The Dawn Country(68)

“He’s my friend.” Toksus suspiciously glanced back and forth between them. “We—we were in the same canoe.”

Cord could see the vein in Koracoo’s throat pounding, but she looked utterly calm when she asked, “Did you escape from Gannajero, Toksus?”

The boy’s chest spasmed with tears, and his face twisted. “She let me go.”

Despite the fact that Koracoo must have had a thousand questions, she said only, “Then we need to get you home. What’s your village?”

“It was a-attacked. I don’t know if anyone’s alive.”

“Bog Willow Village?”

The boy nodded.

Koracoo said, “We were just there. Many survived. In fact, we’re traveling with someone you may know. He was your village Healer, Wakdanek.”

Toksus took a shocked step toward them. “He’s my cousin. Where is he? I want to see him.”

“He just shoved off in his canoe, but I’ll send people to bring him back.”

Koracoo slowly moved toward him. Toksus watched her like a small frightened animal. When she was close enough, Koracoo reached out and stroked his hair. “You’re going to be all right, Toksus. We’ll get you home.”

While Koracoo spoke with the boy, Cord tried to figure out the shapes beneath the dogwoods. Finally, he asked, “Toksus, who’s the other boy?”

Toksus turned around to stare at the body half covered with leaves. “Sassacus. He—he was Partridge Clan.”

Koracoo’s face slackened as she connected the apparently disparate shapes. “Dear gods, it’s a body.”

Toksus sobbed again and wiped his eyes on his sleeve. “I don’t know how he got here. I ran all night. I was so tired, I had to nap. When I woke up a little while ago, he was lying beside me. It scared me.”

“Is that why you covered him with leaves?”

He croaked, “I was afraid he’d followed me.”

Cord was confused by the statement, but Koracoo stroked the boy’s hair again and softly asked, “Did you see him witched?”

Toksus’ mouth opened and his chest heaved, but no sound came out.

Koracoo pulled him into her arms. The boy wept, “She killed him! Stabbed him in the back. Then she—she …”

When he couldn’t go on, Koracoo hugged him tighter and turned to Cord. “Ask Odion and Baji to come over here, then take the canoe. Catch Gonda. With the current, it’ll probably be easier for Sindak to lead Wakdanek back along the shore. I want you and Gonda to remain and guard the canoes.”

“Understood.”

Cord sprinted away, ducked the low branches of the larches, and thrashed through the brush. When he appeared on the shore, he noticed that Sindak had gotten out of the canoe and nocked his bow. He stood guard a few paces from the children.

“Good man, Sindak.”

Sindak’s brows plunged down over his hooked nose. “We heard a boy’s voice. Who is he?”

“He’s a Dawnland child. One of the survivors of the Bog Willow battle. I’ll tell you more later. Right now, we have catch Gonda.”

As Cord grabbed an oar, he said, “Odion, Baji, the war chief wants you to join her.”

Odion and Baji scrambled out of the canoe and ran away with Odion calling, “Mother? Where are you?”

Cord shoved the bow away from the sand, and said, “Come on, Sindak. We have our work cut out catching Gonda.”





Twenty-seven

Wrass sat on the sandy, leaf-strewn bank with his hands tied behind his back. His balance was off. He kept falling over, then righting himself, trying to stay upright. The agony in his head was unbearable, but his ankle hurt worse.

Gannajero’s four warriors had formed a tight circle three paces away. Though their voices were low, their grim expressions told him more than words. At least one of them was on the verge of bolting into the wilderness at the first opportunity.

“The boy is useless,” Dakion said. He gestured with his war club, and his buckskin cape flared and buffeted in the wind. His broad muscular shoulders strained against his cape. “We should crack his skull and leave him for the wolves. We can find new children anywhere.”

Ojib responded, “Even in his condition, he’ll bring a few trinkets.”

“But he’s more trouble than he’s worth! He can hardly walk now. I think he broke his ankle in the fall.”

Waswan used the back of his hand to wipe his knobby nose and straightened his sapling-thin body to glare at Dakion. “The boy is her property. She decides what to do with him.”

Wrass looked down at his foot. His ankle was badly swollen and had turned a mottled reddish purple, but he didn’t think it was broken. Just badly sprained. The thick bed of leaves had cushioned his fall, and probably saved his life. He just couldn’t put his weight on the ankle. One thing was certain—his hope of escape was gone. He wouldn’t be able to run for days, maybe longer. The despair that filled him was like an animal eating him from the inside out.