The Dawn Country (11 page)

“All right.”

Gannajero didn’t even glance at him. Her gaze was riveted to the grisly prizes in her hand. She walked away clutching the dripping eyes to her chest.

As she passed, her warriors watched her with bright, alert gazes.

Zateri whispered, “How can Toksus live with a stranger’s soul inside him?”

Wrass shivered. “I don’t think he can. At least not for long. The souls will be fighting each other for control of the body.”

Kotin turned and glared at Wrass; then his evil gaze fell upon Zateri, and a shudder went through her.

Zateri gently touched Wrass’ shoulder and got to her feet. “I’d better go.”

“Be careful,” Wrass said.

“You, too.”

She made her way down the length of the canoe, where she jumped ashore. The guards watched her through slitted eyes as she walked back to the terrified girls.

Wrass returned his gaze to the boys.

Kotin had freed Toksus and tossed a bag of huckleberries down in front of him. Toksus just stared at it while he coughed and rubbed his injured throat.

Wrass studied him. Could Toksus sense another soul slipping around inside him? And what about Sassacus? Was he confused? It must be terrifying to suddenly find yourself in an unfamiliar body.

“We’re leaving,” Gannajero announced. “Get the children in the canoes.”

Conkesema and Auma climbed back in the canoe with Wrass. The Flint girl went to the other canoe with Zateri.

After the warriors were all in their places, with paddles in their hands, Gannajero knelt beside Toksus and gave him a hideous toothless grin.

“Find him for me.”

“Who?” Toksus wiped his runny nose on his cape. “Who am I supposed to find? That boy? Hehaka?”

Gannajero rose and climbed into the bow of her canoe. “Shove off, Kotin.”

Kotin pushed the bow off the bank and leaped inside.

The current caught them and carried them downstream.

Toksus stood alone on the bank, crying and scanning the darkness with terrified eyes.

“Who am I supposed to find?”
he shouted.

The canoes rounded a bend in the river. Wrass lost sight of him. His nausea intensified. He eased back onto the packs and fought to keep the eels from slithering back up his throat.

Eleven

F
rozen rocks and icy pine needles kept sliding beneath her moccasins as Koracoo carefully maneuvered down the frost-slick ravine. The only sound was her steps crunching frost. It was as though the blood in Great Grandmother Earth’s veins has stopped flowing, and Koracoo moved through a vast lifelessness. Instinctively, she glanced around to make certain of the positions of her warriors. They were all watching her, waiting to see what happened next.

When she reached the ravine bottom and started toward the two boys, her gaze shifted to the Dawnland people. Even the way they stood told her a great deal about them. The warriors moved constantly, their weapons aimed, keeping track of her, but they were sluggish, either exhausted or starving. Perhaps both. Desperation made warriors reckless. She needed to proceed with great caution.

Just before she got to Odion’s side, the Dawnland boy hissed in his face, “We’re going to kill you. We’re going to kill all of you.”

Odion didn’t flinch. He bravely stared into those enormous, hungry eyes, and replied, “My people didn’t hurt you. Until just a little while ago, I was a slave. I never even saw your village until after the attack.”

“What about the other warriors with you? I know some of them killed my family. I
saw
them.”

Koracoo’s feet sank into the spongy bed of old autumn leaves as she put a hand on her son’s shoulder. “Odion, please come with me.”

Odion walked very close to her as she continued toward the elders.

Koracoo knew little about the People of the Dawnland except that where her people traced descent through the female, they traced descent through the male. Because of that, males had more power in their society than females. She doubted there were any female warriors among them. Let alone war chiefs. How would they treat her?

The tall warrior and the boy followed a few paces behind.

Koracoo headed directly for the hunchbacked woman with the white hair. Elder Shara had a strange face, gaunt and sad, with deep wrinkles. Skin hung from her bones as though all the meat had been sucked out. She wore a tattered moosehide cape that hung down to her midthigh, and thin deerhide moccasins. As Koracoo got closer, she saw that the elder’s cape was a landscape of mended holes that resembled stitched scars.

The Dawnland People are even worse off than the Standing Stone and Flint Peoples.

No wonder Dawnland war parties had taken to raiding deep into their countries. What they did not understand was that the five nations south of Skanodario Lake had raided each other so often there was little left for anyone else.

She stopped in front of Shara, and the old woman eyed her coldly. “Why did you bring the boy?”

“He has seen Gannajero with his own eyes. I have not.”

Shara looked Odion up and down. “Very well. Come and sit with us, War Chief.”

Shara waddled back toward the three old men surrounded by six warriors with war clubs. Koracoo and Odion followed.

Koracoo glanced over her shoulder at Wakdanek. He was a big raw-boned man. His skull appeared to have been carved into relief by a blunt knife. He’d seen perhaps thirty summers.

When they reached the elders’ circle, Shara lowered herself to a hide-covered litter—probably used by the warriors to carry the elders—and looked up at Wakdanek. “Build a fire, will you, Nephew?”

“Of course.” He trotted away.

Shara wore a conical cap, but the three old men had pointed hoods that fell to their shoulders. The lips of the men shrank over toothless gums, and their sharp, jutting chins appeared to have been whittled to resemble hatchet heads. But they had the burning eyes of enraged wolves.

Shara pointed to the ground. “Sit, War Chief.”

“Thank you, Elder.” Koracoo knelt in the elders’ circle, and Odion stood beside her.

She watched Wakdanek go about assigning tasks to the clan boys. Four raced away to crack dead branches from the trees. Two of the four hauled the branches back and respectfully piled them near the elders. A short while later, Wakdanek carefully shouldered between two old men, removed the pack from his back, and began searching inside. He set a small pot and a bag on the ground. From the pot, he poured coals—probably saved from his dinner fire—then tipped the bag up and sprinkled dry shavings of wood upon them. Finally, he bent down to blow on the coals. It took time for them to blaze to life again, but when at last flames crackled, he began adding twigs, then branches, to build up the blaze.

Shara extended her knotted, twiglike fingers to the warmth and shivered. “War Chief,” she said, and tilted her head to the old man immediately to her left. “This is Winooski. Next to him sits Kinna, and beside him is Maunbisek. We are all that remain of the Bog Willow Village council of elders. Yesterday morning we numbered twelve.” She shifted to bring up her knees and propped her elbows atop them. “Tell us your tale of Gannajero. What makes you think she’s alive?”

Odion shivered at the mention of her name, and Koracoo saw tears blur his eyes. He tried to wipe them on his blanket before anyone saw, but the elders were all looking at him.

Shara gently asked, “Your mother says you’ve seen her with your own eyes, boy. Is it true?”

“Yes, Elder.”

“Are you sure it was her? She’s been gone from our country for more than twenty summers. It’s hard to believe she would return. The last time she was here she barely escaped with her life.”

Odion clenched his fists hard. “It was her. Her men called her Gannajero. Except for last night. At the big warriors’ camp, she disguised herself as an old man and ordered her warriors to call her Lupan.”

The elders all leaned forward to examine Odion, as though trying to decide if he was telling the truth. He stared into each of their eyes in turn.

Koracoo explained, “My son, and the other children with us, were held captive by Ganna—”

“Bah! She’s dead.” Winooski waved a skeletal hand through the air. Among the People of the Standing Stone, it was an insult to interrupt a war chief, but perhaps here, if she was a woman, she did not deserve respect.

Koracoo proceeded cautiously. “No, Elder, she’s very much alive.”

“Gannajero died twenty summers ago! I don’t know who held them captive, but it couldn’t have been Gannajero.”

“I agree,” Kinna said. “Twenty summers ago every village for a moon’s walk had a war party out to kill her. Surely someone must have accomplished it. Even if she lived, why would she return to almost certain death?”

“Perhaps,” Koracoo replied calmly, “because she escaped last time, she figured she would this time. All four of the children we rescued last night confirm that their captor was Gannajero. Surely there are not two women Traders with the same name.”

“No,” Shara said with a shake of her head. “It would be a death sentence. The second would change her name to avoid being mistaken for the first.”

Maunbisek peered at Odion through one eye. It was a curious wolflike gesture that made Odion stiffen. “What is your name, boy?”

“Odion.”

To the other elders, Maunbisek said, “Have any of you ever seen Gannajero?”

Whispers went around the circle. Heads shook.

Maunbisek tightened his jaw. “No? I didn’t think so. Well, I have, and I’m inclined to believe Odion. But since the rest of you don’t, let’s test him. I saw Gannajero twenty-two summers ago. She was just getting started in her ‘business.’ My village had been attacked. I was tied up, being held hostage, when she came in to buy children from the victorious warriors. I will never forget her face—though I realize she is older now, some things never change. So, Odion, tell me what she looks like.”

Odion lifted his head, and the tendons in his neck stood out. “She has seen maybe forty summers. Graying black hair hangs in greasy twists around her wrinkled face, and her eyes are black pits. Empty. Her toothless mouth is puckered, and her nose looks like a sun-withered plum. She has a hoarse voice; it sounds like sandstone boulders rubbing together.”

While he talked, Maunbisek’s expression slackened. The old man wet his lips and looked away. “Well, that’s enough for me. The eyes and voice are the same. Believe me, once you’ve looked into those soulless eyes and heard that voice, you never forget. The age is correct, too.” He glanced at the other elders. “She’s back. And she was Trading for
our
children last night, buying them from the warriors who destroyed our village.”

As Grandmother Moon rose higher into the night sky, the deep wrinkles that lined the elders’ faces resembled thick black spiderwebs. They muttered softly to each other for a time.

Koracoo said, “She still has one Yellowtail Village boy, a child named Wrass—and many other children from a variety of villages. We mean to find them. We’ll be leaving at dawn.”

“Maybe you will. Maybe you won’t,” Shara said. “You said your children were being held in the warriors’ camp last night?”

“Just outside. In the forest. I suspect Gannajero is too smart to ply her Trade openly. That’s why she wore a disguise. If the warriors had known who she was, they would have killed her instantly.”

“Except for her despicable clients, you mean,” Maunbisek said.

“Yes.”

Kinna and Winooski leaned sideways to speak softly; then Kinna asked, “There were children from other villages with her, more than just Yellowtail children?

“Yes. I know for certain that Chief Atotarho’s daughter, Zateri, was there, and—”

“Atotarho?” Kinna half shouted. “He is evil! A
Tsi-noo.
How do you know his daughter was there?”

Koracoo frowned and glanced curiously around at the elders. “What does
Tsi-noo
mean? I don’t know that word.”

“A
Tsi-noo
has no soul. He lives by eating the souls of others. His heart is made of ice.
Are you helping him?
”

Koracoo replied, “We will rescue his daughter, Zateri, if we can. We will also rescue any other child who happens to be in Gannajero’s possession when we attack. Including yours.”

Nervous whispers filtered through the elders. While they talked, Wakdanek knelt beside Koracoo and quietly asked, “Did your children see any of the girls she bought last night?”

Koracoo turned to Odion. “Can you answer that, Odion?”

He nodded. “I think she bought five children. Three were girls. But I only saw them from far away. They were roped together.”

Wakdanek softly said, “My daughter, Conkesema, has seen ten summers. She has long black hair—it hangs to her waist—and a small scar on her forehead.” He lifted a hand and drew it across his left temple. “Did you see her?”

Odion tilted his head uncertainly, and the moonlight reflected from his round face, turning it a pale sickly color. “Maybe. There was a girl about ten summers with waist-length black hair, but I wasn’t close enough to see the scar.”