The Dawn Country(40)

“Why? Why did he do it?”

Atotarho bows his head, and the shadows of his eyelashes darken his cheeks. “She rewards her servants well. When we searched Jonil’s place in the longhouse, we found unbelievable riches—exotic trade goods like obsidian and buffalo wool from the far west. Conch shells from the southern ocean. An entire basket of pounded copper sheets covered with strings of pearls and magnificently etched shell gorgets.”

Koracoo sits quietly for a time, thinking, before she says, “That means it will be difficult to buy the children back.”

“Virtually impossible. She profits enormously from her captives. With all the stealing and raiding going on, there are too many evil men with great wealth. But … if my daughter is being held captive with your children, I will give you whatever I have to get all of them back.”

Koracoo stares at him, judging the truthfulness of his words. Atotarho looks her straight in the eyes without blinking. Finally, Koracoo asks, “Why would you buy our children? We are your enemies.”

“If you are willing to risk your lives to save my daughter, you are not my enemy.”

The night has gone utterly quiet. The guards must be holding their breaths, listening. Very softly Koracoo says, “Why haven’t you already mounted a search party and sent them out with this same offer? Surely you can trust your own handpicked warriors more than you can us.”

Atotarho glances at the door behind him and whispers, “No. The attack on my Trading party was well organized, and they went straight for my beautiful daughter.” His knobby hand clenches to a fist. “As there was many summers ago, I fear there is a traitor here. So, you see, I would rather trust an enemy who shares my interests … than a friend who may not.”

Koracoo’s gaze roams the firelit shadows for thirty heartbeats. “We will need to discuss your offer.”

“I understand.” As the chief rises to his feet, the circlets of skull on his cape flash. “I’ll leave you the lamp; it will provide a little warmth until the oil runs out.”

The effort of rising seems to have cost him all of his strength. He pants for a time before he adds, “Many of my people believe I am the human False Face prophesied in our legends. The Spirit-Man who will save the world. It has never been an easy title to bear. Especially now when I cannot even save my own daughter.” Without making a sound, he starts for the door. “Let me know your decision as soon as you’ve made it, and I—”

“One last thing,” Koracoo says.

He turns. “Yes?”

“What assurances do we have that you will keep your part of this bargain? Gannajero will not believe me if I tell her you will pay her later.”

Atotarho braces his hand against the door to steady himself. “I will send a man with you who can verify—”





Gonda woke gasping as though a hammer had been swung into his rib cage. He struggled to sit up. A few paces away, Sindak turned to stare at him.

Gonda’s shaking hand rose to the shell pendant he now wore around his neck … and he wondered what his souls were trying to tell him? There must be some connection between the dead girl’s pendant and Atotarho, but he was too exhausted to understand.

He forced himself to lie down again and drew his blanket up around his throat. As his breathing began to slow, his chest tightened. Among the People of the Standing Stone, dreams resulted either from contact with the Spirit World or from the unrequited desires of the souls. To ignore a dream was to risk death. He flopped to his opposite side.

Sindak called, “Gonda? Are you all right?”

“Leave me alone,” he growled. “I need to rest.”

Sindak tucked his war club into his belt and walked toward Gonda. “Well, I was considering not telling you, but since you were just so polite to me … it’s your watch.”





Seventeen

Sometime in the night, they’d made camp. But Wrass didn’t even remember stopping.

He squinted against the light cast by the small blaze that flickered in the middle of the clearing. Around it, several people lay rolled in blankets. He was the only child still in the canoes. He didn’t see the other children. One guard stood to the south along the bank. Another stood to the north, watching the wide bend in the river.

And … another man stood in the river before him. Had he just appeared? Why hadn’t Wrass seen him immediately?

The man was no more than three paces away, wearing a long black cape. He watched Wrass curiously. For some time, Wrass returned his stare. There was nothing threatening about him. Except that the man never blinked or looked away. And he wasn’t one of Gannajero’s warriors.