“Silent? Why?”
“Maybe”—she wet her lips—“maybe they’re leaving. Maybe they’ve decided the cost is too high. We’ve killed hundreds of their warriors.”
Gonda surveyed the dead bodies that scattered the area between the gates and trees. He guessed the number at around two hundred—not nearly enough to make them quit, though many had also been wounded and dragged off.
His gaze lifted to the trees. As though a monster had awakened, thousands of eyes suddenly sparkled in the light of the fires. They were on the move. Winding through the trees. Their grotesque shadows wavered against the stark fire-dyed forest.
“They … they’re moving their forces up.” He spun around and shouted, “They’re coming! Get ready!”
Though he heard a few whimpers eddy down the line, his warriors stood tall, their nocked bows aimed at the tree line.
When the enemy finally emerged from the trees, Gonda stood stunned.
They’d been reinforced. They’d kept him busy while they’d assembled the necessary forces for one massive final assault against the palisade.
The enemy war chief, a tall man wearing a wolfhide headdress with the ears pricked and the long bushy tail hanging down his back, strode out front and raised both hands high into the air, as though daring anyone to shoot him.
“Blessed Spirits, that’s Yenda.” Gonda’s belly muscles clenched tight. The last time they’d fought, it had been a chance meeting of two war parties in the forest. Gonda and Koracoo had barely escaped with their lives. The man was the most powerful and revered Mountain People war chief in the land. He was also a filthy murderer. Gonda pulled his bowstring back and held it taut.
“Yenda? Are you sure?” Kiya asked.
“I’m sure.”
“Gonda!” Yenda roared like an enraged bear and spread his muscular arms wider. “You see I brought friends this time. Prepare to die!”
Gonda shouted back, “After you, Yenda!” and loosed his arrow. The white chert point glittered as it sailed down. Yenda spun just in time. Gonda’s arrow lanced through his cape.
“Attack!” Yenda shouted, and waved his warriors forward.
They burst from the trees like ants swarming from a kicked anthill, and hundreds of arrows streaked through the starlight.
“Fire!” Gonda shouted, and spun to …
He jerked awake, panting, his heart hammering his ribs.
Koracoo turned from where she stood beneath the oak watching the trails. His eyes locked on her, and he thanked the Spirits that she was alive. She’s alive. Everything is all right.
But as the memories of the final outcome flooded back, he weakly rolled to his side and gazed out across the rolling starlit hills.
The entire world seemed to be dying around him, and he didn’t know how to stop it.
Thirty-three
Odion
To the east, a turquoise band stretches across the horizon, but the arching dome of Brother Sky still glitters with the largest campfires of the dead. The leafless hickory trees to the north resemble a gray haze, spotted here and there with evergreens. Soft voices carry. Gannajero and her men stand around talking. They have already packed up. We’ll be going soon.
We children sit in a circle, waiting for orders. Zateri has her arm over Wrass, who lies curled on his side. He’s been throwing up all morning. His face is a mass of swollen purple bruises. If I didn’t know it was Wrass, I’m not sure I’d recognize him.
Tutelo and Baji kneel to my left. Baji’s gaze keeps searching the clearing, as though she expects to see her relatives appear at any moment. Or perhaps, like me, there’s a war party woven into the fabric of her souls. Right behind her eyes. A war party erupting from the trees with bows aimed, killing Gannajero and her men.
Soon … please, Spirits …
This morning hope is like a wild starving beast in my heart, eating me alive.
The short burly warrior, Waswan, tramps away from Gannajero and calls, “Here, you brats. Biscuits!”
When he gets closer, he tosses us each an acorn-meal biscuit. With a sense of panic, I watch mine arc through the air. It takes forever to fall into my hand. By the time I catch it, my stomach is twisting and squealing. I immediately bite into it. It tastes stale, but wonderful. In no time, it’s gone. I lick the crumbs from my hands and stare down painfully at the tiny bits that remain. Leaving anything for the hungry birds and mice is becoming almost impossible.
I hesitate. I can’t seem to force myself to brush the bits onto the ground. Grandmother always said if you took care of the animals, they would take care of you. Our People believe that animals allow themselves to be killed. They see a human’s hunger and willingly sacrifice themselves so that the One Great Life of all might continue. Every time I brush the crumbs from my hands, I am, in a small way, sacrificing for them.