Children of the Dawnland (North America's Forgotten Past Series) (23 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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F
OUR DAYS LATER, the smoke cleared a little. They could see farther. Mammoth continued to lead the way, but now she was one hundred paces ahead and still in sight, whereas the day before, if Mammoth was twenty paces ahead, they couldn’t see her.
The strange new sounds haunted Twig. There were no birds chirping, or caribou calling. No sounds of life. Night was the worst. The wind became a growling monster, and it was achingly cold. They had no hides and no time to make a fire. When they rested, they curled into shallow pits to sleep for a few heartbeats, or took shelter behind boulders.
But never for long. They all knew they might never wake up.
Mammoth suddenly looked back at them.
Cobia stopped. Greyhawk and Twig ran to see what she was looking at.
Greyhawk said, “It … it’s Tidewater Village. Isn’t it?”
Long ago, when Twig had seen eight summers, Mother had brought her here to visit Uncle Banded Bear. Just as she remembered, the caves of Tidewater Village overlooked Ice Giant Lake, but four summers ago, the glistening blue lake had been far in the distance. Today, its filthy black water washed into the caves, swallowing them. Ominously, several caves had been rocked up, as though the villagers had tried to hold back the flood. From the corpses, she knew they’d failed.
“Yes,” Cobia softly answered. “It was Tidewater Village.”
Her eyes scanned the bodies. Some hung out of the caves; others floated in the distance like tiny islands.
Twig felt as though she’d staggered into the middle of a battlefield. Everywhere, everyone was dead. She sniffed the air and smelled their rot.
“Why didn’t they leave their caves and run?” Greyhawk asked Cobia.
She shook her head slightly. “Whatever they saw outside must have been more frightening than the possibility of drowning.”
Greyhawk gripped his atlatl and looked around.
They all did, searching for that threat.
But only the bloody mist and scorched land answered.
Mammoth started walking again.
They followed.
A
FTER ANOTHER DAY, they found a shore where icebergs had been blown by the ferocious winds and grounded. Ten times the height of a man, they had lined up on the sand and resembled an enormous jaw filled with broken, black teeth.
Cobia said, “Let’s sit down and rest out of the wind for a few moments.”
Twig and Greyhawk slumped to the ground and heaved heavy sighs.
Cobia used a rock to chip away the filthy surface of an iceberg and handed them each a chunk of ice to suck on.
While Twig and Greyhawk rested, Cobia walked down
the shore picking up dead fish. The entire shoreline was coated with them. Cobia tossed many away—too rotten, probably—and came back with six fish. She handed two to Greyhawk and two to Twig. Twig studied her fish. The slimy skin was falling off the meat. They stank.
“Don’t think,” Cobia said. “Just eat.”
Twig pulled off the rotting skin and closed her eyes. She ate without breathing, so she couldn’t smell them. And her empty stomach was grateful. When they started walking again, she felt stronger.
They walked all night, following the mammoth, shivering.
By morning, she knew something had changed. The gaudy red glow that had announced dawn for the past six days was gone. Instead, Father Sun rose somewhere beyond the dense clouds of smoke and ash, and cast a surreal grayish yellow light on the world.
As the light brightened, they saw Mammoth, and beyond her, dark shapes on the trail.
“Cobia?” Twig called. “Are those people?”
Greyhawk reached for a spear and nocked his atlatl in case they were Thornback warriors. “Where, Twig? I don’t see them.”
“There. In front of Mammoth.”
Shouts rose from up ahead. The people had seen them … or perhaps they were hungry and had seen Mammoth.
Twig’s belly muscles went tight with fear.
Mammoth lifted her trunk and trumpeted as though
signaling victory … and then she charged off at full speed, heading south into the denser smoke.
Ahead, people gathered on the trail, staring back at Twig, and she thought … but she was afraid to hope …
“Who are they?” Greyhawk asked. He had his spear up, ready to cast.
Cobia said, “I think they are People of the Dawnland. See the way they dress?”
Greyhawk’s eyes widened. He lowered his spear. “Are you sure?”
Twig’s heart suddenly ached so desperately for her mother that she couldn’t stand it any longer. She broke into a trot, swerved around Cobia, and dashed headlong up the rocky ridge that curved around the lake.
She could hear Greyhawk’s steps right behind her. As she raced forward, he called, “Twig! Wait! They could be enemy warriors!”
Breathing hard, her heart about to burst, she ran harder.
The people watched her, and …
“Twig!”
Mother cried, and shoved through the crowd. She had her arm in a sling, and her face was coated with soot and grime. “Twig? Look! Screech Owl,
it’s Twig and Greyhawk!
”
Mother started running back for them, and everyone else in the village followed her. Screech Owl lifted a hand to Twig, and she waved back.
Greyhawk’s father, Reef, shouted, “Greyhawk!”
Yipper, who had been standing at Reef’s side, wildly
spun around to look. The dog’s head had a bandage wrapped tightly all the way around it.
When Yipper saw Greyhawk, he took off running like a spear cast from an atlatl, bounding up the trail as though desperate to make certain Greyhawk was safe.
Greyhawk knelt in the trail and opened his arms. “Yipper! Yipper, come here, boy!”
The dog launched himself into Greyhawk’s arms, knocked him flat, and started ferociously licking his face while Greyhawk squirmed and laughed.
Mother hurried up the trail and fell to her knees to hug Twig. Crying, she said, “Oh, Twig, I was so afraid! I love you. I love you.”
When Cobia crested the ridge, Mother suddenly released Twig, staggered to her feet, and whispered,
“Cobia.”
Cobia stared at Mother through bottomless, pitch-black eyes and said, “Yes, I’m back.”
Cobia walked over the crest and down the trail … and as people began to recognize her, the world seemed to stop. No one moved. No one spoke. Not even the dogs barked at her. No one had seen her in twenty summers—not since she’d killed Chief Minnow with a breath across her palm.
Then her whispered name began to pass through the villagers like the hiss of a serpent:
“Cobia. It’s Cobia.”
Screech Owl suddenly broke away from the crowd.
He ran up the trail and embraced Cobia in a powerful hug. “I’m so glad you’re safe. Thank you for bringing Twig and Greyhawk home.”
Cobia said, “I didn’t. Mammoth led us here.”
“Did she?”
“Yes. I think Twig may have a Spirit Helper she does not yet know.”
N
IGHTCROW FELT OLD. He shivered in the freezing wind as it gusted across the top of the hill.
He had led his people away from the worst of the destruction, but the fires were coming. He could see a wall of flames in the distance, racing across the hills as though pushed by hurricane winds. He could also see the two men running toward the makeshift village they had thrown up last night. Both wore black shirts. So, two of his warriors had survived. Others must also see them, for yelling and shouts filtered through the smoky air. People began to run out, to meet them.
He waited.
In a few hundred heartbeats, Shrike and Blackfoot came trotting up the trail to the hilltop. Both smelled of sour sweat and old blood.
Nightcrow blurted, “Tell me quickly. Are you the only survivors?”
Shrike nodded. His face was soot-blackened and streaked with tears from squinting against the smoke. “Yes, my chief. Everyone else is dead.”
Blackfoot wiped his grimy forehead on his sleeve. “The girl is a powerful witch. When Shrike tore the Stone Wolf from her neck, she called down the Star People to kill us.”
Nightcrow peered out at the blazing forests, wondering where she was. “The
girl
did this? A little girl?”
“Yes, and she killed Hook, knifed him in the belly.”
Shrike nodded. “Even worse, Cobia is her ally.” He dropped his voice to a whisper when he said her name, and fear lit his eyes. “Just before the searing heat struck, Cobia ran from her cave and dragged the children inside to protect them.”
Nightcrow studied his frightened expression. He held out a hand. “Give me the Stone Wolf.”
Shrike shifted his weight to his other foot. “When the Star People started shooting down at us, I—I lost it. I—”
Blackfoot’s gaze flicked at Shrike; then quickly he looked away. Nightcrow clenched his fists in understanding and asked, “Now, tell me the truth. What happened to the Stone Wolf?”
Shrike seemed surprised. He just stared at Nightcrow.
“Go on. Tell him,” Blackfoot said.
When Shrike kept his mouth closed, Blackfoot said, “The girl grabbed it from his hand and ran away with it.”
In an unsettlingly soft voice, Nightcrow asked, “And how did you two survive, while the others did not?”
“We dove into an ice cave and hid until the rising water drove us out; then we swam away.”
As silent as Eagle’s shadow, Nightcrow rose to his feet to face Shrike. “You were Hook’s deputy. You abandoned your men?”
“It’s not my fault! The others”—Shrike gestured as though it was of little concern—“could have scrambled into a cave. They did not.”
Nightcrow smiled, and Shrike smiled back, not realizing the source of his chief’s amusement. “I see.” He pulled out the sacred stiletto, the one Hook had stolen from Starhorse Village, from his belt.
“No, you do not see! There were dark Spirits all around us. The only thing that saved us was that we kept repeating your name. Over and over! We screamed your name! It must have scared Cobia, because neither she nor the girl came after us. You are the only reason we made it back alive. Your power shielded us!”
Nightcrow hesitated, his stiletto perfectly still, the carved bone shining red in the strange light. There was something in the way Shrike’s devious eyes burned. It was like gazing at a trapped wolf. Nightcrow studied him. He was clearly waiting for the stroke that would end his life.
“Is that true, Blackfoot? Is that how it happened? My name shielded you?”
“Yes, my chief,” Blackfoot answered, but his face showed no emotion at all.
Nightcrow smiled again. They might still be useful. He put a hand on Shrike’s shoulder, and could feel the man trembling. “Well, then, you are brave indeed, Shrike. I name you my new war chief.”
Shrike, who had clearly been expecting a blow to the heart, straightened as though he had not heard right. “My chief?”
“Yes, I want you to lead our warriors. You can start by running down this hill and telling everyone your story. Tell them how my name saved you from Cobia’s wrath.”
“Of course.” He glanced at Blackfoot. “We will tell them Cobia
ran
at the sound of your name. We will shout the truth to the—”
“After that,” Nightcrow interrupted, “I want you to find the People of the Dawnland and capture the girl.”
“Yes, my chief.”
As Nightcrow tramped down the hill toward the villagers who were waiting below, he heard Shrike let out a happy whoop.
The fool. He understood nothing.

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