Tutelo shakes her head. “No. He wasn’t a warrior.”
“How do you know?”
“He didn’t have any weapons.”
My gaze roams the clearing while I consider this. Every man in camp carries a weapon. Quivers bristle with arrows, and belts are heavy-laden with knives, clubs, and human arm-bone stilettos. We are at war. No one can risk being without a weapon.
“He’s a human False Face.”
“Who is?”
“The man. Can you tell me the story again?”
It takes me a few moments to stop thinking about the man in the forest and understand she’s moved on to a new topic. Since the Flint girls were hauled out into the forest, Tutelo has been acting strangely. She found a twig on the ground earlier and has refused to let go of it. She has been clutching it all night long, and this has been a night of desperate nightmares for her. She’s awakened me several times, crying; then she twists away from me when I try to touch her. I imagine that in her dreams she is running … running with every bit of her strength. But now, suddenly, she is smiling and longing to hear me tell her stories.
“What story?”
“About the human False Face.”
“Do you mean the story about the end of the world, or the contest between Hawenniyo, the Master, and Shagodyowehgowah, the Great False Face?”
“Either one.”
I take a breath and think about where to begin. The entire story takes too long. “Well … the ending is the most interesting part, so I’ll start there. In the Beginning Time, the Master was wandering around inspecting creation when he met the Great False Face. The Great False Face was a huge man who lived far west at the edge of the world. The Master and the Great False Face got into an argument about who created and owned the earth. To solve the argument, they decided to have a contest to see who could command the mountains to move. Whoever made the distant mountains come the closest would win. They both sat down with their backs to the mountains. The Great False Face, Shagodyowehgowah, shook his magical turtle shell rattle—”
“And the mountains moved,” Tutelo filled in.
“Yes, but only a finger’s width. Then Hawenniyo lifted his hand and called to the mountains in a great roar, and the mountains immediately moved to rest right behind him. The Great False Face, who was impatient to see how far the mountains had moved, spun around very fast and—”
“Smashed his face into the mountain!” Tutelo smiled.
“That’s right. He broke his nose and jaw. That’s why the Faces today all have bent noses and crooked mouths.”
Tutelo giggles happily and buries her face in the folds of my sleeve.
I pat her back, and stare across the clearing. The warriors do not seem to hear us.
“Like the man,” Tutelo says. “He has a crooked nose. Maybe we should give him a name, like Shago-niyoh?”
I don’t answer for a time. “You think he’s a combination of Shagodyowehgowah and Hawenniyo? That would make him very powerful.”
“He is very powerful.”
Fear moves like a cold wave through me. If she did see something it might be one of the hanehwa. Witches flayed human beings whole and used their skins to serve as guards. Hanehwa never slept. They warned witches of a stranger’s coming by shouting three times. Cautiously, I ask, “So he had a crooked nose. What else did he look like?”
Tutelo softly hums to herself and kicks one foot. “He was very tall and handsome—except for his crooked nose—and he had a shining face and cape.”
“You mean they shone in the moonlight?”
She shrugged as though she didn’t know.
“Did the man speak to you?”
Tutelo blinks. “Why? Are you afraid of him?”
“A little.”
She holds out her twig, and in a frightened whisper asks, “Do you want to hold the club?”
She keeps a tight hold on one end of the twig, but hands up the other end for me to grasp. I wrap my fingers around it.
“Thank you, Tutelo.”
It’s a war club. I should have known. Mother sleeps with her war club across her chest. Every time I wake in the night and see her holding CorpseEye, I know I am safe.
Tutelo’s fingers creep up the twig to touch mine. She sighs.
Did she really see a man? I doubt it. How could a stranger have gotten so close without raising an alarm? He must have been one of Gannajero’s warriors but …
Odion.
I stiffen. I swear someone whispered my name. I stare around the forest, searching, before I say, “Did you hear that?”
“He’s a human False Face.” Tutelo’s voice is sleepy. She yawns. “If I went to the Land of the Dead, he would stay here with you.”