The Dawn Country(105)
“Towa!” a man yelled from the right, and Odion glimpsed the man running at the edge of the warriors. He had seen perhaps thirty-five summers and had gray-speckled long hair. “Are you all right?”
Towa lifted a hand, and called, “I’m fine, Father! I’ll see you soon. Tell Sindak’s parents he is well, also.”
“I will!”
When they approached her longhouse, tears filled Zateri’s eyes.
Odion asked, “Are you all right?”
“Yes, I just never thought I’d see home again.” Her gaze lifted to the two massive log pillars carved with faces and painted in rich shades of red, blue, black, and pure white that stood outside the door. “All of my life, every summer, I’ve watched people repaint the Faces that protect our longhouse. They are like old friends looking down upon me.”
She reached out as though she longed to touch them, to speak with their Spirits, but Nesi drew back the leather curtain that held in the longhouse warmth and ordered, “Hurry. Get inside before I have a riot to put down.”
As Mother and Father passed War Chief Nesi, they exchanged threatening glances, and Odion wondered if they’d met before. Perhaps in battle?
Odion ducked into the longhouse still holding Zateri’s hand, and Nesi said, “Lonkol, I want half of the warriors guarding this end of the house, and other half stationed at the opposite end.”
“Yes, Nesi.”
Feet pounded the frozen ground as men trotted away. Odion blinked, trying to rush his eyes into adjusting to the firelit darkness. He’d been staring at brilliant sunlight reflecting from snow for forty-three days. It would likely take a while to adjust.
All he could see now were the forty fires that burned down the length of the house. They resembled a chain of amber beads. As his vision began to clear, he looked up. High over his head, blue wood smoke crept along the ceiling until it was sucked out through the smoke holes. Cornstalks, vines of squashes, and beans, as well as whole sunflowers hung from the rafters, curing in the rising smoke. The sudden warmth made him shiver.
“Grandmother?” Zateri called, her voice breaking. “Mother?”
She released Odion’s hand and lunged forward to run down the length of the house, but Nesi grabbed her arm as she passed him. “Stay here. Your father is coming.” Scars crisscrossed his face like thick white worms. They writhed when he glowered at her.
“But, Nesi, I live here. Why can’t I go look for Mother?”
“Ask your father when he arrives.”
Zateri swallowed her hope and returned to stand beside Odion. “Something’s wrong,” she whispered.
“It may be nothing. Don’t worry yet.”
His gaze drifted, searching the low shelves stuffed with pots, baskets, and personal belongings, and the sleeping benches that lined the walls above them. Bark partitions separated each family’s space, providing some privacy. And far away, down at the end of the house, people were gathered. Soft voices echoed.
Koracoo, Gonda, and Towa moved closer together and spoke in whispers. Their expressions made Odion’s belly knot up.
“Where’s our father?” Hehaka whispered as he edged forward to stand beside Zateri. Fear tensed his triangular face, and his bat nose wriggled as he smelled the air.
Zateri balled her fists. “I don’t know. Probably down there.”
“What’s he doing?”
For a long moment the question didn’t make sense. The gathering was obviously a village council meeting. Then it occurred to Odion that Hehaka had not been raised in a longhouse or even in a village. He’d spent his entire life moving from camp to camp with a small party of outcast warriors. He knew nothing of village life.
Zateri explained, “Each clan has its own council, but the village also has one big council of clan elders. This is the village council.”
Hehaka’s small black eyes narrowed. “I don’t like this. I don’t want to be here. Who are the people standing on the right?”
“Those are the Speakers. Different groups elect one person to communicate their decisions. There is a Speaker for the Women, a Speaker for the Warriors, each clan has a Speaker, and there are many more.”
Hehaka folded his arms beneath his cape, looking worried and confused.
“Don’t worry, you’ll learn quickly. I’ll help you. You … you’re my brother.”
An old man with a crooked body broke away from the group and hobbled toward them. Zateri took a deep breath.
“Is that your father?” Odion asked.
“Yes. I’m not sure how to feel.”
She had learned things about her father that no child should know. After hearing that he’d sold his younger sister and brother when they’d seen eight summers, her eyes probably saw him differently.