The Dawn Country(103)

If she killed Odion, there’s nothing left, no hope … .

“Wrass?”

He went stone still. The faint call seemed to swirl around on Wind Mother’s breath, like a distant echo bouncing through the trees.

He pulled his bowstring tighter and tried not to move.

There was something out there. An odd tang rode the wind, like the tang of carrion. His hands clenched on the nocked bow as his gaze swept the trees and brush that fringed the clearing. If his first shot missed, he’d never be able to nock a second arrow fast enough to defend himself. Which meant his first arrow had to fly true. He braced his shaking arms on his drawn-up knees.

He’d dragged himself down the hill to the edge of the trees to get away from the sounds and small jerks Dakion’s body continued to make. He was almost invisible here. If he could …

He twisted around when something wavered in the darkness to his left.

Like great black wings flapping, the man’s cape billowed around him when he walked out of the forest. He stopped five paces away, his back to the snow-blanketed clearing, and lightly clasped his hands before him. The man carried no weapons. The old copper beads that ringed the neck of his cape had turned blue-green from lack of polishing. The man’s face, as white and luminescent as seashell in the gloom, flashed when he cocked his head to study Wrass.

Wrass whispered in awe, “You … you’re real. When I saw you on the river I thought you were just a figment of my fever. Are you … ? You’re Shago-niyoh, aren’t you?”

The man stepped closer, and as he knelt in front of Wrass, shining strands of his fine hair blew across his cheeks like moonlit spiderwebs.

In an eerily quiet voice, he asked, “Do you recall what I told you that night on the river?”

Wrass licked his cracked lips. “About Elder Brother Sun blackening his face with the soot of the dying world?”

The man nodded, but it was such a subtle gesture, Wrass almost missed it.

“Yes, I remember. Why?”

“I made you a promise.”

Wrass had to think about it. “You said that I would know the one who is to come. At the end of the world. The Human False Face who will don the cape of white clouds and ride the winds of destruction … .”

Wrass stopped when the man turned, lifted a hand, and pointed to the opposite side of the clearing, where a boy ran across the snow. He was holding his left arm, running as hard as he could, calling, “Wrass? Wrass, are you all right?”

A strange light-headed sensation came over Wrass. In awe, he whispered, “Are you sure?”

The man smiled, but it was a sad smile, filled with loss and longing, as though he could see the way ahead, and it was not an easy path. Softly, he said, “Help him, if you can.”

The man’s cape flared as he rose to his feet and walked away into the trees. In moments, he was gone, swallowed by the darkness.

Odion charged straight for the last place he’d seen Wrass, and when Wrass wasn’t there, he panicked. He spun around and cried, “Wrass! Wrass, where are you?”

Two adults and three children followed a little way behind Odion. One of the adults seemed to be carrying something.

“I’m down here, Odion!” he shouted back. “Near the trees!”

People started running toward him, but Odion was in the lead, his legs pumping, trying hard to get to Wrass first.





Forty-nine

Odion





I lie on the packs with Gitchi curled against me. The puppy’s head is healing, though he still whimpers in his sleep. I pet his fur gently and watch Wakdanek on the opposite side of the canoe. He rocks Conkesema in his arms and whispers in her ear. She hasn’t spoken or taken her eyes from him since we found him waiting along the riverbank with Hehaka and Tutelo. The little girl has one hand twined in Wakdanek’s shirt sleeve, as though she’ll never let go.

The night is quiet and cold. Mist hovers low over the river, and I imagine that if I just reach out I can touch it. Along the banks, it creeps among the tree trunks like ghostly white arms.

Gitchi shifts and props his nose on my hand. “Everything’s all right now,” I murmur. “We’re going home.”

Ahead of us on the water, Mother and War Chief Cord paddle against the current, trying to stay close to shore. In the middle of their canoe, Zateri and Baji sit side by side with their arms around each other, talking. I don’t know where Tutelo and Auma are. They must be sleeping in the bottom of Mother’s canoe.

Wakdanek has told us that he will be leaving us tomorrow, taking Conkesema and Auma back to find whatever remains of their families. After that, War Chief Cord will take Baji away with him to Flint country, while Mother and the rest of us head for Atotarho Village to make sure that Zateri and Hehaka make it home. Finally, Mother will lead the way to Bur Oak Village, where, hopefully, we will find the last survivors of Yellowtail Village. As I gaze at Zateri and Baji, my heart aches. I miss them already. Over the past moon, our souls have woven themselves together into a fine tight weave. We are part of each other. I’ll be ripped apart when they go home.