the—”
“Yes.” His voice had constricted, and she could tell he was close. “She did run away. But they tracked her down and killed her.”
Flint’s back arched and he cried out, stilling the conversation between Black Turtle and Snail. Snail took an eager step forward, waiting to be summoned.
Flint glanced at the youth, then collapsed on top of Sora and murmured, “Tomorrow, during the trial, they may torture you, Sora. For the sake of the gods, do not try to be brave. Be weak. Make them pity you.”
“But Flint …”
He roughly rolled away from her and got to his feet. “Snail?” he called. “Come over here.”
“No, Flint, please. Don’t let him—”
“I’m going to use every tool I have to accomplish my goals, Sora,” he hissed. “Including you.”
As Snail trotted up and tugged off his breechclout, he said, “My turn?”
In a nasty voice, Flint answered, “No. It is not your turn. I told you that you have to prove yourself before I let you taste her sweet flesh. The next time someone is trying to kill me, I expect you to help me. And give that message to your friends. If they help me, I’ll let them take a turn, too.”
10
SORA WALKED SHAKILY BACK TO THE VILLAGE. SHE FELT like her heart had been cut out and left bleeding on the forest floor; but if it took all of her strength, they would never know it.
Behind her, Flint and Black Turtle laughed at something lewd Snail had said.
She kept her eyes on the ground. As the cool evening breeze blew through the palms, their shadows danced over the forest floor like gray silken veils. She concentrated on them to keep her mind off the fact that she longed to lie down in the grass and weep.
Through the trees, she saw Eagle Flute Village. The light of the rising moon gleamed from the faces of enemy warriors, crude thatched houses, and hungry people: things she had feared her entire life.
How was she going to get out of this?
Feather Dancer, if he was alive, would be nursing his wounded body. The other captives were old, or injured, or quivering with fear. They could not help her. In fact, they were
looking to her with childlike faith, praying she would get them home safe.
She glanced over her shoulder at the three men following her. They smiled and continued to joke. There had to be a way … something she could do. But what?
Without the authority of her former position, she couldn’t offer them corn to feed their hungry, or exotic Trade goods to buy them off. Only Wink, Long Fin, and the Council of Elders could make those decisions.
Just as Flint had said, she was nothing.
Her exhausted souls worked the problem, going round and round, coming back to the same dead end.
I am nothing. Flint is right.
She had never felt so powerless.
A palmetto partially blocked the trail. Her numb legs barely felt the brush of the sharp fronds as they scratched her shins.
Blessed gods, this had to be a dream. Her shadow-soul must be walking in the dark underworlds where the monsters lived. Surely she would soon wake to the smells of roasting venison and frying corncakes, the high-pitched squeals of children running in the plaza, and Rockfish’s soft voice telling her it was very late, that she needed to rise and resume her duties as chieftess of the Black Falcon Nation.
As she stepped out of the forest, soft murmurs filled the air. Every eye seemed to be upon her.
Sora marched toward the guards who ringed the Captives’ House, and the two men who blocked the doorway leered at her.
She stopped in front of them and said, “Get out of my way.”
The bigger of the two men folded his arms, tipped his chin to something behind her, and said, “I have orders to hold you for him.”
Sora turned.
Strongheart flowed through the darkness as though part of
it. His cape billowed around his long legs. When he got closer, he glanced at Flint, and said, “I’m sure you won’t object if I, too, take a turn with her.”
Her heart went cold and dead in her
“Yes.” His voice had constricted, and she could tell he was close. “She did run away. But they tracked her down and killed her.”
Flint’s back arched and he cried out, stilling the conversation between Black Turtle and Snail. Snail took an eager step forward, waiting to be summoned.
Flint glanced at the youth, then collapsed on top of Sora and murmured, “Tomorrow, during the trial, they may torture you, Sora. For the sake of the gods, do not try to be brave. Be weak. Make them pity you.”
“But Flint …”
He roughly rolled away from her and got to his feet. “Snail?” he called. “Come over here.”
“No, Flint, please. Don’t let him—”
“I’m going to use every tool I have to accomplish my goals, Sora,” he hissed. “Including you.”
As Snail trotted up and tugged off his breechclout, he said, “My turn?”
In a nasty voice, Flint answered, “No. It is not your turn. I told you that you have to prove yourself before I let you taste her sweet flesh. The next time someone is trying to kill me, I expect you to help me. And give that message to your friends. If they help me, I’ll let them take a turn, too.”
10
SORA WALKED SHAKILY BACK TO THE VILLAGE. SHE FELT like her heart had been cut out and left bleeding on the forest floor; but if it took all of her strength, they would never know it.
Behind her, Flint and Black Turtle laughed at something lewd Snail had said.
She kept her eyes on the ground. As the cool evening breeze blew through the palms, their shadows danced over the forest floor like gray silken veils. She concentrated on them to keep her mind off the fact that she longed to lie down in the grass and weep.
Through the trees, she saw Eagle Flute Village. The light of the rising moon gleamed from the faces of enemy warriors, crude thatched houses, and hungry people: things she had feared her entire life.
How was she going to get out of this?
Feather Dancer, if he was alive, would be nursing his wounded body. The other captives were old, or injured, or quivering with fear. They could not help her. In fact, they were
looking to her with childlike faith, praying she would get them home safe.
She glanced over her shoulder at the three men following her. They smiled and continued to joke. There had to be a way … something she could do. But what?
Without the authority of her former position, she couldn’t offer them corn to feed their hungry, or exotic Trade goods to buy them off. Only Wink, Long Fin, and the Council of Elders could make those decisions.
Just as Flint had said, she was nothing.
Her exhausted souls worked the problem, going round and round, coming back to the same dead end.
I am nothing. Flint is right.
She had never felt so powerless.
A palmetto partially blocked the trail. Her numb legs barely felt the brush of the sharp fronds as they scratched her shins.
Blessed gods, this had to be a dream. Her shadow-soul must be walking in the dark underworlds where the monsters lived. Surely she would soon wake to the smells of roasting venison and frying corncakes, the high-pitched squeals of children running in the plaza, and Rockfish’s soft voice telling her it was very late, that she needed to rise and resume her duties as chieftess of the Black Falcon Nation.
As she stepped out of the forest, soft murmurs filled the air. Every eye seemed to be upon her.
Sora marched toward the guards who ringed the Captives’ House, and the two men who blocked the doorway leered at her.
She stopped in front of them and said, “Get out of my way.”
The bigger of the two men folded his arms, tipped his chin to something behind her, and said, “I have orders to hold you for him.”
Sora turned.
Strongheart flowed through the darkness as though part of
it. His cape billowed around his long legs. When he got closer, he glanced at Flint, and said, “I’m sure you won’t object if I, too, take a turn with her.”
Her heart went cold and dead in her
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