People of the Longhouse(106)

Sindak ground his teeth for a time, then whispered, “Don’t go to sleep yet. There’s something I want to discuss with you.”

“What?”

Sindak glanced at the children; then he swiveled around and, barely audible, said, “I almost fainted when I first heard Gonda call his son’s name.”

Towa’s bushy brows drew together. “Why?”

“Do you remember the night I was late getting to the fork in the trail?”

“The night you were chased by the warriors?”

Sindak nodded. “I swear the man wearing the herringbone sandals was calling a name: Odion.”

Towa shrugged. “That doesn’t mean anything. There are probably dozens of Standing Stone boys named that.”

“But why would a warrior chasing me call that name?”

Towa braced himself up on one elbow. “Are you suggesting that he wasn’t chasing you? He was chasing Koracoo’s son?”

“I don’t know what I’m suggesting. Maybe he was. Or maybe he was trying to tell me that Odion was close, and I should follow him. I don’t know, but—”

The pretty little girl, Tutelo, sat up and peered at them with large dark eyes. A halo of black tangles framed her face. She hissed, “It was Shago-niyoh. The Child. He’s been calling Odion for days.”

“You have ears like a bat,” Sindak said. “Go back to sleep.”

“It was Shago-niyoh,” she repeated.

“Who’s Shago-niyoh?” Towa asked.

Tutelo eased away from the other exhausted children and crawled toward them. She got on her knees beside Towa and whispered, “He’s a human False Face.”

Towa suppressed a smile. “Is he? Did you see him with your own eyes?”

“Yes,” she answered firmly. “He’s tall and has a crooked nose and a long black cape.”

Teasing, Towa asked, “He doesn’t wear herringbone-weave sandals, does he? That would answer a lot of our questions.”

In a deadly earnest voice, Tutelo replied, “He wears sandals, but I’ve never seen the weave.”

A chill tingled Sindak’s spine. The little girl was utterly serious. He glanced at Towa. His friend had a skeptical expression on his face. Sindak shifted to prepare himself, and asked, “So … this Shago-niyoh has spoken to you?”

“Oh, yes, he came to visit us many times when we were slaves. He was trying to help us escape.”

As though half-amused, but a little worried, too, Towa said, “Does he wear one of these?” He reached into his cape and pulled out the gorget. It was so big it rested like a magnificent shell platter on his chest.

Tutelo moved closer and reached out to touch it. “No, but … this is beautiful. Look at the shooting stars! Who made it?”

“Well, our legends say that two of these were created during the Beginning Time. The human False Face who is to come will …” His voice dwindled to nothing. He was staring over Sindak’s shoulder.

Sindak jerked around expecting to see a war party rushing them.

Instead, Hehaka was sitting up. His mouth opened and closed, as though he couldn’t speak. Finally his finger snaked from beneath his cape, and he croaked, “What—what is that?”

“It’s a sacred gorget,” Towa explained. “It chronicles the story of the death of Horned Serpent. There’s no reason to be afraid. It’s just a carved shell.”

Hehaka shivered. “My father had one like that … I think.”

“Your father?”

Hehaka shook his head. “Yes, I think that’s who the man was. I’m not sure. I remember almost nothing about my family or village. But I remember that. It used to swing above my eyes when the man bent over to kiss me at night.” He hugged himself as though the memory hurt. “The last time I saw it, I was four summers. That’s when I became Gannajero’s slave.”

As though disparate puzzle pieces were being pulled together from across vast distances, Sindak’s heart thundered. “What’s your nation? Are you from the Hills People?”

Hehaka lifted his nose and sniffed the air, as though scenting them again. “I don’t know. Why?”

Towa started to answer, but Sindak cut him off. “No reason,” he said. “Go back to sleep, both of you. We’re going to run your legs off tomorrow.”

Hehaka reluctantly curled up on his side, and Tutelo crawled back beside her brother. But instead of closing her eyes, she kept staring at them.

Sindak positioned himself so that his back was to her and his body blocked Towa from her view, then whispered, “It’s not possible, is it?”

Towa gestured lamely with his hand. “It was seven summers ago. Why not?” Towa gave him a knowing look, stretched out on the ground, and pulled his blanket up to his chin. “Sleep, Sindak. You’re going to need it.”