Page 75 of Trapped: Between Sky And Wind

This is my chance! Slowly, so as not to attract unnecessary attention, I get up and walk along the dirt path through the knee-high grass to our tent.

I push the tarpaulin of the teepee aside. “Bren?”

He’s kneeling in front of the trunk, packing our few belongings into a linen bag with a thick caribou hide wrapped around his shoulders like a hooded cloak. The image brings me as close to reality as a freshly sharpened blade.

“We have no provisions.” I get dizzy as I realize what this all means. “We have no herbs and no sleeping bags.” And no canoe—we have to steal from them to get off the island.

“We’ll take two pelts with us, that’ll do for now. And I have a bow now.” Bren thrusts his chin toward the corner where his homemade bow rests against the tarp, next to a lined quiver of feathered arrows.

I feel even more miserable. “They might not know anything, Bren. They retreated into the forest.”

He looks at me, the shadows under his eyes still wide, looking like war paint. “Maybe they’re holding a council meeting there. Do you really want to wait to know for certain? Maybe then it’ll be too late and they’ll stand in our way.”

I bob my head. But I don’t want to leave either. Bren hasn’t fully recuperated yet.

“They will find out. Either way, let’s not kid ourselves. We have to get out of here one day anyway.” Bren tosses me Liam’s scarf, still knotted into a pouch. I mechanically tie it around my waist just as someone pushes the tarpaulin aside.

I whirl around, startled.

It’s Amarok. His face is in darkness, but two red stripes shine along the cheekbones, two black circles with a yellow dot in the middle shine on his cheeks. Yellow means an Indian is ready to die, I know that from Darrow.

“Come with me…Louisa!” Now Amarok’s accent sounds frightening, even more menacing is the fact that he knows my real name.

Bren stands up and his face turns so dark that my stomach tightens. I’m afraid I’m going to throw up.

“Amarok,” I begin, but he’s not looking at me, only at Bren. He chokes out words in what is presumably not Navapaki but Mohawk. They sound like Bren is a murderer and a rapist.

“You…no good. No good for her!” he then exclaims. “You go, she come with me!”

Bren’s arms tense and he clenches his hands, making the veins in his forearms stand out unnaturally. “I advise you to get lost, and quickly!” Anger and impatience burn white in his eyes.

“Don’t, Bren,” I whisper anxiously. He must not freak out! God, please, don’t let him have a flash! Otherwise, we’ll never get out of here, apart from the fact that it’s dangerous. What if he hurts someone? They will not understand his condition. I should have told them how sick he is.

I tug at Bren’s sleeve. “Just let Amarok speak! We’ll wait to see what the others say. They might let us go.” It’s still a shock that they actually found out.

Bren shakes his head. “We can’t wait, Lou. They will definitely not let us leave. They won’t understand. Nobody can.” Bren looks at me, then Amarok, who’s standing with his legs apart, blocking the tent’s entrance. Then he picks up his bow and slings his quiver and pouch over his shoulder. “We’re leaving. Let us pass or I’ll make you!”

“No. Louisa stays…stays with me!” The young Mohawk quickly grabs my wrist and pulls me along.

“Amarok!” I tug at my arm frantically, but his grip is too tight and I stumble clumsily through the portal behind him.

“Let her go!” Bren sounds cold and composed, like the calm before a storm. Suddenly, the night is eerily quiet.

“You bad, Brendan!” Amarok doesn’t even look back, his words echoing loudly through the camp. Undeterred, he keeps walking and spits disparagingly into the grass. In those seconds, I truly hate him. He’s like the others, he doesn’t know anything, doesn’t understand anything.

“You’re looking at this all wrong,” I begin, but it’s pointless. How could anyone ever understand it? I stop abruptly, lose my balance due to him towing me, and fall to my knees. I gasp. Pain shoots from my wrist to my shoulder.

Amarok curses, rigorously dragging me with him. “You don’t understand anything. We separate…”

An animal growl erupts behind me, making my blood curdle. Something rattles, like a quiver of arrows falling to the ground. Bren lunges past me, knocking Amarok back so hard, he falls to the ground.

“You’re not hurting her!” he yells, beside himself with rage.

I can’t react. Amarok lets me go in time, but Bren is on him in an instant, his fist slamming into Amarok’s face, once twice, three times with screams of anger. Panic hits me, every clear thought gone.

“Bren, stop it!” I scream through the night, but I no longer dare touch him. He is trapped in his anger, making him much stronger than his injuries allow.

Shouts drift through the camp behind me, but I don’t understand anything. All I can see is the blood on Amarok’s face, glistening in the moonlight, smeared across his war paint. He appears surprised, shocked, stunned.

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