“They’ll look first. They must know that this is the only other place that might be safe during a storm. Prak’ox took a chance on that.”
“They will not expect us to move in this,” he says. “That gives us an advantage.”
I let out a shaky breath that almost turns into a laugh. “You want to leave now, in the middle ofthis?”
“No, but before the end of it. We have to pass close to the village, and I want to do that while the wind is still blowing. But I only want snow in that wind. Not those.” He points to the bloodwings that are still flying above us, now much more spread out. Now the only noise is the howling wind through the rock screen.
“Let’s rest a little first. The fire’s still burning. And I think there’s frit.” I point to Prak’ox’s pack.
“I think we may find several useful things around here,” Nator’ax says as he sits down stiffly and puts his legs into the pool where the bloodwings are still floating. He exhales slowly, as if the simple act of sitting has taken more out of him than he wants to show. “But by all means, let’s get some frit.”
22
- Nator’ax-
We drain Prak’ox’s pot of frit while the last few bloodwings pass overhead. Then I get up and find the two food packs I buried in the snow when Riley and I were here last. There’s firewood and food, so we’re able to heat the food and eat our fill.
“You’d planned the escape all along,” Riley says, with her mouth full. “Even here, in case we had to come this way.”
“I was hoping we wouldn’t have to,” I tell her. “But here we are.”
“Did you bury packs in other places, too, during your hunt?”
“I buried four packs from the village to the saucer. And I dropped one down a shallow crack in the glacier. But now we have to go. Morning isn’t far away.” I grab Prak’ox’s spear and check the tip. It’s not as sharp as I would have liked, but it’s better than nothing.
We pull the furs around us. Mine is still usable, despite the holes. Once the bloodwings had chewed a few of them to get through, they much preferred the soft flesh beneath.
Riley winces at the sight of me. “I’m so sorry, Nator’ax. I should have known you wouldn’t just give up like that.”
“Perhaps I should have told you more about what I was planning,” I admit as we start to walk. “But I suspected you wouldn’t like it.” I cast a glance back at Prak’ox’s remains and briefly consider hiding them, to further confuse the Gar tribe. But that’s not really a good reason.
“Can you tell me?” Riley asks.
I consider how much to say. One of the plans I had before the storm came is still possible: to go into the chief’s hut and crush his head with a rock, get my sword, then visit cave after cave and kill everyone inside in their sleep. Or at least the shaman. “There would be a lot of death. I will say no more.”
We hurry on our way to the Gar village. The storm is much less powerful now, and the direction has changed, so that we now get the wind in from the side. Snow is piled up in strange-looking heaps, shaped by the wind. Some are taller than I am. The darkness is withdrawing.
When we near the village, we keep our distance. But in the newly fallen and wind-packed snow, we leave obvious tracks that I can only hope the tribe will not discover. If they do, they will only see the tracks of one man. Riley walks ahead, and I make sure to step in her footprints, deepening and widening them in the way of the jungle. I want them to have no clue that she’s still alive.
We stop and gaze over at the rock with the caves. There’s no sign of movement or firelight, but from my experience with nightstorms in the jungle, it is when the worst is over and the morning is still dark that men sleep most deeply. The tribe won’t be awake yet, and when they do wake and discover both Riley and Prak’ox gone, and me, they will take time to decide what it means.
“They’ll think we’re dead,” Riley says softly, as if reading my thoughts. “But they will search for what’s left of us. We must hurry.”
We walk on and turn our backs to the village.
The wind weakens until the air is still. When the sun rises, the light is painfully bright, reflected off all the new and pristine snow. Everything around us is white, apart from the sky, which holds a faint red tinge. It would be hard to find our way, but I’ve come this way before, and I know which distant mountaintop to aim for. Still, I have no chance of finding the food packs I left here during the hunting trip, nor the bundles of firewood. The snow covers the small marks I made.
“Is it getting colder?” Riley asks, teeth clattering. “I thought it would feel warmer when the wind stopped blowing.”
“I was hoping that too,” I admit. “I suppose cold follows the storm. Come, we’ll keep each other warm.” I ram the blunt end of the spear into the snow and open my fur. Riley comes close and opens hers so that we can close both around us.
I embrace her inside, noticing how she shivers all over.
“If w-we meet that t-tribe again,” she says, “w-we won’t go with them w-willingly.”
I bury my face in her hair. “We won’t. They will suffer if they try to take us captive again.”
She looks up at me. “Remember your oath to m-me. Don’t let them t-take me. You saw w-what will happen.”
