The Dawn Country(85)

I concentrate on listening. I don’t hear anything now, but fear is burning up from my belly into my chest and filtering out to my fingertips. It is as though my soul hears the voice even if my ears don’t.

Gitchi must smell or sense my panic. He goes as quiet and still as the dead, but his yellow eyes peer intently at the night, searching for the threat.

I swear there’s something there, just below my ability to hear. And it’s familiar.

I close my eyes and try to separate the human tones from the burbling of the river, the clattering of branches, and Sindak’s voice. My head rotates, searching, moving toward the southeast. When I open my eyes, I am stunned. Fifty paces away, a fluttering orange gleam dances through the forest. It was probably there all along; I just couldn’t see it through the snowfall.

That voice again.

The notes are sweet and high. A girl’s voice.

I clench my fists and whisper, “Zateri?”

As I walk toward the voice, Gitchi whimpers, trying to tell me there is danger ahead, but I can’t stop myself. The need to know is overwhelming.

The brush fades into tree trunks the size of three men standing together. Against the slate gray of night, the thick limbs trace crooked black lines. As the snow falls, the flakes pick up the orange gleam and glisten like embers floating down.

Gitchi lays his ears back, and his tail sticks straight out behind him. His gaze rivets on the flickering firelight. His steps are utterly silent. He can tell from my stealthy movements that we’re hunting, and he’s spotted the prey. He knows silence is of the utmost importance now.

When I stand ten paces away, flame-shadows gyrate, turning the frosted branches into liquid amber.

The girl cries, “Let me go!”

Desperation makes me sick to my stomach. I edge forward another two steps. I’m breathing hard. I suck in a breath, and her name comes out like a sob, “Zateri?”

I stand trembling, waiting for—

Gitchi barks suddenly and leaps at something. I spin around in time to see the puppy clamp his teeth around a man’s arm and start snarling and ripping, his paws scratching the ground for purchase in the slippery snow. The man wears his black hair in a bun at the back of his head and carries a war club.

“Filthy cur,” the man says as he clubs Gitchi, and the puppy falls into the snow with his legs twitching. A desperate whine escapes Gitchi’s bloody jaws.

“No!” I run forward. When I fall into the snow beside him, Gitchi looks up at me pleadingly. Blood pours from his head wound. I reach to pick him up, but the man grabs my arm, drags me to my feet, and clamps a hand over my mouth. In my ear, he whispers, “How many people are with you? Nod your head for each one.”

I will not. I claw at his fingers. He’s pressing so hard my teeth are cutting into my lower lip. Blood wells in my mouth.

“You’re a little warrior, eh? Well, don’t worry, we’ll beat that out of you.”

The man half drags me to a deer trail that winds through the trunks toward the fire. Many people have walked this trail recently. The snow has been trampled, leaving a black slash through the white.

As he shoves me into a small clearing, a cry climbs my throat. A boy is huddled before the fire, rocking back and forth, shivering hard.

Against the man’s hand, I try to scream his name, but only a garbled sound vibrates in my throat.

The man’s breath is fetid as he bends down to hiss in my face, “Make a sound and my men will kill your entire party.”

I nod, and as he slowly removes his hand, I wipe blood from my lips with my sleeve. My knees have gone wobbly. “Wrass?”

He turns, and I see the tears on his cheeks. He looks utterly broken. He’s shivering so hard he can’t seem to keep his eyes on me, but his shaking voice is clear. “S-sorry, Odion. So s-sorry.”

The man shoves me hard, and I careen toward the fire. “Sit down, and stay quiet.”

I drop to my knees beside Wrass, and he whispers, “They l-let me go … . Knew I’d … lead them … to the others.”

“Others?” I whisper in sudden terror. “What others? I thought I heard—”

“Close your mouths,” the man orders, and swings his war club to emphasize his words.

I stare at him, but Wrass’ head falls forward, and he starts sobbing as though his heart is breaking.





Thirty-six

“What was that?” Cord stared southward. “Did you hear that? I thought I heard a boy’s voice.”

Sindak cracked off another branch, placed it in the crook of his left arm, and replied, “I heard something, but I don’t know what it was.”

Towa’s handsome face tightened. “It sounded like a dog’s bark to me. Where’s Odion?”