“Maybe the dogs are inside?” Flying Weir had lifted a shoulder against the pelting flakes of snow.
Nine Killer could sense the unease among his wet warriors. His fears had carried all down the line. “Think, Flying Weir. You know Black Spike. He’s expecting something like this. Would he take the dogs in?”
“I, uh … no. He wouldn’t. Not the same man who fought with us against Water Snake.”
Nine Killer chewed his lip. A cold trickle of water ran down the side of his head, and along his neck. “It’s a trap,” he decided. “Someone is muzzling those dogs. Turn around. Have the last man find our way back into the trees. We’re going to have to do something different.” “Are you sure? If we—”
“He’s waiting for us! If we go in there, we’re going to be cut off, boxed, and shot down like the silly quail we are! Now,-move!”
Nine Killer could feel his warriors’ spirits sagging, any last optimism draining away like the water that streamed down their clay-cold flesh.
The chance of quick surprise had eluded him. The chance to use stealth was gone. All that remained was sheer brute force. An attack against a fortified enemy. And Okeus could skewer Nine Killer’s soul with stingray barbs before he’d waste lives like that. No, the best course was to withdraw before first light, paddle southeast along the coast, and try a cross-country approach to regain the advantage.
It was only after they’d entered the little copse of trees that Nine Killer heard the anxious whispers of his men. At the urgency in their voices, he hurried forward, tripping over roots, demanding, “What’s wrong?”
“The canoes,” Split Rattlesnake called hoarsely. “They’re gone! Someone has taken them!”
Nine Killer felt around on the shore, his fingers tracing the smooth tracks in the mud where the boats had been pushed out into the inlet.
And now, Nine Killer, how are you going to get out of this mess?
As he straightened, the first shout came to his ears. A man called, “We’ve got them cut off in the trees!”
Nine Killer and his warriors spun as another voice to their south cried, “We’re ready if they come in this direction.” “Nine Killer!” The voice was hauntingly familiar to the War Chief’s ears. “This is Black Spike! You are cut off. You may surrender, and take your chances, or die like a warrior should!”
Nine Killer muscled his way through his crowding knot of warriors, cupping his mouth to shout, “You come get me, you miserable excuse for a worm!” Then to his men, Nine Killer ordered, “Fan out. We’ve got until daylight to create some sort of defensive fortifications.”
“And you think you can save us?” Flying Weir demanded too loudly.
“Of course. Oh, come. We’ve been in tighter fixes than this. We’ve nearly four tens of stout warriors, and one way or another, I’m going to get us out of this mess, and take High Fox for good measure.” Despite the hearty tone of voice, he knew a lot of good men were going to die.
The Panther wasn’t prepared for people. After watching ten Comings of the Leaves on his island, the thought of a village full of strangers took him somewhat’ aback. He’d done well with Sun Conch and High Fox, of course. They were two impressionable young people—but, bat dung and curses, he’d be surrounded by tens of people he didn’t know!
That thought circled around his soul like a predatory hawk as High Fox and Sun Conch rhythmically paddled their way into Three Myrtle Inlet. Through the screen of trees, Panther could see irregular plots of land cleared from the forest. Little pickets, all in nice lines, protruded from the water to mark the location of fish weirs. No doubt about it, this was a place where humans lived.
Panther’s stomach fluttered. To himself, he whispered, “Oh, come now, why are you afraid? These are just men and women like everyone else. No better, and no worse.”
Sun Conch turned from her position in the bow. “Did you say something, Elder?” “No,” he replied, and scowled.
She blinked and returned to paddling, but he noticed that her shoulders had gone stiff.
After so long in exile, his nerves kept drawing tighter. They’d stare at him with horror in their eyes. He could see it just as in the past. That was the worst part, the suspicion and distrust. People thought him a witch, a night traveler, a baleful spirit that communed with dark Power.
“Face it, old man, you’ll never sit around a fire again and laugh with others. You knew that when you left the haunts of men.”
Sun Conch started to turn, but apparently thought better of it, and paddled harder. Shouts carried on the eddies of wind.