The Dawn Country(108)

Zateri stared up at her father with her eyes narrowed, clearly not sure she believed him.

Koracoo glanced at Zateri, then propped her hands on her hips. Her red cape flared out, pulling the blue buffalo tight across the middle of her chest. “We heard a different story about Hehaka.”

The chief shrugged. “I’m sure you did.” He turned to Towa. “I assume you brought the clan’s sacred gorget back?”

Towa tugged the leather thong over his head and extended the broken gorget. “Your sister broke it. We couldn’t find the other half in the snow.”

Atotarho grasped the gorget and angrily pulled it from Towa’s fingers. As he frowned at the broken shell, he said, “I’ll dispatch someone to see if he can find the other half.”

“Very well.”

Atotarho hesitated before he asked, “Did you bury her?”

Koracoo vented a low laugh, and the chief’s eyes immediately lifted and slitted.

She said, “No. In fact, we made certain her soul will be wandering the earth forever. We left her for the wolves to tear to pieces and scatter far and wide.”

Hehaka let out a pathetic whimper, turned, and ran out of the longhouse. No one went after him.

A small shudder passed through Zateri. Odion suspected he knew why. For the rest of his life, he would fear that the old woman’s ghost was waiting out in the forest. Watching him. Always about to catch him again. Zateri must be feeling something similar.

Gonda stood with his feet braced and his fists at his sides. To his right, around the fire, dishes were neatly stacked. The bowls were made from human skulls and the spoons from ground and polished human leg bones. Gonda seemed to be looking at them; then his gaze shifted to human finger-bone bracelets that encircled Atotarho’s wrists, and disdain twisted his face. All the people in this village seemed to wear jewelry and eat from dishes made of human beings.

Voices echoed, and Zateri turned. At the far end of the longhouse, the elders appeared impatient. They kept looking at Atotarho and whispering behind their hands.

Koracoo said, “You treated Hehaka badly.”

Atotarho’s expression turned cold. As he tilted his head, the rattlesnake skins woven into his graying black hair shimmered. “I’ve heard he is a monster. I fear he may be another Jonodak. Besides, how long do you think he has to live? It may be my duty to kill him in the near future.”

A faint cold smile turned Koracoo’s lips. To Gonda, she said, “Well, that was an interesting story.”

“Yes. Very entertaining. Clean. Every detail carefully worked through.”

Koracoo tipped her head to the group of elders. “Is all of this for Zateri’s benefit? Or the people down there?”

Atotarho made an airy gesture with his hand, and his finger-bone bracelets rattled. “I don’t care if you believe me.”

Koracoo said, “Really? Then what are they waiting for?”

Atotarho eyed her malevolently, and Gonda’s right fist flexed.

“I have been … mistaken … in the past,” the chief explained. “They rightly wish to be assured that she is truly dead this time.”

“She is.”

Atotarho slipped the broken gorget around his neck and adjusted it over his cape. “I am grateful to you for bringing my children home. You are under my protection until you pass beyond the boundaries of Hills Country. At that point, War Chief, you and your friends are no longer my allies. You will be my enemies again.”

Koracoo’s red cape swayed as she lowered her hands to her sides. “Yes. We will be.”

Atotarho dipped his head in a nod and turned to Zateri. “Come, my daughter. The elders wish to hear your tale.”

She clenched her fists and turned to Odion. For a few moments, they just stared at each other with their hearts breaking; then Odion walked forward, wrapped his good arm around her, and hugged her with all the strength in his body. “I will never, never, forget you, Zateri. If you ever need me, send word. I will be here as fast as I can.”

Crying, she answered, “I love you, Odion. I always will.”

A strand of her black hair had caught on his sleeve and pulled free. He twined his fingers around it, keeping it. In the future, when he was scared or desperate, he wanted to be able to touch her, to remind himself that she’d been real.

Atotarho put a hand on Zateri’s shoulder and tugged them apart. “We must let our guests leave, Zateri. They have a long way to go before Elder Brother Sun sets.”

“I know, Father.”

As she walked away at Atotarho’s side, Zateri turned several times to look back at Odion.

Koracoo continued to stare down the length of the longhouse at the assembled elders. Odion couldn’t read her expression. It seemed to be a mixture of curiosity and hatred. At last, she said, “Let’s go,” and strode for the door curtain.