“I’d like that.”
Just before Gonda ducked through, Koracoo said, “Gonda, immediately after the Requickening, I’m leaving.”
“Leaving? This is hardly the time for the new matron of Yellowtail Village to be away.”
She gazed at him without blinking, as though worried how he was going to respond to what she was about to say. “Sky Messenger asked me to carry his vision to Chief Cord.”
A tiny thread of old jealousy went through him, which amused him. It had been twelve long summers since she’d removed Gonda as her deputy war chief and installed Cord in his place. What did it matter now? “Well,” he said, “we need more warriors. If you can convince Cord to join us, even just for this battle, it will help.”
She gave him a grateful smile, and Gonda ducked beneath the curtain and headed for Tutelo’s chamber, where his ill wife rested.
Cord. Why did it have to be Cord?
Thirty
Four nights later, Taya and Sky Messenger made camp in the hollow of a toppled pine. The deep hole had been gouged when the old giant had blown over in a windstorm; it was filled with rocks and gravel and, in her opinion, created the worst place possible to try to sleep. They’d stowed their canoe, hidden it in a pile of brush along the river, and now were traveling on foot through the trackless wilderness of enemy territory.
As she arranged the kindling on the small island of dirt at the rear of the hole, she morosely glanced around. The hole, deeper than she was tall, didn’t give her much to look at. High above, crooked pine roots zigzagged over her head, and beyond them, the campfires of the dead filled the sky and sparkled through the treetops. Her gaze drifted over the brush that fringed the rim of the hole—a mixture of ironwood saplings and dense holly. The forest canopy was luminous. Moonlight streamed between the sycamores, bleaching the bark where it struck or draping inky weblike shadows through the forest.
She couldn’t see him, but she knew Sky Messenger was gathering wood. At night, he moved with the stealth of a cougar. Were it not for the occasional snapping of twigs, she wouldn’t know he was out there. She couldn’t hear Gitchi at all, but the wolf was at Sky Messenger’s side. He always was.
Taya finished arranging the kindling, pulled her cape closely around her, and flopped back against the cold dirt wall. Rocks poked into her back. She shifted to avoid them.
When water starting soaking through her cape, Taya jerked forward and dragged the doeskin around to look at the wet spot. “Not only is this a rocky hole, it’s oozing water!” She leaned forward and took a good look at the floor of the hole. All around the small island of dirt, water glistened.
“Wonderful. Just wonderful,” she groaned. This was the most abominable place he’d yet chosen to camp. Was he trying to punish her for wanting to go home? This just made her long for the warmth of her longhouse even more.
The brush rattled softly as Sky Messenger shouldered through the holly and carefully worked his way down into the hole. The old gray-faced wolf came through behind him. Taya watched them with an annoyed expression on her face. Sky Messenger carried a small pile of branches in the crook of his left arm.
“That’s not nearly enough wood,” she complained. “There’s water in this hole.” She pointed to the puddles. “We’ll have to build a really big fire to dry it out.”
“We can’t, Taya. We’re in the middle of Hills country. Our fire will have to be very small. Even that is a risk. You can have my blanket tonight. I’ll be plenty warm wrapped in my cape.” Sky Messenger knelt and placed the wood beside her kindling. As he pulled his pack off and drew out the little pot where he kept coals from their morning fire, she frowned at him. Grandmother Moon cast a queer silvery sheen over his cape and hair, and threw the planes of his face into sharply contrasting arcs of gray and black. Sky Messenger carefully tucked the coals into her twig pile, added some dry leaves, and began blowing on the coals. It seemed to take forever before they reddened and flames licked through the tinder. She instantly extended her cold hands to the tiny blaze and sighed. “Thank the Spirits.”
“Here, this will help.” Sky Messenger reached into his pack and pulled out his carefully folded rabbit-fur blanket. Composed of worn, sewn-together rabbit pelts, it resembled a shabby patchwork. As he draped it over her shoulders, he said, “Why don’t you also pull your blanket from your pack? Then you—”
“Please, do so.”
He blinked as though annoyed about being ordered around like one of her slaves. He picked up her pack and tossed it at her. “I’m sure it’s in there.”