Children of the Dawnland (North America's Forgotten Past Series) (18 page)

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Authors: Kathleen O'Neal Gear,W. Michael Gear

BOOK: Children of the Dawnland (North America's Forgotten Past Series)
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B
Y AFTERNOON, THEY knew they were being hunted. Fresh tracks marked the muddy trail, both in front and behind them. Greyhawk knew because he’d sneaked back down the trail to check. There were two war parties searching for them.
He readjusted his bandaged arm. It hurt badly. If he’d been at home, he would have gone to Twig’s mother, and she would have placed a willow-bark poultice on the wound. By now, the intense pain would have eased, and he’d be able to breathe. Instead, every time he filled his lungs, the gashes in his arm lanced him with fiery agony.
He turned and gazed to the south. Just beyond the
tundra, vast forests whiskered the land. He looked at them longingly. In the autumn, his village moved south to harvest the pecans, walnuts, and hazelnuts. He loved the forests best of all. Would he ever live there again?
“More tracks,” Twig said.
Greyhawk turned and saw her kneel in the trail ahead. He walked up and crouched to examine the new moccasin prints. The Thornback People made their moccasins differently than the People of the Dawnland. The raiders’ moccasins had a seam down the middle of the sole that left a clear imprint in the mud.
Twig nervously licked her lips. Wind Woman fluttered long black hair around her face. “What do you think? Should we go back? Maybe wait until tomorrow, and find another trail?”
“No.” Greyhawk rose to his feet, and his bandaged arm screamed in pain. He’d heard the big Thornback warrior’s voice. His leader, Nightcrow, wanted the Stone Wolf and Twig. He had ordered his men to find them, no matter the cost. They wouldn’t stop hunting Twig until they found her. “No, we keep going.”
Fear glittered in Twig’s eyes. “Are you sure?”
Softly, he said, “I’m scared, too, Twig. But I believe in your dream. We have to find Cobia. It’s the only way to save our people.”
“You mean, if any of them are still alive.” A sob caught in her throat.
Greyhawk gripped his nocked atlatl in his right fist. She must be seeing in her mind the dead bodies of her
mother, and Screech Owl, and her grandfather. Must be imagining them lying in the charred remains of their village.
He knew, because every moment since he’d escaped, he’d been imagining the same thing. One instant he saw his father alive and smiling at him, and the next instant he saw his father sprawled facedown in the ashes of Buffalobeard Village. The worst images were of Yipper. If the raiders had killed him, they would have eaten him, and the only thing Greyhawk would find when he got home was Yipper’s bones. The thought was almost too much to bear. Yipper had saved him, not just the night of the attack, but every day. He couldn’t even remember a time when Yipper was not there beside him, as loyal as his own shadow, fighting for Greyhawk without ever asking for anything in return. Except maybe an occasional pat on the head, or a scratch behind the ear. His throat tightened with grief.
He swallowed hard to push it away and said, “Some of our relatives lived, Twig.”
“How do you know?”
“My father once told me that someone always lives through a battle. He said I should remember that, because when I went on my first battle-walk the survivors would hate me and hunt me forever for killing their loved ones.”
“Why did he tell you that?”
“He didn’t want me to feel proud of killing. He told me it was always bad, just sometimes necessary to protect our people.”
Twig dipped three handfuls of water from a puddle and drank them; then she stood up. “We’re both tired. We should eat.”
“We can’t build a fire to cook, or the smoke will lead the raiders right to us.”
“That’s all right. Bear meat is good raw.”
She reached into her belt pouch and drew out several strips of the rich red meat. She gave some to Greyhawk.
“Let’s sit down,” he said. “We should rest for as long as we can.”
“Even with the raiders so close?”
“Yes, Twig. If we don’t rest, we’ll be too tired to think, and if we can’t think, they
will
catch us.”
She sat down, and he sat beside her. They chewed the meat in silence, both studying the trails, looking for their enemies.
The meat was tender and sweet. With each bite, Greyhawk felt strength flowing back into his exhausted body.
“I’ve been thinking about Cobia,” Twig said.
Greyhawk looked at her. “So have I. Every spare moment when I’m not afraid the raiders will kill us, I’m afraid she will.”
Twig took another bite of meat and ate it. “I was wondering how I would feel if I’d watched my mother killed, then been kidnapped and hauled far away to be raised by my enemies.”
“I know how I’d feel. I’d hate them.”
“Even if they’d been good to you? Even if you’d been
kidnapped as a baby and your enemies were the only family you had ever known?”
Greyhawk considered that. “I guess if I didn’t remember my real family, and my enemies loved me, I’d probably love them back.”
“So would I.” Twig started to eat another bite of meat, but stopped. “At least until I found out the truth. Then I think I’d be lost and confused.”
“Would you? I’d be scared.”
“Why?”
“Because if they’d killed my family, they could kill me, too.”
Twig propped her strip of bear meat on her knee and seemed to be watching the ice crystals that blew off the glaciers in the distance. The air sparkled.
“Do you think Cobia was scared? Is that why she left Buffalobeard Village?”
He shrugged. “Maybe.”
Wind Woman gusted across the tundra and tugged at Greyhawk’s shirt. He reached up to hold his collar closed while he ate his last bite of bear meat.
Twig finished eating and heaved a deep sigh. “Do you think we should try to sleep for a while?”
Greyhawk shoved to his feet and looked up and down the trail. He saw only a herd of buffalo grazing to the south-west, and a few caribou scattered along the lakeshore.
“You try to sleep, Twig. I’ll stand guard.”
“But you’re as tired as I am.”
“We’ll switch off. Next time I’ll sleep while you stand guard.”
She thought about it for what seemed like a long time, then said, “Don’t let me sleep for more than a quarter hand of time.”
Greyhawk nodded, and Twig curled up on her side on the ground. She was so tired, she fell asleep almost immediately. He watched her face go from being taut and anxious to the peaceful relaxation of deep sleep.
Greyhawk walked a short distance away and climbed on top of a boulder. It was as tall as he was. He could see much farther from up here. He wished they could go back in time, to the days before … .
The Ice Giants growled and the ground shook. Out in the lake, a huge wall of ice broke away from the glacier and crashed into the water. A splash shot high into the air; then the iceberg dipped and rocked until it settled down. The other icebergs seemed afraid of the new one. They drifted away from it.
The ground shook harder, and the Ice Giants groaned loud enough and long enough to terrify him. He glanced down at Twig. She did not wake up.
Finally, the earthquake stopped, and Greyhawk brought up his knees and propped his injured arm on them, where it hurt a little less; then he concentrated on the trails. There were raiders out there, very close, looking everywhere for them. He had to pay attention.
Barely five hundred heartbeats later, he glimpsed black specks on the eastern trail.
Greyhawk flattened out on his belly and watched them. Were they animals? Or warriors?
Very soon, he knew the answer. The long spears they carried in their quivers swayed as they trotted.
He scrambled down off the boulder and ran for Twig. When he saw her, he whispered, “Twig? Twig, we have to go! There are raiders coming!”
She gasped and staggered to her feet, still half-asleep. “Go on! I’ll follow you.”
Greyhawk charged for the trail that led south into the forests.
G
REYHAWK’S WOUNDED ARM screamed in agony, but he couldn’t slow down. If the raiders hadn’t already seen them, they probably would the instant Greyhawk and Twig trotted to the high point in the trail, just ahead.
Greyhawk leaped an ice-rimmed puddle and sprinted up and over the high spot, then hurled himself down the other side, getting out of sight as fast as he could.
Twig was right on his heels. He could hear her moccasins pounding the ground.
When they reached the low spot, Greyhawk dared to
turn around and look. Twig’s pretty face was flushed, and she was breathing hard.
“Are we safe?” she asked. “Did they see us?”
“Probably. We should act as if they did. Come on. If we run flat-out, we’ll be to the trees in less than one-half hand of time.”
When they entered the dark shadows of the forest, the temperature dropped, and their breath froze into white puffs. Snow glistened in the hollows.
Every wet scent of the forest smelled incredibly clear to Greyhawk, as if it had soaked into his body and was being carried through his veins. The sweetness of the pines mixed with the bitter tang of rotting oak leaves and the earthiness of melting snow.
“Greyhawk?” Twig called in a low voice. “Let’s find a place to hide, and wait to see if we’re being followed.”
“Let’s get deeper into the forest first.”
He found a game trail covered with deer tracks and trotted forward.
The deeper into the forest they ran, the taller and thicker the trees grew. He glanced up. High above, the branches of the freshly leafed-out oaks created a dense weave that blocked most of the sunlight, leaving the forest floor in shadow. Towering spruce and pine trees grew between the oaks; their tops seemed to pierce the clouds.
“I can’t run anymore, Greyhawk,” Twig panted. “Please, let’s stop. Just for a little while.”
“All right.”
Cold wind gusted across his face as he looked around. A big pile of deadfall darkened the forest floor to his right. He veered off the trail and headed for it.
Over many tens of summers, trees had died and toppled over each other to form a tangled fortress of logs. Great crooked branches held the heavy trunks off the ground. Moss covered the smoke-colored bark. As he ducked low to examine the pile, it gave off a delicate fragrance. Animals had burrowed through the interior, creating a warren of tunnels. He saw wolf and bear droppings. A pure white snowshoe hare sat in the back, mostly hidden by the shadows, but his eyes gleamed.
Twig leaned over and said, “Can we hide here?”
“I think so. You go in and rest. I’ll cover our tracks.”
“No, I’ll help you,” she said, and started to turn back.
“Please, Twig, it will be easier if I’m only covering my own tracks when I come back.”
“Oh.” She nodded. “You’re right.”
As Twig got down on her knees and crawled into the cold darkness, the hare shot away through the tunnels and disappeared.
Greyhawk grabbed a handful of old leaves and began backing up, brushing away their tracks as he went. When he reached the game trail, he stood up and examined it. They had left clear prints in the snow and mud.
If they were being followed, the raiders would be able to track them right to this pile of deadfall.
He adjusted his wounded arm. It ached as though afire.
His father’s voice seeped into his thoughts:
When you can’t erase your trail, Son, cover it with whatever you can find.
Greyhawk bent down and began scooping up old leaves and pine needles and dropping them onto their tracks. He tried to make it look natural, as though the debris had blown across the trail, not been dropped intentionally. Would it fool trained warriors?
He didn’t know, but he couldn’t think of anything else to do.
After a quarter hand of time, he straightened up. He had reached the edge of the trees, where they’d entered the forest. Their tracks continued up the wet trail. He didn’t see any raiders, but just in case …
Greyhawk carefully stepped beyond the leaves where he’d covered their trail, then placed his feet into the last of his tracks and trotted off to the east, leaving a new trail for any pursuers to follow.
He skirted the edge of the forest, walked on fallen logs when he could, and climbed over rocks. If they were in a hurry, they wouldn’t have time to backtrack him, and he hoped they would lose his trail altogether.
One thing he couldn’t fake, however, and something they were sure to notice: two sets of tracks, his and Twig’s, had made it to the edge of the trees, but only one set continued on. They would know that one of the children was hiding.
“Yes, but they’re tired, too. I bet they’ll take the easy way and chase after me, rather than go thrashing through the forest looking for Twig.”
Greyhawk tiptoed across a narrow line of rocks and stepped into a trickle of water that flowed down another game trail. It would wash away his tracks in no time. But it was very cold!
Twenty paces ahead, a tall pine tree grew alongside the trail. The lower dead branches had been broken off by the animals that used the trail. They made a perfect ladder.
Greyhawk reached the tree and climbed it. He sat on a thick branch thirty hands off the ground and looked out across the land.
It didn’t take long. He saw the two search parties run together at the fork in the trail. They stood talking for less than one hundred heartbeats and loped toward the forest.
“They found our trail.”
His legs were shaking as he climbed down and jumped onto a fallen log.
For too long, he stood there panting like a hunted animal, trying to decide what to do.
There were two search parties now. He hadn’t anticipated they would join up. It meant that the war chief would have the luxury of sending one group of warriors to track him down, and one to search for Twig.
The false trail he’d laid would slow them down … but it wouldn’t stop them, not when they were this close.
He and Twig were going to have to make a run for it and pray they reached Cobia’s cave before the raiders caught them.
With every ounce of strength he had left, he charged back through the forest for Twig.
 
 
 
WAR CHIEF HOOK stopped at the edge of the trees and examined the tracks. The other warriors gathered around him, murmuring as they pondered the situation.
The children’s trail had been obvious, until now.
As he thought, Hook rubbed his square jaw. “Two children came in, but only one child—probably the boy from the size of the foot—veered off. So …” He looked up and scanned the forest. Dark shadows cloaked the interior. “The other child, the girl, is hiding.”
Copper Falcon, his deputy, propped his hands on his hips. Sticky patches of blood splattered his black war shirt. He had his long black hair tied back with a cord. “Shall I pursue the boy or the girl?”
Hook considered. “Take ten warriors and follow the boy. I’ll take the rest of our force and find the girl. Meet me back here in one hand of time.”
Copper Falcon bowed at the waist. “Yes, War Chief.”
As Copper Falcon went about selecting the warriors for his search party, Hook examined the ground. Water dripped from the tree branches and filled every hollow, including the leaf-covered game trail. He knelt. Before her trail disappeared, the toes of the girl’s moccasins had been pointed straight onto the game trail. He carefully began removing leaves, one at a time, until he saw the covered tracks.
He smiled to himself. The boy had done a good job. One day, if he lived, he would make a fine warrior.
Unfortunately, it was Hook’s job to make sure the boy did not live.
He rose to his feet, held up a fist to indicate silence, and motioned for his warriors to fan out on either side of the hidden game trail.
The boy’s skill would cost them time. They would have to go slowly and carefully if they wanted to find the girl.
But, in the end, they would find both children.

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