Eighty-one

Night was falling, and the trail, pointed out by the captive warrior, whose name was Field Snake, kept climbing, the way more treacherous as it wound along a ridge. Given the thick canopy of intermixed oaks, hickory, maples, beech, and the few giant isolated pines, there was no way to orient, barely enough sunlight through the occasional hole in the canopy to so much as get a hint of which way was which.

“Just a little farther,” Field Snake kept insisting. He was panting, sweat running down his hide, trickling down his back and skinny ribs. He’d done a solid job, Fire Cat thought. Pitching in, carrying his end of the box. And he’d insisted that taking this trail, across the ridge rather than down the creek to its confluence with Joara Creek and then back north, would save a couple of hands of time.

As the light was now fading, Fire Cat wondered. He could see the growing skepticism on Winder’s and Blood Talon’s faces as they labored up the steepening trail. The footing was tougher, and they had to clamber over roots, lift and snake the packs and Night Shadow Star’s box around the dangling vines.

“If this isn’t the right way…” Winder told Field Snake.

“Do you think I want to die?” Field Snake retorted. “If I lied, you’ll make my death miserable. So, yes, this is the short way. ’Cause the sooner we’re there, the sooner you’ll let me go.”

Which, Fire Cat, had to admit, was sound reasoning.

A half a hand of time later, with the light failing, he wasn’t so sure. Darkness came fast in the deep forest. The way was even steeper than before. They were clambering over outcrops of worn sandstone now, the roots and vines thicker.

The only sound was the call of the evening birds and the occasional late chattering of the squirrels.

At a steep ascent, the slope falling off at the edge of the trail, the gloom so deep it was almost dark, they slowed, Field Snake at the front.

Fire Cat didn’t see the details. Just the shadowy blur of motion. Field Snake set the box down, turned. Looked like he was moving a fallen branch out of the way. Bent as he was, slightly elevated on the trail, he put all of his body weight into the swing.

Winder barely had warning, but got an arm up. The section of awkwardly balanced branch skipped off his forearm, knocked him on the skull, and whistled off into the dark.

With that, Field Snake leaped off the trail, sliding and kicking his way down into the darkness.

Blood Talon went after him, crashing down through the leaf mat.

“Pus and blood!” Winder cried as Fire Cat leaned over him.

“Let me see.”

“Little pus-sucking maggot smacked me a good one. Piss in a pot, it’s bleeding like a throat-cut turkey.”

Down the slope more thrashing could be heard. Fire Cat peered over the side, seeing nothing but dark shadows.

Fire Cat made a pad from a square of cloth, used it as a compress to stanch the blood as the world around them turned from gloom to dark.

“Where are you?” Blood Talon called from below.

“Here,” Fire Cat bellowed, his rage building. “You find him?”

“Can’t find my spitting hand in front of my face!”

The thrashing of distant leaves could be heard.

“I think we’ve been tricked,” Winder muttered. “I’m hunting that little shit down and tearing him apart, slowly and surely.”

“Tricked in the worst way,” Fire Cat said through gritted teeth.

Somewhere out there, Night Shadow Star was on her own.