Dawn said calmly, “That name is worse than Dawn, for sure. Lookout! Or Duck! Then other names tell too much about a person. Names like Liar, or Stinks-Like-My-Underarms-Smell. I wouldn’t want any of those names.”
Despite still recovering from the scare of Lookout! Seth found himself laughing along with the old man. There were worse names after all. He said, hoping to change the subject, “Are you paddling to get us away from those people back there? Or to take us somewhere?”
“I confess there’s a destination I have in my mind and my time is critical.”
Seth hadn’t expected a truthful, direct response. “When were you going to tell me that?”
“I wasn’t,” Dawn said in the same droll tone.
“It’s my canoe, and I should say where we go.”
“You’re right. It is your canoe. We can turn to go where you wish, or we can go to a place where there is warmth, food, shelter, and supplies enough to survive the winter. Your choice. It is your canoe, after all.”
Seth mumbled, “I should have made you my slave.”
“Oh, you still can. I’m willing,” the softer voice returned, then the night air filled with the soft laughter of one person sharing a joke with himself.
Seth pouted and wondered if the canoe would reach land with both of them alive.
CHAPTER THREE
I’m only twelve. I need my sleep Only old people can stay awake at night. The regular motion of the canoe as the old man paddled, the soft night air, and the letdown of the excitement of escaping his captors, all contributed to Seth’s eyes closing. When he woke, the sky was still dark, the cold had returned and seeped inside his clothing, but the steady sound of paddling continued. He glanced at the figure in the back of the canoe and felt somehow comforted.
Dawn said, “Be light soon. I can use a few winks if you’re up to it.”
“You mean paddling? Sure, I can do that.”
“Knew you could. Didn’t know if you would.”
“You talk funny,” Seth muttered as he struggled to an upright position and accepted the proffered paddle.
“See that group of stars right there?” He pointed. “The three bright ones that make a sort of an arrow? Keep the boat going that way.”
Seth didn’t bother answering. He tried to imitate the way the old man paddled, going steady, correcting drift slowly when the boat turned in either direction, but never too much.
The gentle rise and fall, the swaying, and soft surges with each stroke soothed his anxieties. He had successfully bolted from the clutches of the Salt People. For now, that mattered and not much else. The future might hold a list of negatives, but none that he could think of were worse than the bleak future he’d faced only yesterday. The daily beatings and scraps of food fed to him, took a distant second to what he expected would have happened when the Salt People encountered another tribe. Boys his age soon grew into productive young men able to quickly learn their tasks. They were young, but old enough to understand that escape attempts ended in death. Not escaping meant a lifetime of servitude. It was hard to tell which was worse.
A trade with the Salt People for him might have given them two young dogs, a fistful of good arrows, a warm blanket, or even an old sheep. He’d been valuable. But instead of the Salt People getting furs, tools, or blankets in exchange for him, Seth had stolen their only canoe. Their other canoe had sunk more than a month ago, mostly from the same lack of care they gave to all possessions. The boats allowed them to fish, clam, travel, and transport seals or other meat. Two canoes were a luxury, but one was a necessity.
Modoc would chase him to the ends of the earth. While fat and lazy, he contained a meanness just under the surface, far beyond normal. He enjoyed hurting things. Seth had once watched Modoc run a deer down after shooting it with an arrow. While the deer lay at the edge of a meadow bleeding its life away, Modoc taunted and poked the animal until Seth wanted to rush in and smash the life from the deer with a large rock to end the pain.
Glancing up, Seth realized his course had drifted off to the left. He corrected it and changed his thoughts about the future. Much of it depended on the old man sleeping and snoring behind him. Dawn. The mind of the man was clearly muddled, overly friendly; his odd sense of humor funny only to him.
There were still choices to make. When the canoe arrived wherever Dawn wished to go, Seth could steal it again, if taking a boat he considered his own, was stealing. The coming of the winter snows concerned him most. The rest of the year he could survive with a little luck and a lot of learning. But there were people he could scout and watch. They could teach him how to hunt and provide food, never knowing he was watching.
But winter was different. Most stayed huddled under thick fur skins near warm fires, surviving on the stores they put away during the rest of the year. At least his original family had. Winter meant burning wood gathered near their hide hut, sitting and doing very little, day after day, with breaks to eat food they had gathered all year long.
Food again. Quit thinking about food. Seth dipped the paddle more and used his shoulders to move the canoe faster as an outlet for his anger and fears. Another glance at the three stars assured him he was still going in the right direction, but they were dimmer. He looked east and found gold tinged on the horizon.
But he had also found his rhythm. One stroke, two, three—shift the paddle to the other side and one stroke to correct the course, then repeat. No thinking, just doing. Steady, one, two, three, and four. His upper body moved to reduce the strain on his arms and shoulders.
It gave him time to think and plan, but beyond what he’d already decided, little mattered. Plan for winter. Survive until warm weather returned. The dawn forced the darkness away, and the stars faded. The sun peeked over the edge of the water.
Seth’s regular paddling broke stride. His head slowly turned one way and then the other. He looked behind and ahead. There was no land in sight. None. Only water.
“Hey, Dawn. Wake up. We have a problem.”
“Problems are all around us,” Dawn’s sleepy voice responded.
“Water is what’s all around us. I thought you told me to follow that arrow of stars. Look at where we are.”
Dawn shifted his weight as he opened his eyes to find Seth staring at him. “You followed my directions?”
“Look for yourself. You can still see the three stars if you look hard.”
The old man did. After which, he smiled. “Very good. Keep going in the same direction while I nap.”
“No, you don’t understand.”
“I know the stars will fade as the sun rises. Notice the wind is coming from our left? Keep it there and watch ahead. You’ll see our destination about mid-morning.”
Seth watched him close his eyes peacefully and unconcerned. For the first time, he had a good look at Dawn. He saw a man older than he believed possible, hair white as starlight, and wrinkles everywhere. He was almost as small as Seth.
Looking closer revealed more. The wrinkles at the corners of the eyes and around the mouth suggested a lifetime of smiling. He had no visible scars, unusual for a man. His beard was clipped short, but neat. His clothing was durable, not flashy, but well-made. He carried two leather purses and a knife attached to a wide belt. Nothing else.
Calming himself, Seth turned and took note of the wind, waves, and the sun before beginning to paddle again. He watched ahead while deciding that whatever lay up there, was not far enough from the Salt People. If Dawn, or whatever he called himself today, wished to leave the canoe, Seth would continue until he felt safe.