People of the Longhouse(28)
Koracoo’s gaze roamed the firelit shadows for thirty heartbeats—long enough that Atotarho began to fidget. When she looked back, she said, “Tell me more about your trading mission. It’s autumn. Many villages have had poor harvests. Raiders are on every trail, Chief, stealing what they can. Especially stealing women and children to replace the family members they’ve lost. Why would you risk going out at such a time? What were you trading for?”
His long face slackened, making his eyes seem larger. “Ocean pearls and salted seafood. Why?”
“Just curious,” Koracoo answered calmly, then added, “We will need to discuss your offer.”
“I understand.” The chief groaned as he rose to his feet, and the circlets of skull that covered his cape flashed. I’ll leave you the lamp; it will provide a little warmth until the oil runs out.” The effort of rising seemed to have cost him all of his strength.
He stood panting for a time before he said, “Many of my people believe I am the human False Face prophesied in our legends. The Spirit-Man who will save the world. It has never been an easy title to bear. Especially now when I cannot even save my own daughter.” Without making a sound, he turned and started for the door. “Let me know your decision as soon as you’ve made it, and I—”
“One last thing.”
He turned. “Yes?”
“What assurances do we have that you will keep your part of this bargain? Gannajero will not believe me if I tell her you will pay her later.”
Atotarho braced his hand against the door to steady himself. “I will send a man with you who can verify my offer. Now sleep for as long as you can. If you choose to accept, the next few days will not be pleasant for you.” He pounded on the door. “Guards? I’m ready to leave.”
The door opened, and he stepped into the night.
Gonda watched him walk away with his personal guards. The remaining guards whispered to each other, then turned to stare in at Koracoo and Gonda.
Koracoo asked, “How much did you hear, Sindak?”
The shorter man replied, “Not nearly enough, War Chief.”
The door swung closed. After the locking plank fell into place, Koracoo said, “I feel the same way.”
“As do I,” Gonda whispered.
An excited conversation erupted outside.
Sindak hissed, “By the Spirits, I would hate to be the warrior he sends with Koracoo. He’ll be asking for a stiletto between the ribs.”
“She won’t kill him. She can’t. He’s her lifeline to saving her own children. Besides, that would be the least of my worries.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, I’d be far more afraid of what Atotarho would do to me if I failed to bring his daughter home safe and sound.”
“Oh,” Sindak said. “That is terrifying. I’ve always worried that someday my own people would turn me into a feast.”
Gonda looked at Koracoo. She hadn’t moved. “Are you all right?”
“As well as I can be after a discussion about Gannajero.”
“Forget about her. Our children were captured by Mountain warriors. Not Gannajero. She died long ago.” He grunted. “If she ever actually lived.”
For a long time, Koracoo stared at the lamp’s flame, as though deep in thought; then she stretched out on her side.
Gonda curled up on the other side of the lamp. The faint warmth was a balm on his face.
The warriors continued talking outside.
Sindak asked, “Have you ever heard of Gannajero?”
“She’s a myth.”
“How do you know? We hadn’t even been born the last time she was in this country.”
“True. But if she’s as bad as Atotarho said, there would be many stories about her evil deeds.”
“Maybe there are stories, but we haven’t heard her name because our people are forbidden to speak it—as we are forbidden to speak the names of outcasts.”
There was a pause, then Sindak said, “Well, one thing is for certain—if she exists, someone needs to kill her.”
“Yes, she …” His voice went too low to hear.
A breath of wind penetrated around the door, fluttering the lamp’s flame and filling the house with the scent of mildew.
“Gannajero. The crow,” Koracoo whispered.
“What?”
“Gannajero the crow. Black. Black as coal. It was a song we sang as children. My father used to threaten me when I was bad, tell me that he was going to sell me to Gannajero.”
Gonda opened one eye to stare at her. “Your father was a stiff-necked old villain. I never liked him.”
After a long pause, Koracoo said, “Not many did.”