People of the Longhouse(84)

The other children are breathlessly watching me. They seem to be waiting to see what I do.

I clamp my jaws. My hands are shaking when I brush the last bits of biscuit onto the ground.

They do the same.

Zateri has the harder problem. She is holding Wrass’ uneaten biscuit.

“Wrass?” she says softly. “You should try to eat.”

“No, I—I can’t. Please save the biscuit for me.” He keeps his eyes closed, as though the pale beams of dawn light slanting through the trees are stilettos puncturing his brain.

I’m not sure, if I’d been holding the biscuit, that I could have saved it for him. But Zateri is braver than I. She tucks it into the top of Wrass’ legging and says, “It’s there when you want it, Wrass.”

“Thank you,” he answers weakly. “I know th-that wasn’t easy.” He slits open one eye and smiles gratefully at her.

Zateri’s face brightens. She strokes his hair gently. “Try to sleep for as long as you can.”

Tenshu and Waswan stand talking five paces away. Tenshu is thin, with a deeply lined face and sunken cheeks. Waswan’s is glaring at him. His square jaw moves with grinding yellow teeth. He’s knotted his greasy black hair at the base of his skull and secured it with a shell comb. He wears a new cape today, made of finely smoked elk hide. Across the bottom, there are white images of wolves chasing each other. He must have won it in the last game.

They both turn to watch Gannajero and Kotin. The old woman’s gravelly voice is too low to hear, but she’s waving her arms, and I wonder what has upset her.

Tenshu says, “Gods, what’s wrong with her? We’re headed to our biggest game ever. She should be leaping with joy.”

Waswan’s moonish face twitches. “All morning long she’s been ranting about the Child.”

Tenshu shakes his head. “There was no child. Hanu and Galan both searched the fire cherries. She’s lost her soul, Waswan. Maybe we should get out of here before she kills us.”

“One more game; then we’ll go.”

Tenshu massages the back of his neck. “All right. I just wish she’d let us travel the rivers. It would be so much faster. I hate these steep mountain trails.”

“And she hates the waterways. There are too many people. Rivers are crowded with towns, people fishing, and other canoes. She’s afraid someone might recognize her.”

“Well, it slows us down.”

Zateri glances at the guards, then leans forward to whisper to me. “Tonight. We have to do it tonight.”

I jerk a nod and mouth the words: All right. Tonight.

Kotin steps away from Gannajero and calls, “Waswan? We’ll meet at the Quill River camp north of Bog Willow Village. Don’t be late! We’re expecting hundreds. Get going.”

The short burly warrior says, “Yes, Kotin,” and turns to me. “You, boy. You’re coming with me today.”

I stand up. “But, please, what about my friend, Wrass? He’s too sick to walk all day.”

Waswan says, “He’ll either walk, or he’ll die on the trail with his head split open. Now, move. This morning, we’re starting off in the trees. Go to the hickories.”

I turn to wave good-bye to Tutelo, who watches me walk away with wide frightened eyes.

Tenshu walks up to the rest of the group and says, “You two girls are coming with me.” He points his war club at Tutelo and Baji.

They both stand.

I lose sight of them as I march out into the forest with Ugly. Wrass and Zateri must both be going with Kotin, because Gannajero always travels alone. Once we part at dawn, none of us see her again until dusk.

“That one.” Waswan aims his war club at the high spreading branches of the largest hickory. In the sky above, Cloud People drift, their bellies glowing pale gold. “Climb up.”

I grab hold of a low limb, brace my moccasin on the hickory trunk, and pull myself up.

Waswan climbs behind me. When I reach the first large limb, I take a moment to grind my heel into the bark, then lift my nose to smell the air. A frightening scent rides the wind. I twist around on the limb to scan the brightening horizon. There is a black splotch … .

“Hurry up, boy! You’re slow today.”

“Do you smell that?” I sniff the east wind.

“I told you to climb. Do it!” He pulls a stiletto from his belt and stabs the bottom of my moccasin. The sharp tip goes straight through the hide and punctures my heel.

“I’m going!” I say. Tears burn my eyes as I climb higher. I finally step out onto the thick limb that leads to the next tree and begin working my way across it. I pretend I’m balancing on a log bridge across a creek.