People of the Longhouse(16)

My gaze jerks back to Wrass. His jaw is clenched so hard his head is trembling. Rage lights his dark eyes. His fists are working, opening and closing as though gripping imaginary war clubs.

The other two Flint girls are thrown to the ground, and the men fall upon them. One flails her arms and tries to kick her attacker, but he slaps her into submission. The other girl lies limply, as though dead.

When the man who has the girl against the tree finishes, he pulls away and another man takes his place.

Wrass’ expression suddenly slackens, as though in understanding.

And then I understand, too.

Gannajero is a Trader. But she Trades in things men would be killed for in their own villages. These are children, not women. To couple with a girl before she exits the Women’s House is considered the most insidious of crimes. Only incest with a child is worse. If a man forced a girl to couple with him in any village in the country, he would be hunted down and murdered.

But here in the wilderness, they simply have to pay enough.

Hehaka glances at the men, then crawls back over. As though my ears have opened up, I clearly hear him say, “Sometimes the men want boys. You should be ready. They’re going to hurt you.”

“Tonight?” Wrass asks.

Hehaka shrugs. “I don’t know. Maybe.”

There is a tornado building inside Wrass. I see it spinning, forming. His dark eyes have a wet savage glitter. He seems to sense my agony. He says, “Hehaka is just guessing. How could he know that?”

Hehaka crawls closer and whispers, “I know. Believe me. There are a few men who keep coming back just for me.”

The pride in his voice shakes me to the bones.

“What do they make you do?” Wrass asks.

“Sometimes they just want to lie with me. Other times, they burn me with sticks, or they tie me up and cut my flesh with stone knives. See these scars?” He pulls up his sleeves, and Wrass and I gape at the white lines that crisscross his tanned skin. I swear there are hundreds of them, small and thin. Some appear to be punctures.

Wrass licks his lips nervously. “Gods! What’s the matter with you? Why don’t you run away?”

Hehaka pulls his sleeves down. “I’ve run away many times. The old woman always finds me and brings me back. Once, about four moons ago, I tried to kill myself.” He turns so that we can see the scar that slashes his neck. “I took a chert flake and ripped open the big artery in my throat.”

I shrink away from Hehaka, but Wrass leans closer for a good look. “Why didn’t you die? You should have bled to death in a few hundred heartbeats.”

“Yes, but she’s a witch. She stopped my bleeding with a wave of her hand; then she turned herself into a crow and flew out into the forest. She found my wandering afterlife soul and shoved it back in my body. She won’t let me die.”

I start swallowing convulsively. A thin wail is leaching up through my lungs … .

Tutelo’s cold hand snakes through the grass and grasps mine. I did not know until this moment that she was awake. I feel as if my insides are melting. I whisper, “I’m right here, Tutelo.”

“Odion? I—I’m afraid.”

I squeeze her hand. “Try to sleep. We need to rest as much as we can, so we’re strong enough to fight them when Mother and Father get here to rescue us.”

Hehaka snickers at this, and Wrass grabs him by the hair and punches him solidly in the mouth.

Hehaka shrieks and scrambles away. Our guards turn. In a bored voice, Ugly says, “Why did you strike Hehaka?”

Wrass mumbles, “I don’t like him.”

“You want me to hit you?” Ugly waves his war club.

“No.”

“Then stop causing me trouble, boy!”

Wrass lowers his gaze and seems to be staring submissively at his moccasins. Ugly turns away to gleefully watch what’s happening to the Flint girls, and Wrass whispers, “When I have the chance, he’s the first one I’m going to kill. Then I—”

A hoarse roar goes up, and we both spin around. Two of the gamblers have gotten into a fight over the girl by the tree. They circle each other with their knives held low, grinning and calling insults.

“She’s mine, Hodigo! You told me I could have her after you were finished!”

“Yes, but I’m not finished, you worthless cur! Wait your turn!”

Hodigo lunges with such swiftness his opponent has no time to evade the blade; it sinks deep in the man’s belly. Hodigo whoops in victory and dances back.

Gannajero says, “Stop it! No fighting. You know the rules!” She rushes toward them as fast as her old legs will carry her. The feather is clenched in her right hand.

“You stabbed me!” The man wipes at the dark blood that drenches his hide shirt. “Blessed Spirits, you punctured a gut!”