The Unfinished Song (Book 5): Wing (9 page)

“Alone?”

“I won’t need help.”

Hawk cocked his head. “So.”

“So.”

Tavaedies beat the drums. Green Woods warriors
released the prisoners. Finnadro sawed the cords from Hawk’s
wrists.

“I’m guessing you still can’t fly, with that
shoulder,” said Finnadro. “So you better run.”

The cords hit the mud.

Hawk ran.

With fifteen deathdebts to pay, Hadi had no choice
but to join the hunters in the line up for the Chase. He had to
compete against four Green Tribesmen for the honor of looming over
one miserable lad in a ragged fleece vest and sheepskin legwals.
The boy was about Hadi’s age, with a raspberry graze along one side
of his head as if he had already started to scalp himself for their
convenience. Possibly the blow to his head had addled his wits. His
eyes popped out of his head and his tongue lolled out like a
frog.

The four Green Woods tribesmen were brothers from
the Woodrat Clan. They had plenty of arrows in their quivers
besides the Raven each carried. Their noses quivered and their
beady eyes gleamed as they boasted to the prisoner how they would
kill him.

“If I catch you first, I’m going to aim my arrow at
your legs so you don’t die right away,” said the biggest Woodrat.
“I’ll trip you up, then give your belly a thin slice, so I can pull
your guts out. Might make sausages out of ‘em.”

“If I catch you first,” said second biggest Woodrat,
“I’ll cut your heart out still beating!”

“I won’t need weapons at all,” said the third
Woodrat. “I’ll just punch you in the face until you have no face
left!”

“You can have his face,” said the fourth Woodrat.
“I’m taking his scalp!”

The Orange Canyon lad gibbered and lolled his
tongue. If they were trying to terrify the prisoner, it seemed to
be working. Unfortunately, it was working on Hadi too. He didn’t
think the brothers would take to it kindly if he stole their kill.
Which was really unfair of them, considering they had only one
Raven each, and he had fifteen, and killing this scrawny captive
was probably the only realistic chance Hadi had of paying a
deathdebt.

The drums sounded. The biggest Woodrat cut the
captive free. The lad took off at a pace Hadi would have not
believed possible. He wondered if
any
of them had a chance
of catching him.

All the prisoners tore across the field until they
were out of sight. The hunters waited for the shadow to cover the
scruff in the dirt the War Chief had marked. As the time stretched,
Hadi thought about how fast the lad had run, and wondered how
anyone could catch him after such a big head start. Though he
supposed it wouldn’t have felt long enough if he had been on the
other side.

Finally, shade fell on the mark. The drums sounded.
Some hunters raced forward immediately. Others made a show of
taking their time, as if they didn’t need to hurry. Finnadro was
one who seemed to be taking his sweet time. The four Woodrat
clanbrothers were among those already running.

They were quite fast too.

Hadi would have liked to lounge about confidently,
but he didn’t dare. He started running.

The stitch in his side flared up before he was half
way across the field. He forced himself to keep going, at least
until he was out of sight of the women back at the line-up. He
slowed to a jog. Then he slowed to a walk.

One couldn’t go far in any direction in these parts
without encountering forest, so he shouldn’t have been surprised
that the field gave way to dark, fire-blackened forest, but he was,
and also dismayed. Hunting a running lad across a plain was bad
enough, now he had to hunt him through the woods too?

This was the point where he was supposed to use his
huntsmanship and look out for broken twigs and the imprint of a big
toe that would tell him exactly where to find his prey. While the
Woodrat brothers blundered through the underbrush, Hadi would
cleverly sneak around them and catch the prisoner with one shot
through the heart. The prisoner would even benefit; he’d win a
clean, honorable death from Hadi, not all that mucking mess the
Woodrats had promised.

Hadi looked around for footprints. The frost was
hard, but above that a layer of ash and slush actually held prints
well, and he found the impression from the heel of a boot.
Excitement raced through his veins. This was it! This was his
victim, er, prey! He kept going in the direction the boot had been
facing.

He found a trail, amazingly clear, of zigzag steps,
leading through the woods. Fa, how easy was this? He was a mucking
hunting
genius
. The prints were so clear he could even match
up his feet in them.

Mercy, the lad had a big stride. And a bigger—what
had he been taught it was called, during his Initiation year, when
the hunter’s lore had been passed to his cohort of boys by grizzled
old men in Yellow Bear? Stride was the space between the steps
walking forward and the other…. Oh, yes. Straddle. The space from
side to side between the prints. These zigzag prints had a big
straddle. It was a bit uncomfortable, actually, trying to waddle in
the steps, which were spaced as if by feet attached to much wider
hips than Hadi’s. Odd, that. He could have sworn the enemy lad was
about the same size as he, or even scrawnier.

Along his right, Hadi spotted a spruce that looked
like it was wearing a skirt. The bark had had been yanked off the
bottom, and the strips that remained curled upward like a dancer’s
costume flaring on the twirl.

Hadi had seen trees like that before, in Yellow
Bear, which made sense, because it was a bear tree, and they had
way too many bears in Yellow Bear. Some bear had come along and
scratched off the bark at the base of the tree, to suck up the
tasty sap inside. Hadi had wondered, once, if the sap was any good
and even tried some from a bear tree back in Yellow Bear. Answer:
sweet at first, then rancid. The aftertaste lingered like a punch
to your mouth. He had no urge to taste it again in his whole life,
any more than he had an urge to encounter another bear again in his
whole life. The Green Woods tribesmen had warned that there
were
bears in the Hidden Forest, not the golden bears found
down south, but grizzlies, which were even bigger.

Apparently a grizzly had been walking along same
path as Hadi’s prey. The exposed sap in the spruce looked like it
was still dripping. It hadn’t been too long ago.

Hadi had a bad feeling in the pit of his
stomach.

He knelt and examined the footprints he’d been
following more closely. Five wide toes… bare toes… bear toes.

Orange Canyon tribesfolk wore boots, nice ones, made
from fleece with the wool side in and tanned side out.

Look for boot prints, idiot
, he chastised
himself.
Bears don’t wear boots
.

He was pretty sure he had seen a boot print to begin
with, before he’d been distracted by the far, far too easy bear
trail. It was a good thing no one was with him. He’d never live it
down if anyone knew he’d gone tearing after a grizzly instead of a
hunting his man.

Before he had retraced his steps all the way, he
found another boot print, definitely a
boot
print. Good
enough. He followed where it pointed, more cautiously this time. He
was rewarded when he found more tracks, a large number of boot
prints.

Four sets, in fact.

He groaned. Wonderful. He’d found the tracks of the
Woodrats. Their clumsy passage had obliterated any more subtle
signs of the Orange Canyon man.

This was pointless. He had a hard enough time
hunting deer. He’d caught an elk by himself once, but even that
time, it had been more a matter of the elk catching him. Spooked by
other hunters in another part of the woods, the elk had run. When
those big antlers stampeded in his direction, he’d raised his spear
in self-defense, and the next thing he knew, he’d thrust it into
the elk’s breast. The elk had shucked him aside like husk from
corn, but after running a while, keeled over and died. Hadi had
claimed the kill and the acclaim and the other boys had stopped
mocking his hunting skills. But they’d had the right of it all
along.

Somehow he doubted the Orange Canyon enemy was going
to come rushing forward onto Hadi’s spear. More likely, given
Hadi’s luck, the grizzly would.

This whole Chase was pointless.

He turned around to trudge home.

Even
that
turned out to be difficult. The
tribehold seemed to have moved. Or he had turned himself around
while dashing off after a grizzly bear trail. Mists roiled over the
mountains, and blocked the sun, so he couldn’t get his bearings.
Eventually, the sun peeked out from behind the clouds again, which
allowed him to study the shadows and take another stab at orienting
himself. He realized he had been walking in the wrong
direction.

Footprints in the snow drew his attention. There
were too many to belong to his prey, or any of the lone prisoners;
probably the tracks had been made by another gaggle of hunters. He
figured he could follow the tracks backwards to the tribehold, and
anyway, it was easier to walk in the tramped down snow. He even saw
the hoof print of a horse. How unfair. He had been told they could
not use horses. Not that he knew how to ride.

The tracks led back to a clearing dominated by a
large, upright black stone over another slab laid flat before it. A
skull sat on top of the upright stone.

Hadi stopped so fast he bumped into a tree. A
Deathsworn menhir!

Mercy, how did he get himself into these fixes?

This Deathsworn area was smaller than the one with
four stones, where they had brought the bodies. But there had been
recent activity here. Soot from a burnt out fire made a circle
around both stones, and scraps of clothing littered the frosted
earth.

Hadi was already backing away. He didn’t want to get
caught by Deathsworn. He’d be better off taking his chances with
the bear.

His heel snagged on a shred of material. He yanked
it off, but just as he was about to toss it away, he saw the
design. It was just a bit of pattern, but unmistakable: a swan on a
six-colored maze border against white. His clan’s totem, his clan’s
pattern. He even knew what garment it had belonged to. He had seen
it many times.

Why did I malign you, bear? I could have enjoyed
a fun day of mauling and not had to face this
.

This had been Dindi’s blouse.

They let Vessia out of the sack when they stopped by
a stream. Amdra watched with crossed arms while Vessia watered a
bush. Then, grudgingly, she allowed Vessia to wash her arms and
face, drink and share their meal of corn bread and jerky. They sat
on charred logs next to eat and rest.

“When we travel again, don’t put me back in the
sack,” Vessia said. “At least let me sit up.”

Vumo had the grace to redden. Amdra, however, glared
at her.

“We can’t take chances with her, father. She’s too
dangerous. You can’t trust fae.”

Vumo sighed.

Vessia didn’t ask why they were doing this. What
would be the point? She knew. She had known for more than twenty
years this day would come. And she had suspected Amdra’s loyalties
for a long time. But Vumo?

“Who else serves
him
?” Vessia asked. “Nangi?
Zumo?”

Vumo shook his head. “Not them.”

Vessia wanted to believe him. But how could she?
Vumo might not even know the truth himself.

“I hate horses,” said Vumo. “Smelly, stubborn
beasts, if you ask me.”

“They don’t like you either,” said Amdra.

Vumo rubbed his buttocks, trying to find a
comfortable position on the charred log. “This would be easier if
we had Hawk.”

“But I left my lover to die,” said Amdra. “Thank
you, father, for reminding me.”

Vessia piped up cheerfully. “Oh, I doubt they’ll
kill him, Amdra. They’ll torture him for information first.”

Amdra paled.

“You have a link to him, don’t you?” asked Vessia.
“An Orange leash to control his thoughts and bend him to your will.
But Finnadro is quite adroit at that game too, though he works in
different Chroma. You had better cut your link to Hawk or you might
end up sharing the agony of his torture.”

“I can gag you, auntie.”

“Fa!” Vessia snapped her fingers. “But I forgot.
They will let him join the Chase. It’s an honored Green Woods
tradition. It’s a hunt, with human quarry. Jolly fun for both the
human and wolf hunters of the Green Woods. They can’t torture Hawk
if he’s eaten alive by wolves first. So that works out nicely.”

“That’s enough! Gag her, father!”

“Just ignore her, Amdra.”

Amdra fumed, but didn’t press the issue. After a
moment, Amdra asked in a small voice, “The Chase…is that real?”

“Yes,” said Vumo.

“Frankly, I don’t fancy spending a moon on the rump
of a horse either,” Vessia said. “Why don’t you fly us there,
Amdra?”

“No!” Vumo said. He stood up and jabbed a finger at
Vessia. “That witch is just goading you, Amdra. You know the Great
One won’t allow that.”

“I’m sure ‘the Great One,’ as you call him, though
he doesn’t deserve the title and you know it, would allow it if it
meant he had me in his power that much sooner,” said Vessia. “It’s
not like you would be using your ability to rescue Hawk during the
one opportunity you’ll have—during the Chase.”

Now Vumo glared at her. “You’re right, Amdra. Never
trust fae. I think I
will
gag her.”

“But she’s right,” said Amdra. “We could save him.
It’s the only way!”

“Don’t even think of it!”

“And we’d get to the tribehold sooner. It’s worth
it.”

“Don’t you think she put the idea in your head for a
reason? Can’t you see she wants you to head back into enemy
territory? Of course she does!”