People of the Longhouse(95)

Koracoo ordered, “Nock your bows. We’re leaving.”

She slid backward down the hill and trotted for the cover of the spruces. Gonda gave them one last hostile glance before he rose to follow her.

Sindak pulled an arrow from his quiver and pointed it suggestively at Towa’s chest. “Concentrate and you may actually get lucky and hit what you’re aiming at.”

Towa smiled and turned to the camp again. Warriors’ faces gleamed with a rose-amber hue, and the echoes of laughter and songs rang through the night—but the whimpers of children and screams of the wounded thrummed beneath the revelry.

As Towa nocked his bow, he said, “It’s a good day to die. But I don’t plan on it.”





Forty

Odion





I sit with my teeth chattering. Manidos lies flat on his back, snoring, two paces away. I can’t seem to keep my head still. It keeps jerking, as though my backbone is injured. I saw a deer do this once. Father’s bow shot had gone high, slicing the buck just below the spine. When the animal fell, its antlered head continued to jerk and thrash until it died. Father said his arrow must have damaged the deer’s backbone. I reach around to touch my lower back. I can’t tell. Everything hurts.

I glance around like a stunned owl. I should run … . I … should. But I only have the strength to pull Manidos’ blanket close below my jerking chin. Manidos gave me the blanket. He said it was a present because I’d been a good boy. The blanket is made from strips of moosehide, and it’s warm. The strips have been dyed red, yellow, and white and woven into beautiful geometric designs. It’s very valuable. I can’t believe he just gave it to me. I …

Horrifying images struggle to rise behind my eyes. I shake my head hard, trying to make them go away. “No.”

He makes me lie down on my stomach … . His body is heavy, forcing the air from my lungs … .

“No, no, no,” I whisper. “D-don’t.”

I try to stand up, but shake so hard my legs collapse beneath me. I hit the ground like an unfeeling lump of clay. It takes three tries before I manage to stand up again.

My gaze searches the camp. A few hundred warriors stagger about and laugh. The sounds of drums and flutes fill the air. Perhaps another one hundred warriors sit before fires, eating bowls of food. I smell the rich scents of roasted duck and sacred tobacco smoke on the night wind. My gaze lingers on their capes. Every color in the rainbow shines in the firelight. I see pure white doehide capes, and pure black capes decorated with seashells. Porcupine quillwork glimmers, and polished copper ornaments blaze. And their jewelry! Every throat is encircled with strings of beads, etched copper and human skull gorgets, and a wealth of bear claw and elk ivory necklaces.

Who are these men? Where did they get this wealth?

Something tugs at my memory, and I lift my nose and sniff the air. Despite the thick blue smoke that hangs in the air above the camp, I know the odor of burning longhouses. It is a scent engraved on my heart. A village is burning somewhere close by. They must have stolen the capes and jewelry. They … I—I remember.

My jaws ache … . He’s holding my head in granite hands … .

A scream rises and strikes the backs of my clenched teeth. I do not let it out, but the effort makes me stagger and collapse to the ground.

My gaze moves haltingly over the camp, as though my eyes can only jerk from one place to another … and I see Wrass. He is standing with his cold hands extended to Gannajero’s fire, warming them. His face is swollen and bruised. One of his eyes is half-closed. A war club is tucked into his belt … . Why is he free? Did Gannajero release him?

A sudden cold wave flushes my body. Where’s Tutelo?

I struggle to my feet just as Wrass starts walking back toward our place in the forest, and I stumble toward him, through the trees, paralleling his path. He doesn’t see me for a long time. Then he whirls and stares into the trees as though he knows someone is there.

I call, “Wrass? It … it’s me.”

“Odion?”

I stagger into the open, and relief slackens Wrass’ hideous face. He says, “Thank the gods,” and runs to me.

He hugs me hard, and I start to cry against his shoulder, terrible wrenching tears that make me feel as though I’m suffocating. “Wr-Wrass, I—I’m hurt.”

“I know, Odion. But you’re alive.” He strokes my hair and in a strong voice, says, “Listen to me. We have to run. This is our chance. Can you do it?”

He backs away and stares down into my eyes. It’s as if the strength in his body is flowing into me through his gaze. I can feel it. My heart starts to beat harder. Hot blood surges through my veins.