People of the Longhouse Read Online Free Page A

endless mountains pass by. In the afternoon, we
enter a stand of enormous oaks. Big Man forces us to climb over bare exposed rock. Stones are the bones of Great Grandmother Earth, and like the bones of animals, they are alive. They deserve to be treated with respect. I try to walk gently.
    I push Tutelo in front of me where I can watch her. Just ahead of her walks Wrass. He has also seen eleven summers, but he’s four moons older than I am—maybe the oldest boy here—and he’s brave. My father says that Wrass is destined to be a great warrior. Tall for his age, he has a face like an eagle’s, with sharp dark eyes and a hooked nose. Wrass can track better and shoot farther than any other boy in our village. I have always been jealous of Wrass. As the war chief’s only son, much is expected of me, but I have always been afraid. I am the boy who runs when the bear approaches. The boy who hurries home when darkness falls. And I’ve never been very good with a bow. Not like Wrass, who can shoot a bird out of the sky at fifty paces. For the first time in my life, I am grateful for his skills. My deepest hope is that he is waiting his chance to grab a war club and start a fight that will allow a few of us to escape.
    When he turns his head, and I see his profile, my hopes evaporate.
    Wrass looks as lost and terrified as the rest of us. Every time one of the warriors glares at him, Wrass starts shaking.
    Sunlight pierces the rain clouds and slants across the forest, casting geometric patterns upon the rocks. I let my head fall forward to stare at them, and my shoulder-length black hair hangs over the front of my buckskin shirt. Some of the children have capes, but Tutelo and I scrambled from our beds so fast we didn’t have the chance to grab ours. Last night, when Big Man let us sleep for two hands of time, I curled my body around Tutelo to keep her warm, and dreamed of Mother leading a war party into the camp and killing Big Man and all of his warriors.
    If I live to see one thousand summers, that dream will still be the best of my life.
    Big Man leads us off the rocks and down a steep trail into a small clearing where he calls, “Make the children sit down.”
    Two warriors trot down the line swinging war clubs, forcing us to drop to the damp oak leaves. Tutelo tucks her hand into mine. Her fingers are icy cold. I lift them to blow on them, and she shivers at the sudden warmth.
    “We’re going to be all right. Just be quiet, Tutelo.”
    “Where’s … ?” She stops herself from asking, and I clutch her hand and nod.
    Only when I start looking around do I see that this small clearing has been used before. Holes have been scooped out of the leaves, as though many children slept here and covered themselves with the leaves for warmth. Fragments of a broken clay cup scatter the ground to my left. Beneath a fallen log, I see the top half of a girl’s cornhusk doll.
    Has Big Man brought other captive children here? Why?
    Big Man gathers his warriors around him, and they whisper to each other, but I can’t make out any of their words.
    I look at the leaves, and my thoughts turn to those other children. I swear I can smell their last moments here. Fear sweat drifts on the air, and I pick up the faint coppery odor of blood. What happened to you?
    Wrass seems to smell these things, as well. He lifts his hooked nose, scents the wind, and his mouth tightens.
    Tutelo bites her lip, looks back and forth between us, and asks, “Where’s Mother?”
    The words are like spear thrusts to my belly. “Coming,” I whisper. “She’s coming.”
    “When?”
    “Soon. She and Father are tracking us. It will take some time.”
    Tutelo heaves a deep sigh and leans her head against my shoulder.
    At the head of the group, the three new girls start talking to each other.
    Big Man says, “Quiet.”
    One of the girls says a last word to her friend, and Big Man shouts, “I said, quiet !”
    Two of the girls sit as if frozen, staring