“Then …” Gonda’s belly knotted. “She may not have just arrived here. She may have been here for moons?”
“It’s possible. Though I suspect not. We almost caught her last time. She knows she must use great care.”
Trancelike, Koracoo sat perfectly still, but she said, “Please, go on with what you were saying. You said that twenty summers ago, you thought you understood how she worked. How?”
“We kept watch on her meeting places. She hired men to leave children’s toys at specific locations. For example, if she would be at that location to purchase children in five days, the hired men left five toys. Each day that passed, one toy would disappear, until the final day when the man cut the last toy in half, indicating that she would be there that day.”
Koracoo straightened. It was a subtle movement. Gonda doubted the chief even noticed, but Gonda understood. Koracoo was remembering the clearing where they’d found the baby. The cornhusk doll had been torn in half.
A coincidence. Our children were taken by Mountain People warriors. …
“It would help me”—Koracoo’s voice was slow and precise—“if you told me everything you know about Gannajero. Who is she? Where is she from? I know only old stories that make her sound more like a Spirit than a human being.”
A gust of wind penetrated around the door, and the golden lamplight cast their shadows like leaping animals upon the walls.
Atotarho clasped his hands in his lap. “I don’t know much. No one does. They say she was born among the Flint or Hills Peoples. Her grandmother was supposedly a clan elder, a powerful woman. But during a raid when Gannajero was eight, she was stolen and sold into slavery to the Mountain People. Then sold again, and again. She was apparently a violent child. Several times, she was beaten almost to death by her owners.”
“And now she does the same thing to other children?” The hatred in Gonda’s voice made Atotarho and Koracoo turn. “What sort of men would help her? How does she find them?”
“I wish I knew. Twenty summers ago, we thought they were all outcasts, men who had no families or villages. Then we discovered one of her men among our own. He was my sister’s son, Jonil. A man of status and reputation. He’d been sending her information about planned raids, then capturing enemy children and selling them to her.”
Gonda clenched his fists. Warfare provided opportunities for greedy men that were not available in times of peace. Since many slaves were taken during attacks, it was easy to siphon off a few and sell them to men who no longer saw them as human. War did that. It turned people into things. It gave men an opportunity to vent their rage and hatred in perverted ways that their home villages would never have allowed.
“Why?” Gonda blurted. “Why did he do it?”
Atotarho bowed his head, and the shadows of his eyelashes darkened his cheeks. “She rewards her servants well. When we searched Jonil’s place in the longhouse, we found unbelievable riches—exotic trade goods like obsidian and buffalo wool from the far west. Conch shells from the southern ocean. An entire basket of pounded copper sheets covered with strings of pearls and magnificently etched shell gorgets.”
Koracoo sat quietly for a time, thinking, before she said, “That means it will be difficult to buy the children back.”
“Virtually impossible. She profits enormously from her captives. With all the stealing and raiding going on, there are too many evil men with great wealth.”
Koracoo toyed with the hem of her cape, smoothing it between her fingers. Gonda frowned. Had she been hoping they could simply buy the children back and be on their way? Where had she planned to get the wealth? They were carrying almost nothing with them—just their capes, canteens, small belt pouches, and a few weapons.
“But …” Atotarho broke the silence. “If my daughter is being held captive with your children, I will give you whatever I have to get all of them back.”
Koracoo held his gaze, judging the truthfulness of his words. Atotarho looked her straight in the eyes without blinking. Finally, Koracoo asked, “Why would you buy our children? We are your enemies.”
“If you are willing to risk your lives to save my daughter, you are not my enemy.”
Gonda sat stunned. The night had gone utterly quiet. The guards must be holding their breaths, listening. Very softly Koracoo asked, “Why haven’t you already mounted a search party and sent them out with this same offer? Surely you can trust your own handpicked warriors more than you can us.”
Atotarho looked over his shoulder, glanced at the door behind him, and whispered, “No. The attack on my trading party was well organized, and they went straight for my beautiful daughter.” His knobby hand clenched to a fist. “As there was many summers ago, I fear there is a traitor here. So, you see, I would rather trust an enemy who shares my interests … than a friend who may not.”