People of the Masks(169)

The twanging of bows split the air. One of the men pitched forward, and his face plowed into the trail. The woman took an arrow in the back, but didn’t fall. She forced her weaving feet onward. A thock—hiss! and another arrow lanced her chest. She slumped to her knees, and braced a hand on the ground, fighting to stay upright.

The last Turtle warrior turned, saw her fall, and fired a wild shot at his pursuers. It sailed over the heads of his enemies. In less than a heartbeat, three arrows pierced his chest, and knocked him backward. He was dead before he hit the ground.

The Walksalong warriors leaped Buckeye’s body, and raced by. One paused long enough to kick the dying woman in the face. She flopped over, coughing blood, and slowly went still.

Acorn blinked the stinging sweat from his eyes. Screams filled the forest, coming from every direction.

The war party needed him.

He set his bow aside, looked at the shaft in his leg, and gripped it with both hands. He tugged. It wouldn’t come out. Shaking, he tried again, gritting his teeth, and yanking as hard as he could. The pain blazed through him like white-hot fire. Finally, his hands shook too badly to maintain his grip. He let go, and sank back against the dark trunk, groping for his bow.

He dragged it over his lap, and prayed.





Wren lay on her stomach next to Elk Ivory, the knife in her right hand, her heart thumping in her throat. They hid behind a jumbled pile of rocks to the south of the village. All around them, people crashed through deadfall, yelling, and cursing. So far, Elk Ivory had made no attempt to join the battle.

She lay prostrate, her eyes furiously scanning the mist.

Branches cracked behind them, and Elk Ivory leaped to her feet with her bow drawn.

Wren could make out a line of people coming toward them. Their bodies wavered in the mist, sometimes visible, sometimes not. She couldn’t tell whose side they belonged to.

Elk Ivory reached down, grabbed Wren by the collar, and jerked her to her feet. “Go down to the lakeshore and run north along the sand,” she whispered. “Now. Run!”

Wren flew down the hill, her legs pumping, and arms flying.





Two men stumbled into the village, fighting, and Jumping Badger spun to look.

Sparrow took the opportunity. Pulling his stiletto from his pocket, he took two running strides, and swung for Jumping Badger’s chest. Jumping Badger caught his arm, pivoted, and threw Sparrow to the ground. Sparrow’s foot shot out, catching Jumping Badger behind the knees. He toppled, but came up quickly and leaped for Sparrow’s stiletto. Sparrow bellowed, grabbed Jumping Badger around the neck, jerked him sideways, and rolled on top of the young war leader. He gouged at Jumping Badger’s left eye, trying to tear it from its socket.

Jumping Badger writhed like a dying animal. He slammed a fist into Sparrow’s throat.

The flash of pain stunned Sparrow. He couldn’t breathe. Jumping Badger flung Sparrow to his back.

As the two men rolled and thrashed across the ground, the village exploded around them. Warriors streamed in from both sides, shouting, and firing their bows from less than four paces. A melee of running, screaming people ensued.

Sparrow heard Dust shout hoarsely, then saw her racing across the plaza with her long gray braid flying. Two warriors tackled her, bringing her down hard.

Sparrow roared, and threw all of his strength into the fight. Dust had been right about his age. Jumping Badger had managed to get on top, and Sparrow couldn’t seem to get the leverage to escape. His muscles were tiring fast, his grip on his stiletto weakening.

Jumping Badger glanced at Dust, then peered down at Sparrow with blazing eyes, and smiled. “I’m going to kill your wife while you watch.”

Jumping Badger jammed his thumbs into Sparrow’s wrist, and Sparrow’s fingers began to open. The stiletto shook. Jumping Badger banged his hand on the ground, and the stiletto flew from Sparrow’s grasp, landing six hands away.

Jumping Badger dove for it. Sparrow rolled to his knees and leaped for Jumping Badger. He reached around the man’s head, grasped his chin, and twisted Jumping Badger’s neck until he could hear bones cracking.

Jumping Badger cried out hoarsely, rolled under Sparrow, and came up with the stiletto.

He plunged it once, twice, into Sparrow’s vulnerable throat and the opening in his coat collar. Blood spurted, covering Jumping Badger’s face and eyes.

Sparrow tried to get to his feet to run, but three warriors hit him at once, and sent him sprawling. Two leaped for his arms, while a third struggled to keep his thrashing legs down.

Sparrow lay on his back, rasping, blood running hotly over his neck and chest.

From somewhere close, he heard Dust mew, “Sparrow.”

Jumping Badger staggered to his feet, and stood over Sparrow. Covered with Sparrow’s blood, and with his own blood draining from his nose and left eye, he looked almost as bad as Sparrow felt. Not that it mattered. If the stiletto had struck the large artery in Sparrow’s throat, he’d be dead very quickly.