The Dawn Country by W. Michael Gear

Author:W. Michael Gear
Language: eng
Format: mobi, azw3, epub
Tags: Native American & Aboriginal, Historical, Fiction
ISBN: 9780765359803
Publisher: Tor Books
Published: 2011-11-28T18:30:00+00:00

Twenty-one

By 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.

She whispered, “Wrass, I thought I saw a canoe following us.”

Wrass stiffened. The possibility was more painful than his headache. Hope could be a knife in the belly—and she had probably imagined it. “What kind of canoe?”

“I didn’t get a very good look at it. It might have been birch bark. Do you think—?”

“How long ago did you see it?”

“Two hands of time, maybe a little longer.”

Wrass considered that. It might be more of the warriors heading home from the big camp last night. “Did you see any markings on the canoe?”

Auma shook her head. “I only caught a glimpse of it as we cut around a bend. When the man saw me looking at him, he immediately dragged his oar and disappeared. I think he was trying to stay hidden.”

“Man? One man?”

Auma spread her hands uncertainly. “I only saw one.”

Wrass let his gaze drift to where Conkesema slept on the packs. Old leaves had swirled into the boat and stuck in her black hair. He prayed her souls were walking in serene meadows far away from here.

“Do you think it’s a war party?” Auma whispered.

“One man is not a war party.”

“But he could be a scout. Maybe once he knows for sure that we’re here, he’ll turn around and go get a war party? My parents may be with them.”

Auma’s gaze bored into Wrass, silently begging him to say yes, that they were moments away.

He couldn’t.

As the day warmed, the scent of the river grew stronger. It had a bitter tang, a mixture of rotting leaves and frost-killed plants.

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