Odion didn’t flinch. He bravely stared into those enormous, hungry eyes, and replied, “My people didn’t hurt you. Until just a little while ago, I was a slave. I never even saw your village until after the attack.”
“What about the other warriors with you? I know some of them killed my family. I saw them.”
Koracoo’s feet sank into the spongy bed of old autumn leaves as she put a hand on her son’s shoulder. “Odion, please come with me.”
Odion walked very close to her as she continued toward the elders.
Koracoo knew little about the People of the Dawnland except that where her people traced descent through the female, they traced descent through the male. Because of that, males had more power in their society than females. She doubted there were any female warriors among them. Let alone war chiefs. How would they treat her?
The tall warrior and the boy followed a few paces behind.
Koracoo headed directly for the hunchbacked woman with the white hair. Elder Shara had a strange face, gaunt and sad, with deep wrinkles. Skin hung from her bones as though all the meat had been sucked out. She wore a tattered moosehide cape that hung down to her midthigh, and thin deerhide moccasins. As Koracoo got closer, she saw that the elder’s cape was a landscape of mended holes that resembled stitched scars.
The Dawnland People are even worse off than the Standing Stone and Flint Peoples.
No wonder Dawnland war parties had taken to raiding deep into their countries. What they did not understand was that the five nations south of Skanodario Lake had raided each other so often there was little left for anyone else.
She stopped in front of Shara, and the old woman eyed her coldly. “Why did you bring the boy?”
“He has seen Gannajero with his own eyes. I have not.”
Shara looked Odion up and down. “Very well. Come and sit with us, War Chief.”
Shara waddled back toward the three old men surrounded by six warriors with war clubs. Koracoo and Odion followed.
Koracoo glanced over her shoulder at Wakdanek. He was a big raw-boned man. His skull appeared to have been carved into relief by a blunt knife. He’d seen perhaps thirty summers.
When they reached the elders’ circle, Shara lowered herself to a hide-covered litter—probably used by the warriors to carry the elders—and looked up at Wakdanek. “Build a fire, will you, Nephew?”
“Of course.” He trotted away.
Shara wore a conical cap, but the three old men had pointed hoods that fell to their shoulders. The lips of the men shrank over toothless gums, and their sharp, jutting chins appeared to have been whittled to resemble hatchet heads. But they had the burning eyes of enraged wolves.
Shara pointed to the ground. “Sit, War Chief.”
“Thank you, Elder.” Koracoo knelt in the elders’ circle, and Odion stood beside her.
She watched Wakdanek go about assigning tasks to the clan boys. Four raced away to crack dead branches from the trees. Two of the four hauled the branches back and respectfully piled them near the elders. A short while later, Wakdanek carefully shouldered between two old men, removed the pack from his back, and began searching inside. He set a small pot and a bag on the ground. From the pot, he poured coals—probably saved from his dinner fire—then tipped the bag up and sprinkled dry shavings of wood upon them. Finally, he bent down to blow on the coals. It took time for them to blaze to life again, but when at last flames crackled, he began adding twigs, then branches, to build up the blaze.
Shara extended her knotted, twiglike fingers to the warmth and shivered. “War Chief,” she said, and tilted her head to the old man immediately to her left. “This is Winooski. Next to him sits Kinna, and beside him is Maunbisek. We are all that remain of the Bog Willow Village council of elders. Yesterday morning we numbered twelve.” She shifted to bring up her knees and propped her elbows atop them. “Tell us your tale of Gannajero. What makes you think she’s alive?”
Odion shivered at the mention of her name, and Koracoo saw tears blur his eyes. He tried to wipe them on his blanket before anyone saw, but the elders were all looking at him.
Shara gently asked, “Your mother says you’ve seen her with your own eyes, boy. Is it true?”
“Yes, Elder.”
“Are you sure it was her? She’s been gone from our country for more than twenty summers. It’s hard to believe she would return. The last time she was here she barely escaped with her life.”
Odion clenched his fists hard. “It was her. Her men called her Gannajero. Except for last night. At the big warriors’ camp, she disguised herself as an old man and ordered her warriors to call her Lupan.”