Wanderer dodged back into the house. Already smoke twirled down in a gray haze. "Vole, grab Lichen! We'll have to try to get out through the window."
"But they'll be watching!" Vole cried in terror. "You know they will. They're probably waiting to—"
"Get out! It's our only chance!"
Lichen screamed, "Look!" and pointed at the ceiling.
Wanderer lunged for his daughter and knocked her back against the wall as a burning section of roof toppled into the room. Flames engulfed Vole's bed and licked up the wall, peeling off the clay to get to the hardwood poles beneath. Smoke boiled out in choking black layers. When Wanderer turned, he caught sight of Vole's arm, twisted at an impossible angle in the midst of the flames. Vole was under the blazing thatch.
"Vole?"
""Mother!" Lichen shrieked. "Where's my mother? Wanderer, help my mother!"
The fire roared, searing Wanderer's face until he had to close his eyes. Roughly, he grabbed his daughter's hand and dragged her to the window. Lifting her up, he shoved her outside, then turned back.
"Vole? Vole!"
Gasping for breath. Wanderer hit the floor on his stomach, sliding beneath the smoke toward the last place he had seen Vole. His scorching lungs screamed for him to get out, but he swept the floor with his hands until he bumped soft flesh.
Grabbing Vole's forearm, he jerked with all of his strength to pull her from beneath the sizzling thatch. Her dress burst into flame as soon as the air struck it. Wanderer rolled her in the dirt, then scrambled to get her up in his arms so he could run to the window. Together, they toppled out into the darkness.
Wanderer carried Vole through the brush, away from the burning village, where he could lay her down on a soft bed of grass. The vile odor of singed hair clung to her. Blisters bubbled over her right leg.
Lichen trotted in from the shadows, crying, her face covered with soot. In a choking voice, she asked, "What happened?"
"She got caught under the roof. It must have smashed her against the wall when it fell. I think she hit her head."
"Is she all right?" Lichen looked at Wanderer desperately.
"Yes, I think so, but—"
A hoarse shout surged over the roar of the fire. A dozen people flooded around the husk of Vole's house, stumbling and shoving their way toward the black ribbon of the creek. Wanderer recognized Wart and his mother in the forefront.
Five enemy warriors leaped up from the drainage channel where they had been hiding. The chert studs in their war clubs glittered as they raised their weapons over their heads and charged forward into the fleeing people. The group broke and scattered. A warrior grabbed the racing Wart by the back of his shirt, slanmfied his club into the side of Wart's head, then tossed the boy's limp body to the ground. The warrior vaulted Wart's corpse and fell on another child.
Screams rode the night wind like circling vultures, growing louder until the very fabric of the darkness pulsed with agony.
"Lichen!" Wanderer ordered in panic. "Run. I said runV
She stood rigid, staring unblinking at Wart, fifty hands away. The boy stared back, his sightless eyes wide and dead.
Wanderer pushed her with all of the strength he could muster. "Run! We'll find you if we can!"
"I said, go !"
Lichen put her hands over her mouth to stifle her sobs but dutifully rose to her feet and dashed out into the dark clusters of brush and rock. The anguish on her face had torn Wanderer's soul to dandelion fluff. He watched her disappear, his heart in his throat, before turning back to Vole. SUpping his arms under her knees and shoulders, he staggered to his feet, preparing to follow Lichen.
"Wanderer!"
The familiar voice caused him to hesitate for an instant— long enough for three warriors to loom out of the firelit darkness and encircle him, their bows up, arrow points aimed at his back and stomach. Wanderer's tongue clove to the roof of his parched mouth like a choking root.
A tall, burly warrior swaggered from the shadows. Blood coated his heavily tattooed chest in lurid splotches. The fire flared suddenly as the last of Vole's roof and walls crashed in upon themselves. Wanderer instinctively ducked and clutched Vole's limp body closer to his chest. The light wrapped the warrior in a patina of pure gold. The squat face had grown more wrinkles in the past ten cycles, but the bulging eyes had lost none of their keenness.
Wanderer swallowed hard. "Badgertail!" he whispered.
Lichen thrashed through the underbrush, gibbering to herself in terror, ignoring the stinging nettles that raked at her legs and arms. Firelight reflected across the rock outcrop, swirling like monstrous creatures with fiery wings. From the heart of the flames, a voice called to her, whispering her name over and over again: "Lichen, Lichen, come this way . . . this way ..."