The Dawn Country (21 page)

“What’s wrong, Odion?” Tutelo whispers. She stares up at me.

“Nothing. I just … need a moment.”

… Stop crying or I’ll cut your heart out.

I think about the taste of the ghost medicine and concentrate on seeing Manidos’ mouth searing and charring, turning to black ash. With it, the sound of his voice dies.
Forget, forget, forget
.

Baji arrives with Puppy. Softly, she says, “Are you all right?”

I inhale a shuddering breath. “Yes. Let’s go.”

We continue down the bank. Father looks up from where he’s crouched and sees us with the puppy. He frowns.

“I don’t like that look,” Baji says.

Father rises and walks toward us. His black brows plunge down over his nose. Across the camp, the other warriors turn to watch him. Sindak wipes his sleeve over his hooked nose and follows Father.

When Father arrives, he props his hands on his hips and glances unhappily at Puppy, who wags his tail.

“Where did you find the wolf?” Father asks.

“In a sack by the canoe landing,” I say. “He was dying of thirst.”

“Um-hmm.”

Sindak walks up behind Father. His lean face is streaked with black, and a big splotch decorates his square jaw. He glances at Father. “What are you mad about? They caught lunch. Bring him here, Baji; I’ll club him for you.” He pulls his war club from his belt.

“He’s not lunch!” Baji says, and stands protectively in front of Puppy. “His name is Gitchi.”

I blink, wondering where that name came from.

Tutelo runs to stand beside Baji, shielding the puppy. “We found him, Father. He’s ours.”

Sindak turns to Father. “They gave him a name, Gonda.”

The lines around Father’s eyes tighten. “So I heard.”

“Gitchi” seems to sense that something’s wrong. He sinks onto his haunches and his tail thumps the ground, but it’s an uncertain gesture, as though he’s saying,
Everybody’s looking at me, and the voices have gone tense. Please don’t hurt me.

“We can’t take a dog with us,” Sindak says. “Having the children along is bad enough.”

Father’s gaze touches Tutelo’s, and Baji’s. They give him a pleading look. He does not look at me. Instead, he turns away and slowly shakes his head. “This is Koracoo’s decision, not mine.”

“Can’t face it, eh?”

Half-angry, Father says, “It’s just not my responsibility, Sindak. Koracoo is war chief.”

“Oh, well, of course.” Sindak drags out the last word, as though he means exactly the opposite.

Father glowers at Sindak.

“Father,” I say, “please. I’ll take care of him. I won’t let him get in the way.”

“It’s not my decision, Son. Ask your mother.”

As the other warriors notice us, they begin to migrate toward the shore. Mother is the last to look up from the ground. When she sees everyone congregated on the bank, her brows lift, and she stalks toward us. Her red cape sways around her long legs.

Wakdanek frowns at Mother but doesn’t say a word. He’s clearly waiting to see what everyone else says before he ventures an opinion about the puppy.

War Chief Cord squints at Gitchi. His hood has fallen back, revealing his mostly shaved head and bristly roach of black hair. The snake tattoos on his cheeks seem to coil tighter. “What’s the problem?”

Father waves a hand. “The children found a dog. We were just discussing—”

Towa walks up, spies the puppy, and says, “Good work! Who caught the dog? I’m starved.”

“He is
not
lunch,” Baji says unpleasantly.

As Towa glances around the circle in confusion, his long black braid saws up and down his left shoulder. “No?”

Sindak gives Towa a broad smile and explains, “His name is Gitchi.”

The puppy wags his tail, as though he already knows his name.

Towa darkly murmurs, “Oh. They named it.”

Mother walks into the circle and stands between Sindak and Towa. “I take it we’ve all decided to stop searching for Gannajero’s trail? Why?”

“It’s my fault,” Father says. “I noticed the children had a dog and came over to investigate.”

I step forward and look up into Mother’s face. She is very tall, as tall as War Chief Cord, and her small nose and full lips are coated with ash. Her short black hair falls over her cheeks. “What is it, Odion?”

“Mother, we found Gitchi in a sack by the canoe landing. He’s a good boy. Can we keep him?”

Mother expels a breath. “What did your father say?”

“He said it was your decision.”

Mother glances at Father, and he reacts as though he’s been impaled by a war lance. His shoulders hunch forward. “You’re the war chief, Koracoo. Not me.”

She stares at him for such a long time, Father starts to fidget. He folds his arms, then refolds them. I notice that Sindak is smothering a smile.

I say, “Mother, we’ll take good care of him. You won’t have to do anything. I promise. Baji, Tutelo, and I will feed him and make sure he stays out of trouble.”

Gitchi peeks out from between Baji’s and Tutelo’s legs and whimpers softly. Tutelo pets his head. She whispers, “Don’t be afraid, Gitchi. Everything’s all right.” The dog licks her hand, and Tutelo smiles.

War Chief Cord says, “Some brave soul has to make a decision. I’m glad it’s not me,” and walks away to start searching for a sign again.

Mother studies the dog’s yellow eyes. “He’s a wolf pup, do you know that? They’re not like dogs, Odion. They’re unpredictable. You could wake up in the middle of the night with his teeth embedded in your throat.”

“I’ll take that chance.”

“Me, too, Mother,” Tutelo says proudly.

Baji just glares at Mother, as though upset that she’s considering saying no.

“And what will you do in the heat of battle, Odion? If I tell you to run, will you? Or will you try to protect your dog?”

I’m not sure I can answer this. I look into Gitchi’s sparkling yellow eyes. He’s probably smart enough to take care of himself when he’s a little older, but now? “I’ll run, Mother. I promise. And I mean it.”

Tutelo jumps up and down. “Please, Mother?”

Mother’s eyes narrow. “All right, but if that wolf ever growls at anyone without cause it will be Odion’s responsibility to club him. Understood?”

I swallow hard and look at Gitchi. When our gazes meet, he nervously pants with his tongue hanging out. “Yes. I understand.”

I smile, and the puppy trots forward, cuts a wide swath around Mother, and huddles against my legs. I reach down to pet his head. “It’s all right. You’re safe.”

His tail wags, and he licks my hand as though he’s thanking me.

Mother says, “Now that we’ve settled that, it’s time we had a discussion about last night.”

Baji says, “It’s about time you asked us for our opinions.”

Mother gives Baji a look that would make most people melt into the earth, but Baji just stares back.

Mother turns to call, “Hehaka, come over here, please.”

Though he clearly doesn’t wish to leave his place on the bank, he rises and walks to stand beside me, but he keeps longingly glancing back at the river.

Mother props CorpseEye on her shoulder, and the two black dots on the red cobble head seem to be staring right at me, as though in some strange way judging me.

“Where was the last place you saw Gannajero last night?”

I think about it. “The last place I saw her was in the middle of the camp, negotiating with the Flint Trader. She was buying children.”

Baji nods. “That’s the last place I saw her, too.”

“Me, too,” Tutelo agrees.

Hehaka just nods morosely. “She was getting ready to leave. I could tell.”

“How do you know that?” Mother asks.

Hehaka nervously wets his lips. “She’d selected all the children she wanted. She was just haggling over the price. I’ve seen her do it a hundred times. Once she pays, she leaves.”

War Chief Cord overhears and walks back with a grimace on his face. “I never saw a woman Trading with Tagohseh last night. There was a man—”

“Lupan,” Hehaka says. “That was her.”

Cord’s expression slackens. “She dressed as a man? Are you sure?”

We all nod, and I say, “She was always afraid someone might recognize her and kill her.”

Cord swings around and stares at the canoe landing. Mother follows his gaze. “What’s wrong?”

“Blessed gods,” he whispers. “I saw her leave. She took two canoes, loaded the children and several bags of goods, and ordered her men to shove off.”

Mother seems to have stopped breathing. “What time was that?”

Cord rubs his forehead. “Just before we left. I’d say around two hands of time after nightfall.”

Hehaka’s batlike nose wiggles as he sniffs the air. His beady eyes have a feral sheen. “If she’d known I was with you, she’d have never left. She’d have sent men out to hunt for me and bring me back.”

Mother and Father ignore him. They speak softly to each other while Cord, Sindak, and Towa nod. Wakdanek stands off to the side, as though he knows he’s an outsider.

Mother says, “Cord, how many men did she have with her?”

“Not many. Five or six.”

Father says, “Then we’re pretty evenly matched.”

Mother takes two steps toward the river. “If she canoed all night long, by now she’s deep into the country of the People Who Separated.”

“Or … ,” Father says, “she could have stopped at any one of a thousand places and be headed overland in a direction we can’t even guess.”

Towa spreads his arms. “Think about this. Even if we can find someone to sell us canoes, which I doubt—”

“I’ll get us canoes,” Wakdanek says. He stands two paces away with his arms tightly folded across his chest. “There are several hidden in the forest not far from here. We keep them there just in case—”

Sindak interrupts, “We have a much better chance of finding her if we split up and walk both sides of the riverbank. If we can locate the place where she came ashore—”

“That’s silly,” Father says. “There will be hundreds of places where canoes have put ashore. The Dawnland People ply the Quill River constantly. How will we know which trail is hers?”

“Gonda’s right,” Cord says with a firm nod. “It’s better to take our chances on the river, ask the people we see if a woman meeting her description passed by.”

“And you actually believe they’ll tell us?” Sindak looks Cord up and down like a rotten piece of venison. “Within two or three hands of time, every village along this river will know that a war party composed of Flint and Mountain warriors destroyed Bog Willow Village. They’re far more likely to shoot us on sight. We should—”

“Wakdanek?” Mother turns to face the big raw-boned Dawnland Healer.

Wakdanek hesitates for a moment. “I will do my best to explain our presence before they kill us, but I make no guarantees.”

Silence descends like a granite blanket. The only sound is the river rushing by.

Worry carves lines at the corners of Mother’s eyes. She pulls CorpseEye from her shoulder and stares hard at the war club. CorpseEye frequently warns Mother and guides her steps. I’ve heard her tell magnificent stories about it when she returns from war walks. Mother’s head cocks, and she swivels to face the landing.

War Chief Cord follows her gaze; then he glances back at CorpseEye. “You keep looking at your club, then at the landing. Why?”

Mother says only, “I cast my voice for the river.”

“Mine, also,” Cord says.

Wakdanek nods in agreement. “It’s our best chance.”

Father, Sindak, and Towa shake their heads almost in unison.

Father is the first to speak: “I think it’s a bad idea, but I follow my war chief.”

Sindak and Towa shift uneasily.

At last, Sindak says, “It’s suicide.”

Towa expels a breath. “Yes. So, let’s go.”

All eyes turn to Wakdanek. His voice is soft, as if he fears to tip some fragile balance. “Come. I’ll show you where the canoes are hidden.”

Twenty-one

B
y late afternoon, the mist vanished. A soft blanket of sunlight dappled the passing aspens and striped maples. Wrass squinted against the squares of light that struck his eyes like fists. The two girls in the canoe stared out at the forest with taut expressions, probably hoping with all their hearts that around the next bend, they’d see Dawnland warriors bursting from the forest with their bows drawn.

The dream—he knew from experience—kept despair at bay.

Auma sat next to Wrass with her hands balled in her lap.

Wrass asked, “Are you all right?”

The girl turned. Her chin-length black hair had sleeked down around her face, making her broad nose appear even wider. “I’m hungry, Wrass. When will they stop to feed us?”

Wrass eased into a sitting position. The day was cold and bracing, but he felt a little better. His headache was almost bearable. “The warriors have been paddling for ten hands of time. They’ll stop to rest soon.”

“And then they’ll feed us?” The girl’s voice choked, as though she was on the verge of crying.

Wrass reached out and squeezed her shoulder. “They may feed us, but probably not. You need to be strong. Never let your enemy see weakness. They will use it against you.”

Auma glanced at the warriors paddling behind them; then her gaze drifted to the bow, where Gannajero and Kotin huddled together. They spoke in low ominous tones. As the canoe passed beneath overhanging willows, cold blue shadows darkened their faces.