The Transall Saga by Gary Paulsen Page B

the villagers back into the forest. Women and children ran screaming for their lives. The fire had reached almost every hut and now it lit up the whole area like a giant bonfire.
    To his right, Mark saw Tukha fighting. Tukha tripped and went down. His spear flew out of his hand and one of the villagers began beating him senseless with a heavy club.
    Mark jumped out of the bushes. "Stop. You’re killing him."
    The little man was frightened out of his wits when he saw the tall, light-skinned boy come charging out of the forest. He stumbled backward and ran off in the opposite direction.
    Mark dropped his club, grabbed Tukha’s arms and dragged him back into the brush. He shook the young warrior but Tukha’s eyes didn’t open.
    The other arrow people were coming back now. They were ecstatic because they had managed to chase off most of the villagers and steal everything of value that hadn’t been smashed to pieces.
    The chief raised his hand and was about to give the signal to withdraw when he spotted Mark trying to revive Tukha. He shouted orders and two of the men hurriedly picked up the young man and carried him ahead of the others into the forest toward home.

chapter
19
    Tukha was dead.
    The village had suspended work and spent the entire day preparing for his last rites. Mark stood in the shadows watching the funeral procession. Six men carried the lifeless body to a raised wooden platform that was decorated with flowers, vines and leaves. They placed him on top along with his spear and shield.
    Tukha’s family, which consisted of his sister—who turned out to be Leeta—and an older woman, walked slowly to the beat of the drum, then covered Tukha’s face with an animal skin.
    Someone handed the chief a burning torch and he touched it to a small stack of firewood underneath the platform. Everyone stepped back to watch the body burn.
    Mark had made up his mind. He couldn’t stay with these people. They were too different. They had wiped out a whole village as if it was a huge game. In the morning he would go back to his tree house and live alone in the dark jungle.
    He felt a hand on his shoulder. Leeta had brought the old woman to him. Her sad eyes searched his face. "Kakon es tat mek Tukha." Tears ran down her wrinkled cheeks.
    "I’m sorry," Mark said. A lump welled up in his throat. "Your grandson seemed like a good man."
    Leeta led her grandmother away and when the fire had completely consumed the body the people crowded into the long hut to talk about the raid, divide the booty and console the family.
    Mark didn’t go. He wished it wasn’t so late. If he could, he would leave right now. None of this made any sense. The arrow people hadn’t really gained that much from looting the village, just a few new weapons, some beads and a small amount of food. Nothing they brought back seemed worth dying over.
    He went into the hut where he’d slept the night before and picked up his things. The hiking boot still contained one tree rock, a couple of pieces of jerky, an empty sock and a few strips of cloth. He had replaced the shoestring with a vine and now he tied the boot to his belt loop. At first light he would be ready to go.
    "Mawk?" Leeta stood in the door.
    Mark didn’t look up. He grabbed his spear and bow and arrows and brushed past her. His intention was to spend the night at the edge of the clearing and start back first thing in the morning. He would forget these people and their crazy customs and concentrate on finding the blue light.
    Leeta followed him past the huts. He stopped and looked at her. "Where do you think you’re going?"
    "Lee-ta, Mawk, taw-kin?"
    "There’s nothing to talk about. Go back to your crazy people before they catch you out here and decide to kill me too."
    Leeta untied a string of wooden beads from around her neck and put them in his hand. She gave him a sad, confused look and turned to go.
    "Wait." Mark caught her arm. He took off his broken watch and fastened it around her