The Broken Land(7)

Deru gripped his war club. He would rather face an entire Flint war party than call Koracoo’s son a traitor.

He trudged back up the bank and out into the firelit meadow. His men stood in a semicircle waiting for him. Snow had already begun to frost their shoulders and heads. Their hushed voices sounded like the low hiss of a snake.

“Are all the captives gone?” one man called. “Two were mine!”

“Four belonged to my clan!” another man called.

“Where’s Sky Messenger? Is he dead?”

Deru held up his hands to still the assault. “We know nothing yet. Go back to your suppers. Eat and sleep. We will remain here until Utz and his search party return. We won’t have any answers until then.”

Deru strode through the mumbling crowd and straight back to where Wampa held the two women. When she saw him coming, Wampa rose, clutching her war club. “War Chief, they say they are not from this village. They saw the smoke at dusk and came to find out what had happened.”

He grunted. Wrinkles carved lines around the older woman’s mouth and furrowed her forehead. Gray-streaked black hair clung damply to her sunken cheeks.

Deru crouched before her. “Who are you?”

The old woman chuckled. She’d seen perhaps forty summers and had an air of authority about her. She was accustomed to respect, which meant she had wielded power in her village.

He said, “Don’t lie to me. I know you were one of our captives.”

Her lips curled into a contemptuous smile. “That means nothing to me.”

“It will. Soon. I plan to question your friend first.” He gestured to the second, younger, woman, who had seen perhaps twenty-five summers. “Is that what you wish? Your silence will cause her great pain.”

The old woman’s nostrils trembled with loathing. “You can’t hurt us now. Those we love are safe.”

“For a while. But my search party will recapture them. How did you escape?”

Silence.

“Did my deputy, Sky Messenger, help you?”

Wampa sucked in air, startled by the suggestion, but she said nothing.

Wind Woman shrieked through the forest. When she hit the meadow, she tossed up autumn leaves like a playing child, and they fluttered away on the gust.

The old woman closed her eyes and began Singing her death Song. She had a deep, quavering voice that sent a chill through Deru’s blood. The other woman joined her, and together their voices drifted over the camp. Every warrior quieted to listen.

Deru rose to his feet.

Wampa walked closer to him and softly said, “War Chief, it’s not possible. Sky Messenger would never—”

“That’s what I would have said one finger of time ago. But that was before I saw the tracks on the riverbank.”

Wampa’s face slackened. “Then … there’s proof?”

“Not proof. Not yet.” He waved a hand at the two women. “Wampa, take the captives to my fire, and shove some large branches into the coals. Fiery brands always hasten answers.”





Four

Long before dawn, my lungs feel like they’re on fire. I’m so exhausted I can barely concentrate. The storm has worsened. Icy wind whips my cape about my legs, hindering me as I climb through the deep snow, trying to reach the trail that runs along the ridgetop. If I can make it to the windswept highlands where the snow isn’t so deep, the running will be easier. But this steep slope is slick and difficult. Towering hickory trees thrash above me, their dark limbs flailing against the faintly brighter sky.

Somewhere ahead, Gitchi climbs. I don’t see him, but I hear his paws scratching for purchase. The sound makes me work harder.

I cast a glance over my shoulder. Wavering sheets of snow obscure the landscape. But they’re back there. Seven warriors. One of them is Utz. I heard him calling orders when they almost caught me around midnight.

I grab hold of an exposed root and pull myself over a ledge where I can look down on my backtrail. Nothing. I see no one. I slump to the snow, trying to catch my breath. They’re probably reeling on their feet, too.

They know, however, that they can’t let me get too far ahead or the snow will cover my trail and they’ll never find it again.

I scoop a handful of snow and shove it into my mouth. It goes down cold and seems to become a block of ice in my belly. My stomach knots. I eat more snow and contemplate what orders my friends carry. I have known Deru my entire life. Many times, he has treated me like a son. Despite his affection for me, however, he is war chief. If he believes me guilty of treason, he must make an example of me.

Which means they have orders to kill me on sight.

Gitchi trots back and stands at my shoulder, panting. Even in the darkness, his eyes glint when he turns to look at me. I stroke his throat, and he whimpers, as though to say, “Get up. We have to keep moving.”