Wrass’ headache made it difficult to think, let alone speak coherently and gently. The scene Toksus had described was common enough. The captives would be divided up, given to warriors who had shown merit on the war trail or during the fight. The warrior who ended up with Toksus’ mother could kill her, or keep her for a slave. Were the latter the case, she was already being marched away to the west, hands bound behind her. The only value his father would have would be as a source of body parts to be carried home as trophies. But he couldn’t tell the boy that.
Wrass wet his lips. “Someone is looking for you, Toksus. That means you need to stay alive, or all their efforts to rescue you will be for nothing.”
Toksus wiped his eyes on his sleeve and blinked at Wrass. “Are you just saying that?”
The warriors paddling in the rear chuckled, amused.
Wrass turned his back to the men and softly said, “Among my people, if anyone survives an attack, they always form a search party to try and get their families back. Don’t your Dawnland people do that?”
“Yes.”
“Then if your parents are alive, they’re trying as hard as they can to find you.”
Some of the tension went out of the boy’s shoulders. “But how will they find me, Wrass? If we were traveling on land they might be able to track us. We’re in a canoe, headed downriver toward the lands of the People Who Separated.”
Wrass nodded. “It will be more difficult, but a good warrior would still be able to find us. Is your father a warrior?”
“He—he’s a Trader.”
“That’s even better. He’s protected by the power of Trade.” A stab of pain splintered his thoughts. “He—He can s-safely stop at any village along the shores. A-Ask if people have seen us pass by. The important thing to remember is that he’s not going to give up, Toksus. He’ll keep looking even if he—”
“Enough!” Gannajero shouted, rising in the bow. She extended a skinny arm from beneath her cape, and a talonlike finger pointed. “Land there, on that sand spit.”
A din of questions erupted as the warriors steered the canoes to shore.
Kotin leaped into the water and dragged the bow onto the sand. The canoe rocked violently when Gannajero climbed out. Wrass struggled to keep from throwing up, the rolling of the boat adding to his dizziness. He gulped for fresh air and watched Gannajero tramp away into the forest.
Kotin just shook his head and absently scratched his crotch. The two new girls jerked awake and sat up. Wrass glanced at the warriors behind him. They were staring hard at the old woman where she’d stopped just inside the line of trees. She seemed to be staring up at the interlaced branches overhead, as if they held the answer to some great secret.
The older girl, who had a broad nose and long eyelashes, hissed, “We should try to run.”
Wrass hissed, “In the name of the Ancestors, no!”
They turned distrustful eyes on him.
He leaned closer to them. “What are your names?”
The older girl gave him a suspicious look, but answered, “I am Auma. This is my cousin, Conkesema. We are Otter Clan.”
“I am Wrass of the Standing Stone People. I grew up in Yellowtail Village. Please … listen. No matter what happens, you mustn’t be any trouble for the warriors. Don’t try to run, or—”
“Why not?” Auma replied sharply. “If I have a chance, I’m going to run as hard as I can! Are you such a coward that you won’t try?”
Just the anger in her voice made Wrass’ head pound. He squinted against the pain. “Auma, the first day I was a slave, a girl ran. Gannajero told Kotin to shoot her. The arrow took her through the lungs—”
“They killed her? Just like that? They didn’t even try to hunt her down and bring her back?”
“They killed her without a second thought.” Wrass glanced at the warriors. “We need to stick together, to wait for the right moment; then we’ll all make a run for it. But we have to wait, to plan. Do you understand?”
Auma’s expression said she wasn’t sure she believed him. She cupped a hand to her friend’s ear and whispered something. Conkesema blinked, appeared to think about it for several moments, then nodded faintly. She had waist-length black hair and a perfect oval face. A small white scar marked Conkesema’s left temple.
Auma gave Wrass a wary, sidelong, look. “For the moment, we will do as you say, but only because we saw no Standing Stone warriors among those that attacked our village.”
Wrass said, “None of my people attacked you. I was held captive just outside the big warriors’ camp after the battle. I spent half the night searching for any sign of Standing Stone warriors. If I’d seen one, I’d have risked trying to run to him.”