Sindak heaves a sigh and shrugs. “If it were my choice, they wouldn’t be here at all, but I’m too much of a coward to stand up to Koracoo.”
“That’s wise, friend. She’d crush your skull without a second thought.”
Sindak gives him an askance look. “That’s not true. There’s a war party behind us. I’m at least moderately valuable.”
Towa chuckles. “Always the optimist.”
Baji walks to my side and says, “Odion? Are you all right?”
“Yes, are you?”
“Just tired.” She gazes back, looking beyond the Flint warriors into the dark forest where our pursuers must be. For a time, there is silence; then she whispers, “Odion, do you think these are the warriors you dreamed about? The footsteps you felt in your heart? Maybe it wasn’t her warriors.”
I blink, considering, and say, “No. The steps … I recognized them. One was K-Kotin’s.” When I can’t say his name without stuttering, my blood goes cold. Kotin is Gannajero’s deputy. The scariest of her warriors. He hurt so many children … including Baji. I sneak a glance at her, thinking maybe I shouldn’t have said his name out loud; then my fingers go tight around the stiletto beneath my cape.
Baji rubs her nose on her sleeve. Even if I didn’t know her, I would recognize the hate twisting her face. “Who else’s steps?”
“Waswan’s. You know how he shuffled?”
She jerks a nod. When she exhales, her breath shakes as it comes out. “I hope you’re wrong, but if not, we need to be ready for them.”
“Yes, I—”
Behind me, Sindak says to Towa, “You’re brooding. Stop it.”
“I’m not brooding,” Towa replies.
“Yes, you are. You’ve been brooding ever since you saw Chief Atotarho in the warriors’ camp last night.”
“I thought I saw him. I’m still not sure.”
Baji and I stare at each other and turn to study them. Sindak is scowling, while Towa looks worried.
Sindak whispers, “Aren’t you ever going to tell me the secret orders he gave you just before we left the village?”
My gaze jerks to Baji in surprise and find her glaring at Towa as though she’s just discovered he’s a spy and longs to get her hands around his throat.
Towa goes still. He doesn’t blink or even seem to be breathing. After a time, he replies, “I can’t. You’ve never kept a secret in your life.”
“I won’t tell! And I already know it has to do with the sacred gorget he gave you. What are you supposed to do with it?”
Towa grips his war club in both hands. “That’s none of your concern.”
“You’re just worried about what your mother will say if you betray our chief.”
Towa nods. “Yes, I admit it. The fact that she’d order me flayed alive in front of the entire village does have some small influence on my loyalty.”
Sindak smiles and looks back down the trail again. “Someday soon you’re going to have to decide if that loyalty is worth your life, friend. Or, more importantly, if it’s worth mine.” He gestures to me and Baji. “Or the children’s lives. Think about that.”
Towa’s voice goes low and serious. “I’ve been thinking of little else, Sindak.”
Sindak stares at him for a long time. “Good. Now, do you think we’ve let them catch up enough, or should we—?”
A shrill howl erupts and echoes across the icy woods.
I shove between Sindak and Towa and charge up the slope, taking the lead.
Baji’s steps are close behind me.
Eight
Grandmother Moon edged over the horizon, and her light ran across the mountains in a silver wave. The silent forest seemed to awaken. Gonda watched as a bare breeze swayed the branches.
The silence had been unbroken except for the sounds of their own moccasins striking the frozen earth, and the hunting yelps of their pursuers. Every now and then, the Dawnland warriors sounded closer, and the panicked children whimpered and threw themselves down the trail in an uncontrollable rush. Except for Odion. He acted as their leader, scolding them for getting too far ahead, keeping them in line. Once, he’d been forced to shout at Hehaka to stop running. And told the enemy their exact whereabouts. Each time the children made a sound, Cord and his men clenched their jaws and stoically stared straight ahead.
Gonda turned around to check on the Flint warriors. They were still there, still on their feet, staggering up the trail through a grove of gigantic sycamores. He almost couldn’t believe it. They had the endurance of starving wolves on a blood trail.
Gonda looked ahead again. The children had started to stumble. One of them, he couldn’t tell which, was gasping hoarse breaths, as though his lungs were desperate for air. They couldn’t keep this up much longer.