People of the Longhouse (North America's Forgotten Past) by Gear W. Michael & Gear Kathleen O'Neal

Author:Gear, W. Michael & Gear, Kathleen O'Neal [Gear, W. Michael]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Tom Doherty Associates
Published: 2011-02-01T00:00:00+00:00

Twenty-two

Towa handed over his cup and went back to staring at Gonda. In the firelight, the muscles of Gonda’s jaw quivered.

Sindak crouched down on the opposite side of the fire and filled his own cup. The limbs gave them just enough room to sit up straight. As the wind blew the branches the radiant halo of firelight shifted, casting shadows across their faces and creating strange dark wraiths in the snow that gusted by.

Towa asked, “What did you do, Gonda?”

He lifted his head, and guilt lined his round face. “What do you mean?”

“Koracoo doesn’t trust you. Why?”

Anger hardened Gonda’s mouth. “That’s none of your concern. I—”

“If she does not trust you, how can we? Do you have a weakness we should know about? Forgive me for asking, but in the heat of battle, such knowledge may save my life.”

Gonda seemed to be weighing what he should and should not say, and Sindak found that curious. Any other man accused of being weak would have reached for his war club and started swinging. Last night, Gonda would have. But not tonight. He turned away, dug his buffalo horn spoon from his pack, and used it to shovel meat into his mouth. After he’d chewed and swallowed three heaping spoonfuls, he quietly responded, “I made a mistake.”

“A mistake?”

“Yes.”

“A mistake that led to the destruction of Yellowtail Village and the loss of your children?”

Gonda looked like he wanted to talk about it but didn’t have the strength, or perhaps he couldn’t figure out how.

Towa said, “I had children once, Gonda. A brave little boy and a sweet, beautiful girl. I lost them both, along with my wife, to a fever two summers ago. I have some idea what you must be feeling.”

Gonda’s expression softened, but he just continued eating his soup.

Sindak frowned at Towa. He never talked about the loss of his family. Ever. It hurt too much. What was he doing? Trying to create some kind of tie with Gonda?

Gonda swallowed a bite of soup and softly said, “Do you still live the nightmare of their deaths, Towa?”

“Every day.”

As Gonda brought up one knee and propped his cup on top of it, he kept his gaze on Towa’s somber face. “Then perhaps you can imagine what it would be like to live the nightmare of your children’s lives as Gannajero’s slaves. Every instant I see my children hurt, or hungry, or being tormented by enemies. Or I fear they are dead and their souls are out wandering alone in the forest, calling out to me, trying to find their way home.”

Towa’s breath misted in the air. “That must be like having a belly full of obsidian flakes.”

The scent of the campfire grew stronger as night deepened and smoke hung in the pine boughs just over their heads.

Sindak said, “They may have just been captured by an ordinary war party, and are being well cared for. No man mistreats a child he plans to adopt into his own family.”

Gonda continued spooning soup into his mouth, chewing, swallowing.

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