People of the Longhouse(85)

Father’s voice echoes in my ears: Just watch your feet. Don’t look down.

Halfway across, I grab hold of a branch that sticks up, and turn back to look at Waswan. He has stopped.

He’s standing on the limb with his hands propped on his hips, staring out at the narrow valley that cuts through the mountains. A black cloud of smoke trails across the sky. The acrid scent of burning longhouses grows stronger as we climb.

“What village is that?” I ask in a trembling voice. The burning village lies where the valley runs down to a wide river, perhaps a half-day’s walk away.

Waswan’s head doesn’t move, but his gaze lowers to me, and hatred gleams in his eyes. I do not know why he hates me, but he does. Perhaps because I am a Standing Stone boy.

“That’s Bog Willow Village. It’s one of the filthy villages of the Dawnland People. By now, they’re all dead or run off.”

“Who attacked them?”

“Men you will meet tonight.”

“How do you know? D-did your people attack the village?”

He stares straight through me as though I’m not really here. “Keep moving, boy. We have a long way to go.” A cruel smile twists his mouth. “And tonight is your night. Many victorious warriors will be there.”

I’m shaking as I edge out onto the limb and hurry across it. Don’t think about it. Don’t imagine … don’t.

Runners often come to speak with Gannajero in the middle of the night. They wake me, but they never stay for long, and they always leave with a bag of riches. I have wondered what they tell her. Perhaps they are warriors about to attack a village? Does that mean there will be new children tonight?

I climb onto the giant limb of the next tree and head for the trunk. When I get there, I wrap my arms around it and rest my cheek against the cold bark while I grind my heel again. My whole body suddenly feels like it’s roasting. I can’t think straight.

Waswan crosses behind me and orders, “Climb down. We’ll walk through the rocks for a time; then we’ll climb up again.”

I place my feet on the branches like a ladder’s rungs. Just before I jump to the ground, a squirrel chitters and leaps away through the tree. While I’m watching, Waswan nocks an arrow and shoots it through the heart. The squirrel falls as lightly as a feather. It makes a soft thud when it strikes the earth.

I jump to the ground, and Waswan climbs down beside me. Without a word, he walks over, pulls his arrow from the squirrel, and tucks the small animal into his belt. Its bushy tail glints reddish in the fading light.

“Walk,” Waswan orders. “Straight toward Bog Willow Village.”

“But it’s burning. Why would we go there?”

He gestures toward the rock outcrop ahead. “Stop talking, boy. Walk.”





Thirty-four

As Sindak led the way back to the place where he’d hidden the night before, icy leaves crunched beneath his moccasins. He felt vaguely numb. He hadn’t gotten much sleep in the last three nights, and that, along with the fact that they hadn’t been eating well, was taking a toll on his strength. He veered off the trail and headed out into the glistening grass. Frost coated everything this morning, shining like a thick layer of crushed shells in the tawny halo of morning light that lanced through the trees. The brittle mustiness of late autumn filled the air.

“Where are we going?” Koracoo called from behind.

Sindak pointed with his bow. “Over there. See that huge hickory tree? That’s where I hid from the warriors last night.”

Towa’s distinctive steps were close behind him. Koracoo was slightly farther back, and Gonda’s footsteps came from far in the rear. Sindak turned halfway around to look back. Gonda was trudging along with his head down, as though totally defeated. His war club was almost dragging the ground, and he didn’t even seem to notice.

Towa caught his gaze, turned to look back at Gonda, and trotted forward to catch up with Sindak. In a low voice, he said, “I think he’s becoming a liability to us.”

“He is. But until Koracoo figures that out and orders him to go home, there’s nothing we can do.”

Towa’s buckskin cape fluttered around his long legs as he walked at Sindak’s side. “Even if Koracoo ordered him to leave, I doubt he’d do it.”

“I suspect you’re right. He’s going to stick to us like boiled pine pitch until he gets us all killed.”

Sindak followed his own tracks across the frozen mud toward the leafless hickory. “Did Gonda keep you awake half the night with his moaning and thrashing?”

“Yes. I was deeply grateful when Koracoo woke him to take his watch. That’s when I finally got to sleep.”