The Dawn Country(29)
Koracoo turned to Odion. “Can you answer that, Odion?”
He nodded. “I think she bought five children. Three were girls. But I only saw them from far away. They were roped together.”
Wakdanek softly said, “My daughter, Conkesema, has seen ten summers. She has long black hair—it hangs to her waist—and a small scar on her forehead.” He lifted a hand and drew it across his left temple. “Did you see her?”
Odion tilted his head uncertainly, and the moonlight reflected from his round face, turning it a pale sickly color. “Maybe. There was a girl about ten summers with waist-length black hair, but I wasn’t close enough to see the scar.”
“Are you sure she was in Gannajero’s group? The group she’d just purchased from our village?” Pain tightened his eyes, and he clearly hoped that Odion would say that she hadn’t been in that group, but elsewhere in the warriors’ camp.
“She was roped with Gannajero’s children.”
Wakdanek lightly squeezed Odion’s shoulder. “Thank you. You’re a brave boy.”
Shara waited until Wakdanek rose before asking, “You said you rescued several children last night. Who were they?”
“We freed our two children, plus one girl from the Flint People, named Baji, and a boy named Hehaka, whose people we do not know.”
Suspicious, Winooski said, “Why don’t you know? Have you asked him?”
“He says he can’t remember his people.”
“Was he that young when he was captured?”
Koracoo looked at Odion, who said, “Hehaka was captured when he was four. He’s been Gannajero’s slave for seven summers.”
Maunbisek pinned Koracoo with hard glistening eyes. “Do you know our tradition of the Ghost Fire, War Chief?”
“No.”
“Among our people the dead are always buried, because the Spirits of the unburied dead remain around the bones as living fire that can destroy anything they touch. Many of our children are now Ghost Fires. Because of Gannajero. I didn’t tell you earlier, but my own son was taken by her twenty-two summers ago. I watched her buy him, and I never saw him again.”
Sorrow filled his eyes, and she suspected he had mourned that child for most of his life.
“Then you do not wish to delay us for long, Elder. To have any chance of catching her, we must leave before dawn.”
Their ancient faces drew tight with indecision.
Wakdanek said, “Elders, if you will allow it, I would like to go with War Chief Koracoo to help her free the children being held by Gannajero.”
“Do you think your daughter is there?” Shara asked.
“I fear she may be. But it doesn’t matter. There are Bog Willow Village children there. One of us must try to rescue them.”
Shara thoughtfully twisted the parchmentlike hands folded in her lap. “I understand, Nephew, but we need you here. Very few of us escaped the slaughter—almost none of our warriors lived.”
Wakdanek’s face fell, but he tipped his head in obedience. “Yes, Aunt.”
Maunbisek lifted a hand. “I cast my voice to allow Wakdanek to go in search of his daughter and the other children. One warrior, more or less, will make no difference to our survival.”
Winooski sucked his lips in over his toothless gums. After a time, he blew out a breath and said, “If it were me, I wouldn’t care what the council said. I would go find my daughter. Let him go, Shara.”
Shara’s gaze moved to the last council member. “And you, Kinna? What do you say?”
Kinna’s pointed hood was canted at an odd angle, as though he’d accidentally tugged it to the right. “Before I vote, I have a question for Maunbisek.”
Maunbisek frowned. “Yes?”
“Did you search for your son?”
Maunbisek’s eyes clouded. He bowed his head. “I searched for moons. I traveled from village to village, asking if anyone had seen Gannajero or a boy resembling my son.” He shook his head. “I never found a single trace of him.”
“Knowing that, would you do it again?”
Maunbisek’s head snapped up. “Of course I would. If I hadn’t searched, I’d always feel as though if were my fault because I’d given up. I’d be certain I could have saved him if only I’d tried. Now, and for the rest of my life, at least I can say I did my best to find him, even though I failed.”
Kinna lifted his gaze to Wakdanek, and the man’s shoulder muscles went tight, bulging through his shirt. “We must let him go, Shara. He will hate us if we don’t. And I, for one, could not bear it. I have loved Wakdanek since he was a boy.”
Wakdanek whispered, “And I you, Uncle.”