The Dawn Country(65)

“Where are you going?”

“I’m going back to the canoes to look for Wrass. I have to know what happened to him.” Or I’ll go insane expecting to see him.

“But they’ll just recapture you, too!”

“Maybe,” she answered thoughtfully. “I’ll have to go slow, that’s for sure. I can’t take a chance that they’ll hear me coming.”

A look of horror came over Auma’s face. “This is idiocy! I’m going to run north toward home.”

Zateri clenched her fists at her sides. “If you wait here for me, I’ll be back soon, and then I’ll take you to the closest village and make sure you’re safe before I go after Wrass.”

Auma wrung her hands. “But Wrass told us to—”

“Do whatever you want, but I will be back here by nightfall. I promise.”

Wind Mother rustled the bare branches around them, and the forest seemed to shiver in the cold. Zateri pulled her cape closed beneath her chin. “I can’t just turn my back on him and run away, even if he told me to.” She shook her head. “I can’t do it.”

To her surprise, Auma’s face twisted with tears. “If he were my friend, I—I guess I’d do the same thing.” She sat down in the leaves and said, “Conkesema, sit down with me. We’ll wait for Zateri until nightfall. But no longer.”





Twenty-six

Cord sat behind Sindak in the rear of the lead canoe, paddling it around a rough bend in the river. Rocks thrust up here and there but were barely visible in the choppy current. They had to be careful. Close to shore, the leafless boughs of scarlet oaks overhung the water, casting black shadows over the fallen acorns that littered the bank.

From behind, Cord heard Koracoo call, “Gonda? Put ashore.”

Gonda swung around and shouted, “What? Why? We’re making good time!”

Cord said, “Sindak, let’s put ashore over there near the chokecherries. That looks like the best place.”

While he and Sindak steered the canoe toward the brush, Gonda glowered at them. Cord and Sindak leaped out of the boat as soon as they could and helped shove it up onto the sand. Almost instantly, Koracoo’s canoe slid up beside them.

She jumped ashore and said, “We’re stopping for a few hundred heartbeats. That’s all. Eat something, drink, and do whatever else you must; then we’re leaving.”

Gonda said, “We shouldn’t be stopping at all. Anything people need to do, they can—”

“That was not a request.”

Gonda propped his hands on his hips to watch her as she walked away from him and went to stand beside Sindak. Cord glanced at Gonda. They’d been arguing more and more, snapping at each other like warring turtles. Worse, the constant challenges to Koracoo’s authority were undermining her credibility with her men. Cord had begun to notice that both Sindak and Towa were questioning her orders more often. If she didn’t put a stop to this soon, she’d have a real problem on her hands.

Wakdanek, the children, and Towa disappeared into the trees to Cord’s right.

Gonda strode over to Koracoo and Sindak. Each had pulled small bags of food from their belt pouches and were chewing in silence. “Koracoo, listen to me, you …”

Cord walked away.

The amber gleam of late afternoon coated the slender trunks of chokecherries that grew along the shore and glimmered from the river with blinding intensity.

He took the opportunity to walk upstream, where he could keep watch for canoes coming around the bend. They were well into territory belonging to the People Who Separated. The Quill River was broad and lazy, like an old woman who loved nothing better than to doze in the tree shadows. But occasional shallows ran swift and dangerous. By the time any pursuers saw their party, the enemy would have a hard time getting to shore. Still, he kept watch.

As he waded out to fill his water bag, he looked back at the group near the canoes. Wakdanek had joined the circle. One by one, the children filtered from the undergrowth and stood talking.

Cord lifted his water bag and took a long drink of the cool earthy water. He’d swallowed a stale cornmeal biscuit a short time ago. Hunger was at bay for the moment, but he had a powerful thirst. He emptied half the bag, and filled it again. As he straightened, he heard Koracoo’s distinctively soft steps. It was a faint almost-not-there sound, little more than grains of sand shifting.

“May I speak with you?” she said.

“Of course.” He tied his water bag to his belt and turned.

Koracoo took a deep breath and let it out slowly while she gazed across the wide glistening river, as though considering her words, but she was also avoiding his eyes—and he knew why. He felt the attraction, too. But it was not the time for either of them. Their peoples were at war.