The Dawn Country(59)

Kotin laughed at Zateri’s bravado. “You’re getting too bold, girl. Soon, I’m going to have to teach you a lesson.”

Zateri swallowed hard and stiffened her spine to keep her head from trembling. Kotin chuckled, turned his back, and stalked over to take his place at Gannajero’s side again.

Auma stared at Neche’s dead body as though stunned. “I can’t believe it,” she whispered. “You saved my life, Wrass. I—”

“Shh!” Zateri hushed them. “Listen.”

Gannajero’s voice was low but clear: “ … around to the north.” She used her knotted finger to show Waswan the path she wanted him to take through the trees. Next, she turned and fixed Kotin with obsidian-dark eyes. “You circle to the east. If we play this right, they won’t have a chance.”

Both men trotted into the shadows.

Gannajero stood for a moment. It was as though she’d suddenly been turned to stone. She wasn’t breathing. Her eyes didn’t blink. As though her souls had fled, leaving a lifeless shell of flesh behind, she just stared.

The other warriors—Ojib, Akio, and Dakion—kept shifting, waiting for instructions. She stood like that so long that a dribble of saliva leaked from the corner of her mouth and ran down her wrinkled chin.

Finally, Dakion clenched his fists and walked toward her. “Listen, old woman, we need to—”

“No.” It was more growl than word. Still staring at some vast nothingness, she ordered, “I want you and Ojib to hide in that thicket of brush fifty paces north along the shore. Kill anyone you see. Akio, take the children down the southern trail. Keep quiet. Don’t move unless I call out to you.”

The pudgy, florid-faced young warrior hurried to the canoes and hissed, “Get out. Now! Come with me.” He nocked his bow, pulled it back halfway, and aimed it in their general direction.

The other children scrambled from the canoe. It took Wrass longer. The instant he stood up, the world spun in a blur of colors. He had to grab the gunwale to keep his balance.

“Hurry it up, boy!” Akio snarled.

“I—I’m … coming.” Wrass carefully made his way down the length of the canoe, braced a hand on the gunwale, and eased over the side onto the shore. The damp sand sank beneath his moccasins.

“Move!” Akio aimed his bow at the trail that led into the trees.

Zateri marched out front, heading into the cold forest shadows. Everyone fell into line behind her. Wrass brought up the rear, walking just in front of Akio.

Behind him, he heard Akio say, “If any of the others try to run, I’ll know you’re responsible, boy, and I’ll kill you first. Do you understand?”

Wrass spread his arms in a gesture of surrender.





Twenty-two

Odion





I sit in the rear of the canoe, holding Gitchi in my lap, petting him. His soft gray fur soothes me.

Tutelo sleeps soundly on the packs in front of me, and beyond her, Mother kneels in the bow with her paddle fluidly stroking the water. Far ahead of us, Father’s canoe, carrying Hehaka and Baji, slices through the mist, appearing and disappearing with ghostly regularity. Father sits in the bow, while War Chief Cord and Towa paddle in the rear. I’m not sure, but I think both Hehaka and Baji are asleep. I can only see the top halves of their bodies propped on the packs, but their eyes look closed.

I should be sleeping, too. I’m so tired I can barely think, but my body refuses. Every time I stretch out, my hands and feet twitch like a clubbed dog’s. Perhaps when all this is over the terror will leak out of my muscles and I will finally be able to rest.

I glance back at Sindak and Wakdanek, who ride behind me. Their oars pull hard at the current, driving us forward. From the moment we shoved the canoes into the water, we’ve been shooting down the river like needle-nosed gars. Twice today Wakdanek has asked if we could stop for a while to rest. Each time, Mother answered in a clipped voice, “No. Whatever you must do, do it over the side.”

Wakdanek wears a stern expression. He is a big man with wide shoulders. His facial bones stick out, and his brown eyes seem to have sunken into their sockets. Bushy black eyebrows create a single line across his forehead.

He has been watching me.

I do not know what to make of this. Every time I look up to meet his gaze, he shifts his eyes, as though in silent apology for staring at me again.

Sindak says, “Are you all right, Odion?”

“Yes.” I pet Gitchi. The dog is trying to sleep. He sighs, vaguely annoyed by my constant attention.

Sindak gives me a nod, as though we are speaking man-to-man. He’s never treated me like a child, and I find this a curious relief. Splotches, mostly sooty handprints, darken his cape. He has tied his shoulder-length black hair back with a piece of leather. He must have seen eighteen or nineteen summers, but he seems older to me.