“What is it, War Leader?” she asked with deadly softness.
Jumping Badger shoved Wren to the ground, and stood breathing hard, his fists clenching and unclenching. “Why is this girl free?”
“She escaped during the fight. I did not even realize she was gone, until I—”
“Do not lie to me! You let her go! Do you think me a fool?”
One of Elk Ivory’s brows quirked, and several of the Walksalong warriors laughed.
Jumping Badger swung around, his face twisted in fury. “Who laughed? Who was laughing!”
When no one owned up to it, Jumping Badger glowered at Wren, then backhanded her hard across the mouth.
Wren hit the ground spitting blood. Tears blurred her eyes. She rose on her hands and knees and tried to crawl away, but Jumping Badger kicked her down. Her chin skidded over the dirt, and she started crying.
“Oh, Wren,” Dust Moon whispered.
Jumping Badger’s eyes widened. “Do you know this girl? How long have you known her?”
As if suddenly realizing the implications of calling out to Wren, the woman shook her head. “I don’t know her.”
“But she was with Blue Raven when he sold you the child? Isn’t that so? That’s what he told me.”
Wren looked at Dust Moon pleadingly, as if terrified the old woman might say the wrong thing.
Jumping Badger grabbed her by the hair, and said, “Do you know Dust Moon and Silver Sparrow?”
“No, I—”
“How long have you known them?”
“I don’t know them!” Little Wren sobbed the words.
Jumping Badger shoved her face into the ground.
“Now, old woman,” he said to Dust Moon. “You will answer me. How long have you known this worthless girl?”
When Dust Moon’s jaw clamped, he stepped toward her, drawing back his hand to wipe that expression from her wrinkled face.
“That is your way, isn’t it, brave War Leader?” Elk Ivory’s voice stopped Jumping Badger in his tracks.
He turned to glare at her.
“Ever since you were a boy,” Elk Ivory said, “you’ve enjoyed hurting the helpless. Women, children, animals. We have all seen it. But when it comes to leading a war party, you often insist on walking in the rear, where you are safe. You are so cowardly you won’t walk after dark unless we make torches to light your way. You refuse to discuss your strategy with any of your warriors. Instead, you talk to a rotting head! You are unfit to be war leader!”
Jumping Badger looked from Elk Ivory to Dust Moon, and then down at Wren. He sensed a strange undercurrent here, one he didn’t understand.
He kicked Wren. “What is it that they know about you, girl, that I do not? Eh? Perhaps Elk Ivory was right in the beginning. Do you remember?” Jumping Badger shouted to his warriors. “How many of you recall when Elk Ivory insisted that Blue Raven had had nothing to do with the theft of the False Face Child? She claimed that Wren had stolen the boy, and that Blue Raven was merely tracking his niece! Eh? How many of you recall those words?”
Nearly every Walksalong warrior in the village nodded.
“Well,” Jumping Badger said. “Perhaps she was right. Maybe this wretched girl did steal the False Face Child. I want answers!” he shouted. “Was this girl responsible?”
He crouched before Wren, breathing hard, his face awash in firelight, and hissed, “I will have the truth, girl. And you will give it to me.”
“But I—I don’t know anything. I only found Uncle a few days ago, and he—”
Jumping Badger grabbed Wren by the front of her blue shirt and dragged her face up to less than a handbreadth from his. He shouted, “Where is the False Face Child?”
“Please, d-don’t hurt me,” she pleaded, and clutched at his fists. “I swear I don’t know anything!”
“Where is the False Face Child? Did you help him escape? Where is he!”
Jumping Badger shook Wren with all his strength, and she broke down and wept like an infant.
Without taking his blazing eyes from her, he called, “Rides-the-Bear! Shield Maker! Set fire to the lodges. I am going to need light.”
“Yes, War Leader.”
The two men ran to the bonfire north of the village, pulled long branches from the woodpile, and thrust the tips into the flames. When the wood blazed, they trotted to the first lodge, threw up the door curtain, and stuck the fiery brands inside, setting fire to the dry interior walls. They went down the row, setting fire to all seven lodges.
At first the roofs steamed, then smoked, and finally lurid orange tongues leaped through the smoke holes. The lodges burst into fire, and sparks shot across the plaza.
As the flames built to a roar, a gaudy fluorescent halo expanded over the village. It glittered from the fog, and danced on the stark upturned faces of the Sleeping Mist captives.