Through the wavering firelit shadows, Sindak made out two men. One crouched on the hilltop twenty paces away. The other stood beside him, clearly visible, seemingly unaware that he made a perfect target.
Moments later, Cord rose and trotted out of the trees. He carried his nocked bow and scanned the clearing as he ran for Sindak. The other man remained standing alone in the darkness.
Cord said, “Where’s Gannajero?”
“I don’t know. I was occupied when she left. Who were you talking to up there?” He tipped his chin toward the man.
“A friend. I think. I’ll explain when we have less pressing concerns. Wakdanek made it away?”
“Yes. But I didn’t see Zateri or Baji in the canoe, and I don’t know where Towa went. He may have thought it was his duty to carry out our chief’s orders and protect that miserable old woman. If so—”
“Koracoo went after him?” The serpent tattooed on Cord’s cheeks writhed as he grimaced.
“I think so. I have to find Towa before she does. I have to talk to him.”
He gestured to Sindak’s shoulder. It was streaming blood down his cape. “Are you able?”
“I’ll manage.”
“Then go. I’ll care for Gonda’s wounds.”
Forty-four
Odion
Dakion hisses, “Shut your mouths! I can’t hear anything,” and cocks his ear to the night.
I hold my breath and listen. The other children go still. Someone is coming. We all hear feet rapidly slogging through the snow; then we hear cursing. As the man climbs the low hill just beyond the clearing, a thin layer of Cloud People cover Grandmother Moon, and her light dims. The distant chaos of screams and shouts carries on the freezing wind. We’ve heard it off and on for about one finger of time. The longer it takes Mother and Father to come striding over that rise, the more my stomach aches. I fight not to imagine what happens if they are both killed and Gannajero is the one who returns.
“Dakion?” a man calls from below the rise, and Dakion rushes to look down the slope.
“What? What’s happening? I keep hearing the sounds of—”
“So do I!” The man appears on the crest of the hill. He is of medium height, with an oval face and a pug nose. He stands before Dakion, breathing hard. “When I left, everything was under control. I have to get back immediately. You have to bring the children. Follow my tracks and you’ll have no trouble finding the camp on the river.”
“Bring the children! Are you insane? What good—?”
“That’s what the old woman wants. In exchange for the children, Chief Atotarho and the Wolf Clan have offered her the leadership of Atotarho Village. Whoever chooses to serve as one of her personal guards will be rich beyond his wildest imaginings. Now, bring the children!” The man turns and runs back, slipping and sliding, disappearing over the hill.
Dakion licks his lips and grumbles something under his breath, as though deciding whether or not he will follow Gannajero’s orders.
Wrass looks at me, and I shake my head. I can’t believe that Chief Atotarho would …
Wrass whispers, “Two days ago, a man found Gannajero alone at our camp and told her that in exchange for ‘both of them’ her brother would fulfill her dreams. Do you think Atotarho—?”
“Is her brother? I know he is.”
Dakion snarls, “Shut up, brats! Get on your feet. We’re going to the river.”
Auma and Conkesema rise. I try to help Wrass up, but he cries out the instant I lift him. “I can’t do it, Dakion! Leave me. I’ll be here when you get back.”
Dakion stalks over the hill with a hateful gleam in his eyes. “I’m not coming back. No one is. You’re not worth the effort.”
As he strides for Wrass, Auma and Conkesema back away, and I lock my knees. The wooden stiletto in my moccasin seems to be growing larger, pressing against my leg.
Conkesema whimpers when Dakion lifts his war club over Wrass’ head and says, “I’ve wanted to do this for a long time.”
Wrass throws up his arms to block the blow and cries, “No!” just as I grab the stiletto, step into the space below Dakion’s uplifted arms, and plunge the weapon repeatedly into his chest, belly, arms—anything I can reach. Someone is shrieking, but it takes me a long time to realize it’s my own voice. From the corner of my eye, I see the war club swinging toward me, but it seems to take forever to impact my shoulder and drive me into the ground. I hear bone snap and topple to the snow.
For a few instants, the world goes black; when my eyes see again, Wrass is on top of Dakion, plunging his stiletto into the man’s chest over and over. Every time he pulls the stiletto loose, the wooden tip slings blood, but Wrass can’t stop. Dakion is still weakly flailing and trying to yell, though the only thing that bubbles from his throat is blood. Wrass does not stop until Dakion goes limp and his eyes fixedly stare at the snowflakes drifting out of the gleaming sky. Even then, Wrass hesitates with the stiletto poised over Dakion’s already mutilated heart, waiting for him to rise again. When it’s clear that he’s dead, Wrass sobs and crawls away, dragging his injured foot behind him. The first thing he says is, “Odion? Are you all right?”