People of the Longhouse(26)

Their people had been at war for decades. It was a fair question.

Koracoo rose to her feet. “You have my oath, Chief. Whatever we say here remains between us.”

Gonda got to his feet and stood beside her. “You have my oath, as well.”

Atotarho came forward with great difficulty. “Forgive me; I cannot stand for long. I need to sit down.” He lowered himself to sit upon the cold dirt floor and placed his oil lamp in front of him. “Please, join me.” He gestured to the floor, and Gonda noticed that his fingertips were tattooed with snake eyes, and he wore bracelets of human finger bones. “This will not be an easy conversation for any of us.”

Gonda and Koracoo sat down.

Koracoo asked, “What is it you wish to discuss?”

He didn’t seem to hear. His gaze was locked on the lamp. The fragrance of walnut oil perfumed the air. Finally, he whispered, “Stories have been traveling the trails for several moons, but only I believed them. She has been gone for many summers—perhaps as long as twenty, though no one can be sure. She’s very cunning.”

Koracoo seemed to stop breathing. “Who?”

Atotarho bowed his head. “Have you heard the name Gannajero?”

Gonda felt like the earth had been kicked out from under him. More legend than human, hideous stories swirled about Gannajero. She was a Trader who specialized in child slaves. Evil incarnate. A beast in the form of an old woman.

Koracoo softly answered, “Yes. I’ve heard of her.”

Atotarho continued. “Rumors say that she has returned to our country. Many villages are missing children. I have been … so afraid …” He rubbed a hand over his face.

“That your daughter was with her?”

He seemed to be trying to control his voice. “Yes. All day, every day, I pray to the gods to let my Zateri die if she is with Gannajero. I would prefer it. Anything would be b-better … .”

Koracoo gave him a few moments to continue. When it was clear he could not, she said, “I understand.”

Atotarho’s mouth trembled. “No, I do not think you do. You are too young. When she was last here, you were not even a woman yet, were you?”

“I had seen only seven summers, but I recall hearing my family whisper about Gannajero, and it was with great dread.”

Atotarho extended his hands to the lamp as if to warm them. His misshapen knuckles resembled knotted twigs. “When I had seen five summers, my older brother and sister were captured in a raid. My sister was killed, but my brother was sold to an old man among the Flint People. I heard many summers later that my brother was utterly mad. His nightmares used to wake the entire village. Sometimes he screamed all night long. He eventually killed the old man, slit his throat, and ran away into the forest. No one ever saw him again.”

“Our people, also, have lost many children in such raids.”

Gonda looked from Atotarho to Koracoo, watching their expressions. Neither trusted the other, and Gonda wondered what Atotarho might be telling them if they did.

Gonda asked, “What makes you think Gannajero is behind these recent kidnappings? They could be ordinary raids for women and children. In that case, the children are all well and being adopted into families as we speak.”

“I pray that is so, but if Gannajero is behind these kidnappings, our children are not well.” The chief’s eyes narrowed against some inner pain. “My daughter was studying to become a Healer. She knows Spirit plants and how to make poultices. I pray it is enough to allow her to survive Gannajero’s torments.”

In a deadly earnest voice, Koracoo said, “If Gannajero harms any of our children, I will find her. I promise you that.”

“Perhaps, but many have tried before you. No one has ever been able to track her. Her trail just seems to disappear. It is said that she has many hanehwa at her command, and they help her mislead her pursuers.”

Hanehwa were human skins that had been flayed whole by a witch and served as guards. These skin beings never slept. They warned witches of a pursuer by giving three shouts.

Atotarho opened his mouth to continue, then hesitated.

“Go on.”

He looked at Koracoo with shining eyes. “The men she travels with are evil, mostly outcast warriors who enjoy getting rich off the suffering of children. If the children are lucky, they do not live long. Two or three moons, perhaps.”

It took all of Gonda’s strength to keep his thoughts from straying to Odion and Tutelo.

The lamp flickered when Gonda abruptly leaned forward. “Let’s talk about how she accomplishes all this. How do men know where to meet her? To bring her the children?”

Atotarho shook his head. “No one is sure. The last time she was in our country, we thought we understood how she worked. She usually arrived moons before she actually began buying children. The time allowed her to set up her contacts, prepare her trails and meeting places, assemble her men. She—”