The Dawn Country(63)

“What did the man say?”

Akio toppled to the ground. With his last strength, he reached out. “Help … Gan—”

“Tell me what he said!”

“ … followed … me.”

“Blessed gods. You led him right to me? You worthless fool!” she shouted.

“Gannajero!” Ojib cried. “Where are you?”

“Over here,” she called back.

Feeling was draining from Akio’s body, but he managed to squirm onto his side, to spit frothy blood from his mouth. It created a brilliant scarlet pool on the frozen leaves.

Gannajero knelt. Birdlike, her head cocked one way, then another. Akio’s facial muscles seemed to have frozen solid. He couldn’t even …

Ojib and Dakion sprinted headlong up the trail with their capes flying out behind them. “Gannajero, are you all right? What happened?”

“I was attacked, you fools.”

Dakion’s eyes narrowed; then he swung around with his bow up, scanning the forest for intruders. “Who killed Akio?”

The old woman opened her belt pouch and drew out a small pot, a hafted chert knife, and an eagle-bone sucking tube. “He’s not dead yet,” she said.

She leaned so close that Akio could see the bizarre yellow flecks in her black eyes as she placed the tube against his temple. She sucked so hard Akio shuddered. With the tube still against her lips, she plucked out the ceramic pot stopper and blew the tube into the pot. After she’d restoppered it, she set it aside and picked up her chert knife.

“Shouldn’t we try to pull the arrow out or—or something?” Dakion said.

“No, it’s too late for that.”

A curious gray haze began to sparkle at the edges of Akio’s vision, growing darker, spreading until it consumed the world.

Gannajero said, “Dakion, Ojib, stop wasting time! Find the children. I have other business to attend to.”

Steps pounded away.

Akio barely felt the sharp bite of the chert knife as she slit his belly open and continued slicing upward toward his chest, peeling back his skin as she went.





Twenty-four

By the time the lavender sheen of dawn washed the sky, Wrass’ body felt like lead. The other children were just as exhausted, but no one made a sound. They kept staggering on with their heads down, trudging through knee-deep piles of old leaves. The morning was so silent that if Wrass hadn’t known better, he might have believed they were the only creatures alive in the world.

But somewhere behind them—closer than he wanted to believe—warriors placed their moccasins in the ruts he and the other children had plowed through the leaves last night. Their trail was obvious. While the men might not have seen it in the darkness, with the dawn, they’d be coming.

Wrass halted. His headache was so bad, he was crying. He clenched his fists and stiffened his muscles to hide it from the other children.

From the rear of the line, Zateri called, “Are we stopping?”

“No, I just … we have to do something different. We can’t walk in the leaves anymore. Even a blind man could follow us.”

“But there are leaves everywhere,” Auma said. “Where else can we walk? We just need to keep going!”

He saw Zateri’s gaze lift to the massive maple and hickory trees that surrounded them; she was thinking the same thing he was. A canopy of laced branches roofed the forest floor here. “Maybe it’s time to think like Gannajero.”

“And fast. They’re not far behind us.”

The crazy old woman had taught them a great deal. Right after their capture, she’d marched them for days without ever being on a trail. They’d scurried over bare rock, waded along creeks, and climbed through trees to hide their passage.

Wrass said, “Zateri, I’ll stay on the ground and try to create a false trail to draw them away from you. Then I’ll follow.”

Panic lined her face. “Are you sure, Wrass? Maybe I should try to lead them away?”

The unspoken words, because you’re so weak and sick, were clear on her face.

“No, you’re too valuable. If any of the rest of us are injured, we’ll need you. You’re our Healer. I’ll do it.”

She looked like she wanted to argue; then she exhaled hard and said, “All right.”

She turned and considered a pignut hickory. The trunk slanted at an angle, and the branches interlaced with those of a giant sycamore. “Where should we meet you?”

“Head due south. I’ll find you.”

“South?” Auma said. “But home is north.”

“He knows that,” Zateri replied, “and so does Gannajero. That’s the direction she will expect us to run.”