“No arrows are flying,” Sindak noted. “That’s a good sign.”
Wakdanek trotted back to Koracoo and said, “You’re safe. For now. My relatives just want to collect their belongings and care for their relatives. They found several dead children lying in a row along the riverbank. They’re preparing them for the journey to the afterlife.”
Koracoo studied him uncertainly. When she turned to face the party, she looked directly at Cord. “What is your opinion, War Chief? Are we safe?”
Gonda jerked around to stare at her, obviously angry that she’d asked Cord’s opinion and not his.
Cord studiously ignored Gonda and appeared to think about his answer before he responded. “We should all stay fairly close together. We don’t want to tempt the grieving relatives. They’ve probably already declared blood oaths against their attackers.”
“They have,” Wakdanek said, and eyed Cord coldly.
For a long uncomfortable moment, their gazes locked.
Koracoo broke the staring contest by saying, “All right. Let’s stay no more than twenty paces from each other. And search every pack you find for food. We may have a long journey ahead us. We’ll need every moment to paddle. Hunting will be a luxury.”
The smell of death permeated the cold air. Even through the smoky gloom, Sindak counted fifty or sixty corpses across the camp. Most had perished from arrow wounds—the shafts still protruded from the bodies—but a few had been clubbed to death. Some recently. He could tell because red blood covered their faces. They’d probably been wounded in the Bog Willow Village battle, and had their pain ended at dawn by friends who could no longer stand their cries.
Odion called, “Mother? That’s where we were held.” In his fist, he clutched the stiletto Sindak had given him.
Sindak followed the boy’s arm to a small clearing surrounded by scrub bladdernut trees. Another dead body sprawled there. The guard killed by Wrass?
He took a moment to watch Odion. The boy kept licking his lips and breathing hard, as though he were straining against an overpowering desire to run away. He was walking practically on top of Gonda’s heels. Baji wasn’t doing much better. She had a deerbone stiletto in her fist, holding it before her. Rage twisted her pretty face, which Sindak understood perfectly. He had often smothered fear with rage. Perhaps all living creatures did. He’d watched terrified dogs go into snarling enraged frenzies when cornered. Little Tutelo seemed to be the only one who was not petrified to be back here. She appeared cautious, studying the forest carefully as they walked, but no panic shone in her eyes.
And then there was Hehaka. Sindak didn’t know what to make of the boy. He kept sniffing the air like a dog searching for its pack—as though desperate to scent Gannajero or one of her men.
“Where did Baji get the stiletto?” Sindak asked.
Cord turned. The ugly scar that slashed across his square jaw had collected ash. It resembled a line of black paint. “I gave it to her.”
Sindak nodded. “Good idea.”
Koracoo shoved aside a clump of brush and cut through the forest, heading directly for the clearing Odion had pointed out.
Sindak brought up the rear, proceeding at a snail’s pace, his gaze searching the haze as though his very life depended upon it. Which it might. Though warriors traditionally left their camps just before dawn, there were often men who remained behind to stay with dying friends or ransack the packs of the dead. There could be fifty men hiding in the trees.
By the time he reached the clearing, the others had created a semicircle around the dead body. Wooden bowls, freshwater clamshells, and a half-eaten dog leg scattered the ground. The sleeping places of the children were clear. The grass had been mashed flat, then dusted with ash. The dead warrior lay to the east, facing toward the river. His last sight must have been the hundreds of warriors camped just a few paces away.
Koracoo placed her feet carefully, so as not to disturb any tracks, and circled around to stand over the dead man’s head.
Sindak could tell he’d been clubbed in the back of the head, and in the face. His nose and cheekbones had been crushed by the blow. Congealed blood filled the hollow. His half-open eyes had frozen in a surprised stare.
Sindak said, “Is that the guard Wrass killed?”
Almost simultaneously, Baji and Tutelo answered, “Yes.”
“Did you see it happen?” Sindak asked.
Baji looked at him as though he were an idiot. “We were sitting right there. How could we have missed it?”
“Oh. I see.”
Gonda walked over to stand beside Koracoo. A thin layer of ash coated his round face and painted a dark line across his heavy brow. Softly, he said, “This isn’t good, Koracoo.”