Auma’s brown eyes glistened in the starlight. “How long have you been a slave?”
“I think it’s been most of a moon now. I’m not sure. My m-memory is shaky.”
Her eyes tightened. “Can you tell us what’s going to happen to us?”
Toksus stopped whimpering to listen.
Wrass considered, then chose the truth. “The worst you can imagine. You will obey, or be beaten with war clubs for the slightest offense. Men will come to Trade for time with you … and they’ll do things that would get them killed back home.”
They glanced at each other with wide eyes, and Wrass knew exactly what they must be thinking, because he’d thought the same things the first night on the trail.
Auma blurted, “What are you talking about! The men will take us home and adopt us into their families. That’s how it works!”
“Yes. Normally,” Wrass replied. “But this is Gannajero. Sometimes the child is killed when the man is through with her. Some are marched away never to be seen again. Some are just purchased for the night.”
Toksus choked on a suffering sound.
Auma swallowed hard. In a dread voice, she said, “I don’t believe it. We’re just children. If any man did that, his own relatives would hunt him down and kill him as something sick … soul-diseased!”
“They would,” Wrass nodded. “If anyone found out. That’s why they march for days to find Gannajero the Crow. They—”
Toksus gasped a breath, and everyone went stone still. He stared at them for a few instants, then leaned forward and in a hushed little-boy voice, sang, “The Crow comes, the Crow comes, pity the little children, beat the drum, beat the drum, grab the young, and run, run, run.”
“Where did you hear that?” Auma asked.
He looked around the circle. “My grandmother used to sing me that song when I was little, to scare me. Is it about her? About Gannajero?”
All of their gazes shifted to the old woman standing amid the willows and silver maples. She might have been paralyzed, her head cocked as she stared up into the bare branches.
Wrass said, “Probably.”
“There has to be something we can do,” Auma hissed in panic. “We—”
“There are some things … .” Wrass felt suddenly dizzy. He closed his eyes. The emotions affected his headache like stone hammers striking his skull. His nausea was getting worse.
“What?” Toksus asked.
Wrass took several deep breaths to steady himself. “First, d-don’t cry. After a while, it irritates the warriors. They’ll thump your skull to stop you. Second, just do whatever they tell you to. Don’t argue. Don’t complain. Just … do it. The less trouble you are, the longer you will live.”
No one said a word. They just sat in the canoe, breathing hard.
Finally, Auma turned to him and gestured to his swollen, battered face. “You must not have listened to your own advice.”
Despite his thundering headache, Wrass smiled. “I helped four friends escape last night. The miracle is that the warriors didn’t kill me for it.”
“It looks like they tried,” Auma noted.
“Did they make it?” Toksus propped himself up on his elbows. “Did your friends escape?”
“Yes.” Tears leaked from the corners of his eyes. He might not do anything else right for the rest of his life, but last night … he had. Odion, Tutelo, Baji, and Hehaka were free. Safe.
Auma frowned out at Gannajero. The woman gave a crowlike cackle and began to pace. Her hunched figure passed back and forth through the tree-filtered starlight. Over the lapping of waves and the faint sigh of wind through the branches, Wrass could hear her talking to herself, the words indistinct mumbles.
Kotin stood just up from the bow, hands propped on his hips, lips pressed into a hard line. He didn’t seem eager to interrupt the conversation the old woman was having with herself.
Auma said, “Who is Hehaka? Do you know?”
“One of the boys I helped escape.”
“Why does she want to go back and find him? With all the warfare, she can Trade for plenty of boys.”
Two warriors—apparently out of patience—climbed out of the second canoe and stalked over to Kotin. Their low voices were barely audible over the sounds of the river, but they wore worried expressions. They kept gesturing to Gannajero.
Wrass glanced across at the canoe they’d left, seeing his friend Zateri raise her head. She gave the warriors a wary look, then met Wrass’ eyes. He could see her concern as she took in his battered and swollen face.
Wrass turned his attention back to the warriors, trying to read their lips. To Auma, he said, “There was something special about Hehaka. He’d been her captive for seven summers. He—”