People of the Masks(146)

Acorn knelt beside Wren, and helped her to sit up. Her brain pounded, trying to get out of her skull. Wren wobbled against him.

Acorn gently said, “Are you all right?”

“S-sick. Sick.”

Jumping Badger drew back his fist and started to strike her again, but Elk Ivory caught his arm and shoved him backward. Jumping Badger stumbled in the slippery snow. When he caught his balance, he grabbed for his stiletto, but Elk Ivory pulled hers first. She stood poised on the balls of her toes, her arms spread, circling him. Fury blazed in her eyes.

“Let us end this,” Elk Ivory said in a low deadly voice. “Here and now.”

“I will enjoy killing you, old woman.” Jumping Badger smiled.

“Stop this!” Acorn shouted, and leaped between them. “Are you fools? Half of our village is dead, and you wish to kill each other!”

Without Acorn to support her, Wren crumpled to the snow again. She lay on her back, blinking at the drifting Cloud Giants. They seemed to be dancing.

Jumping Badger spread his feet, bracing himself for the fight. Sweat beaded his upper lip.

“You are stupid, Acorn,” he said. “If we do not find out where the Turtle people are taking the False Face Child, we will never find him, and everyone left alive in our clan will be dead.”

Elk Ivory moved to the left, forcing Jumping Badger down the hill. She said, “Blue Raven told you that Little Wren knew nothing. He said she’d caught up with him only yesterday. What good does it do to hurt her?”

“I hurt her because she knows more than she’s telling! I can see it in her face. If Blue Raven sold the boy to people from the Turtle Nation, where is the payment he received? He had nothing on him. Did he hide it? I don’t think so. He did not have time. The girl knows the real story!” As Jumping Badger circled around close to Wren, he shouted, “Don’t you, girl?,” and delivered a brutal kick to her shoulder.

The jolt flung Wren down the hill. She rolled twice, landing on her belly. Snow coated her eyelashes and long hair. Weak and bewildered, blood throbbing in her ears, she knew she couldn’t sit up without falling. She lifted her head, and looked at Jumping Badger. “I hate you,” she said wearily.

He moved toward her, but Acorn cut him off.

Acorn said, “If they are Turtle Nation people, won’t they go to the nearest Turtle village for help? I would!”

Buckeye asked, “What is the nearest village?”

Jumping Badger’s eyes narrowed. He glanced at Acorn, then back to Elk Ivory, and cautiously straightened up, lowering his stiletto. “Sleeping Mist,” he said. Then, as if at a new thought, he roared with laughter. Every warrior went silent. “Sleeping Mist! Those fools! Do you think word has reached them that we are chasing the False Face Child? Could they possibly be idiotic enough to risk the pitiful survivors of their village by sheltering our quarry?”

Buckeye’s nostrils flared. He thrust the staff with the head into the snow, planting it deep, then glared at Jumping Badger as if daring him to say anything. When Jumping Badger just scowled, Buckeye tramped away toward camp.

Elk Ivory lowered her stiletto, and stepped back, breathing hard.

She went around to Wren, slipped her arms under Wren’s knees and shoulders, then lifted her.

As Elk Ivory carried her back into camp, she whispered, “Wren. Answer me. Is that where they said they were going? To Sleeping Mist?”

Wren lay limply in Elk Ivory’s arms, her brain hammering against her skull. Thirst plagued her. She had never been this thirsty in all her life. Every muscle in her body cried out for water. “Didn’t,” she croaked. “Didn’t … say. I d-don’t know … where … really, Elk Ivory.”

Her bound feet swung in time to Elk Ivory’s steps, and the ropes cut deeper and deeper into her ankles. Blood ran warm down her feet.

Elk Ivory clutched Wren to her chest. As they neared the fire pits, the warriors gathered around them, peering worriedly at Wren, barraging Elk Ivory with questions:

“Is she all right?”

“Jumping Badger is such a fool! Striking a child from his own clan! Has he lost his souls?”

“You should have killed him, Elk Ivory. I wish you—”

“Little Wren needs tea and food,” Elk Ivory said. “Who has these things ready?”

Buckeye rose from where he stoked his fire with a long stick. Hard muscles bulged against his cape and pants. He glared hatred at Jumping Badger, standing in the meadow arguing with Acorn, then looked back at Elk Ivory and Wren. His expression softened. “I do. I would share my meal with both of you.”

Wren murmured, “Thank … you, Buckeye.”