given any orders?”

“I can tell you what the matrons think; they say we must keep fighting. And Chief Yellowtail is too injured to say anything. I’m not sure he’s going to make it through this. Is there any hope that the surrounding Standing Stone villages may be sending warriors to our aid?”

“None. That’s why our enemies attacked at night. No one will see the smoke from the fires until dawn.”

“Gonda, everyone is asking the same question.” Hagnon lifted his arms. “Where’s Koracoo and her war party?”

A sinking feeling invaded Gonda’s belly. He balanced on a knife’s edge, waiting for the moment when he would know all was lost, and he had to give the order to run. “I don’t know, Hagnon. I—I don’t know.”

He couldn’t let himself think about her, or he’d crumble into a thousand pieces. At least their children were safe in the Bear Clan longhouse, warm in their hides, being watched over by Koracoo’s mother.

He ran a hand through his drenched black hair. What was going on out there? It was like the enemy was holding back, waiting for something. They kept attacking in short bursts, shooting arrows at the warriors on the catwalk while others ran up to the palisade with pots of oil and tossed them on the walls. The last wave would line up outside the trees and shoot flaming arrows into the oil and over the walls into the longhouses—or anyone who happened to be standing in the open.

“So far, we’ve been lucky,” Hagnon said. “We’ve been able to put out all the fires they’ve started.”

“The snow has helped. Things are too wet to burn easily.”

Those with the worst injuries had been laid out side by side in the middle of the plaza. There was no hope for them. If they happened to be struck by an arrow, it would be a quick way to die. Moans penetrated the melee. Gonda followed a winding path that led around them and looked upon the wounds with a horrified feeling of despair. Many had belly wounds. Others had heads or chests bandaged with blood-soaked rags. Most were dying, dying swiftly, their strength too drained by the loss of blood to survive.

Gonda trotted down the length of the house, past the five fires, to where the clan matrons huddled together. Standing beside the gray-haired elders was the Speaker for the Women, Yanesh, who announced the matrons’ decisions.

When Yanesh saw him, she rushed to meet him. Tall and thin, with long graying black hair, she had a dignity about her.

“Yanesh, have they heard my reports? Have they met in council? What are they saying?”

She took him by the arm and led him away. “They met with the council less than a half-hand of time ago. They say we must keep fighting. They say Koracoo is coming.”

Gonda rubbed a hand over his numb face. It felt like an act of betrayal to say it, but he whispered, “I’m not sure she is, Yanesh. Something’s wrong, or she would have been here by now. The time is coming, soon, when they will have to decide what to do if the enemy breaches the palisade.”

“They have already decided, Gonda. We will keep fighting.”

A weary fury seared Gonda’s veins. “No. No, they don’t understand. We should plan some kind of diversion that will allow the women and children to escape. Maybe if we can lure the enemy out into the forest—”

“We will keep fighting, Gonda. We will fight until Koracoo arrives. Elder Wida had a vision that Koracoo will arrive at the last instant and save us.”

Gonda stared at her. Though he believed that unseen Spirits walked the land, and that souls traveled the Road of Light in the sky to reach the afterlife, he’d never put much faith in visions. “Yanesh, please. Tell them what I said. Make them understand!”

Yanesh put a comforting hand on his shoulder. “I will Gonda. Now, you’d better return—”

Screams rose outside, and a series of thuds sounded on the longhouse roof. Within moments, flames burst to life.

“Bring the ladders and water pots!” Yanesh shouted.

As people scurried to obey, Gonda sprinted outside. Hundreds of flaming arrows arched through the night sky overhead, leaving smoky trails. He ran hard for the ladders that led up to the catwalk and climbed swiftly to look out over the palisade. As he unslung his bow and pulled an arrow from his quiver, a strange hush settled over the enemy.

Gonda frowned. He was standing next to Kiya. “What are they doing?”

“I don’t know,” she said. “After they fired the flaming arrows, they all retreated into the trees and went silent.”