The Dawn Country(106)
“No matter what he’s done, he’s still your father, Zateri,” Odion said.
“I know.” Her gaze clung to him.
He must have seen over fifty summers. As he came closer, Odion saw that he had braided rattlesnake skins into his gray-streaked black hair, then coiled it into a bun at the base of his head and secured it with a wooden comb. The style gave his narrow face a starved look. He wore a beautiful black cape covered with circlets cut from human skulls.
Gonda said to Koracoo, “Here it comes.”
Koracoo straightened and squared her shoulders, as though anticipating a fight. “Towa, are you ready?”
“Yes,” he responded softly. In the firelight, Odion saw his handsome face go hard.
Chief Atotarho stopped two paces away, knelt, and opened his arms. “Zateri, I’ve missed you so much.”
She let out a small incoherent cry and threw herself into his arms, crying, “Father, I’m so glad to be home.” The last word turned into a high-pitched wail.
The chief crushed her against his chest and kissed her hair. “Forgive me for everything you’ve gone through,” he said. “I would have gone through it for you, if I could have.”
“It’s all right,” she sobbed. “I’m home now. Where’s Mother?”
He pushed her back to look into her eyes. “She’ll be here soon.”
At the far end of the longhouse, the council members began leaving. The curtain lifted over and over, allowing in long rectangles of sunlight. A handful of people remained. They stood like dark pillars, watching.
Chief Atotarho gently touched Zateri’s cheek and rose to face Koracoo. She spread her feet.
The chief asked, “She’s dead?”
“Yes.”
Atotarho briefly closed his eyes, as though the news grieved him.
Koracoo said, “I assume you do not want to speak further in front of the children.”
Atotarho opened his eyes. “I must. After what they’ve been through, they deserve to know the truth.”
Koracoo gave him a suspicious look. The blue buffalo painted in the middle of her red cape seemed to walk with her uneasy movements. Finally, she nodded. “Very well.”
Atotarho put a hand on Zateri’s shoulder. “Someday Zateri will lead this clan, and perhaps this nation. The things she is about to hear may help her do that.” He looked down at Zateri, and his eyes tightened. “But they will not be easy for you. Do you understand?”
She glanced at Koracoo’s distrustful expression, then at Odion, and finally looked back at her Father. “Yes.”
Atotarho had not asked a single question about Hehaka, and Odion saw Hehaka fidgeting, perhaps longing to be held as Zateri had been, or just simply to be acknowledged. The chief stared only at Koracoo.
“You must have many questions, War Chief. Ask. I will answer, if I can.”
With only the barest hesitation, Koracoo said, “You used your own daughter as bait. Why?”
A swallow went down Atotarho’s throat. “It had to end. I had to stop her. It was the only way I knew.”
It was as though the earth beneath Odion’s feet had suddenly turned to mud and was sucking him down into the dark underworlds. It’s true, then. Hallowed Ancestors, he sold Zateri … .
Mother tilted her head to stare at Atotarho, and it was like Eagle spying Mouse. Her intent was deadly. “And you lied to us.”
“You mean about what happened to my brother and sister. I—”
“Is it true that you sold them when they’d seen only eight summers?” Gonda demanded to know. His short black hair glistened in the firelight.
“Yes.” Atotarho’s voice was so low, we almost couldn’t hear it. “But there’s much more to the story.”
“So, she didn’t tell us everything?” Koracoo asked.
A brief flicker of panic touched Atotarho’s expression, but it vanished quickly. Cautiously, he asked, “What did she tell you?”
Koracoo didn’t move a muscle. She didn’t blink. She just stared at the chief with burning eyes.
Atotarho looked away. “Well, it doesn’t matter what she told you.” He smoothed a hand over Zateri’s hair. “It started when Jonodak—that was her name—had seen eight summers.”
The circlets of skull that decorated his black cape flashed as he opened his palms to Koracoo. “She hurt her twin brother first. They’d been inseparable. No one would have ever—”
“How did she hurt him?”
Atotarho pulled his hands back. Koracoo’s interruption was an insult to the chief. If she had been a Hills warrior she’d probably be dead in a less than a handful of heartbeats.