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They ran to where they had camped, finding no one until Avá-Tapé spotted Santo and Rico hiding in a tree. "Come down," he said. "Hurry! Help find the others. We have to get to the river. Our warriors are keeping the man-hunters from finding us, but they can’t keep them away for long."
The brothers clambered down and disappeared into some bushes. Moments later, timid faces poked out. "Come," Avá-Nembiará said. "We will lead you to the river before the evil thunder comes again. Find your families. Bring them here. We leave now."
Gunfire thundered in the distance as families and belongings emerged from behind trees and bushes. Avá-Nembiará made a quick search of the area, calling softly to those who were in hiding. Avá-Tapé saw Kuná-Mainó come from behind a tree with her arm around his mother's waist. Kuñá-Ywy Verá’s eyes still had a faraway look. She didn’t respond when he spoke to her, but she flinched at each gunshot.
Avá-Tapé kept waiting for more people until it struck him that there would be no more. Seeing how quickly their numbers had diminished made his heart heavy. Close to half had been killed. Avá-Nembiará sent Avá-Canindé and his sons to lead the quickest and strongest men and boys to the river ahead to start building canoes. He and Avá-Tapé stayed with the others to guide them, while their warriors kept the white men and their man-hunters busy.
They left behind most of their belongings so they could move faster. Avá-Tapé still heard gunfire, but it wasn’t as frequent or as loud. His fear lessened with each step. The image of Avá-Takuá's exploding face kept intruding on his thoughts. He had seen more death in the past few days than in his whole life.
He kept pushing thoughts of the dead from his mind, but knew he couldn’t escape. When it came time to sleep and his spirit wandered from his body, he feared that the dead would come and try to make him stay with them. It would take all of his magic to move among them without getting caught. He had to be strong to lead the living to the Land Without Evil.
He heard the calls of birds and animals and realized that the gunfire had ceased. He hoped their warriors had been successful. Looking up, he saw that the gray light of the forest had dimmed. Another day would soon pass. They had to travel in darkness until the thickness of the forest robbed them of light, then they would stop. Their enemies had to stop, too.
He moved up the line of people until he found Kuná-Mainó and his mother. Kuñá-Ywy Verá’s face looked drawn in the fading light. She looked ahead as if seeing something no one else could. The blankness of her stare reminded him of the eye of death. He couldn’t look at her for long.
"How is she?" he asked.
"She doesn’t eat or speak," Kuná-Mainó said quietly. "I talk to her, but I don’t know if she hears." Her voice trembled. "I think her soul is with your sister. If she doesn’t eat she will stay there."
Avá-Tapé felt torn between staying with his mother and leading the people. Everyone needed him. The three of them walked together in silence for some time until darkness came.
"Thank you for watching over her," he whispered to Kuná-Mainó. He kissed her on the cheek. “I have to watch out for all of us. I will come find you later." He dropped back and let the others pass until he walked alone, watching and listening for signs of enemies.
They moved long into the night, until the darkness became so complete they could barely see. Avá-Tapé and Avá-Nembiará helped the others hang their hammocks, urging them to get what sleep they could. As soon as light came they would move again. Before his father could ask, Avá-Tapé told him to sleep while he kept vigil. Avá-Nembiará hadn’t slept for a long time.
"I’ll wake you when the light returns," Avá-Tapé said.
Avá-Nembiará slipped into the darkness without a word, leaving Avá-Tapé alone with his thoughts. Avá-Tapé propped himself against a boulder and listened to the night. His eyes burned and his limbs ached, but he had no desire for sleep. He feared the souls of the dead clamoring for him in the other world.
Other than the songs of insects and the calls of night birds, the only sounds came from frightened cries and whimpers, and whispered reassurances. When the song of the morning bird came and the black of night lifted, Avá-Tapé went to wake his father. He found Avá-Nembiará already awake.
"Have our warriors returned?" Avá-Nembiará asked.
"No one has come. I hope they are safe."
"I don’t know. They may have stayed to watch for our enemies. Wake the people so we can start our journey again. We should reach the river before the sun is at its highest point."
They had the tribe moving again in a short time. Early in the afternoon, when the full heat of the day beat down on him, Avá-Tapé heard increasing animal activity, which told him water was near. He walked faster until the familiar rush and burble called to him like an old friend. He kept moving until he heard something in the bushes. His skin prickled. He jerked his head to one side and saw Rico running toward him.
"We’re down river," he said, pointing. “We worked through the night. Two canoes are built. My father sent me to watch for you."
Avá-Tapé took a long breath. His heart pounded. "You have done well, little brother. You have a warrior's heart. We need to find the others and tell them the river is near." With Rico at his side, they went back and met the people coming through the forest.
Tired, troubled faces met them. Avá-Tapé looked to each, trying to impart strength. His heart sank when he saw his mother. Though his eyes found hers, she didn’t see him.
Rico led them to the river's bank, and then downstream, until they heard the familiar clumping sound of tree trunks being hollowed by axes. They rounded a bend and saw Avá-Canindé, Avá-Guiracambí and the others hard at work, finishing a third canoe. Wood chips were scattered everywhere, and the smell of cedar filled the air. Avá-Tapé, his father and the few men who had come with them took over the work and gave Avá-Canindé and his men a rest.
"We will take turns," his father said, "and build as quickly as we can. When our warriors return, they can help. We cannot stay long."
By late afternoon two more canoes were built, but still their warriors hadn’t come. Avá-Tapé had a cold feeling in the pit of his stomach, but he didn’t let his fear show. Although he pushed it from his mind, the faces of death rushed in, taking its place. He couldn’t control his thinking and had to concede that as much as he feared it, he needed sleep.
He found himself staring at the ax in his hand, trying to make sense of all that had happened. His throat grew tight. His heart felt as if it would burst. It took all his strength to hold in his emotion, but his body began to betray him and his eyes grew bleary. He dropped the ax and walked up the riverbank to cry alone, so no one would see his weakness.