The Dawn Country(53)

Baji stops dead in her tracks. I stop, too. Tutelo runs on ahead.

“You mean … you think she had a plan? And maybe Hehaka overheard her talking about it?”

“She always had a plan, Baji, and she talked openly in front of him.”

“Then he may know many things that we don’t.”

“Probably.”

When we start walking again, Baji stares at the ground with her brow furrowed, deep in thought.

The bank around the landing is strewn with refuse. I have seen this before. Warriors with packs of new plunder have to do something with their shabby old belongings, so they toss them out of the canoes just before they shove off. Threadbare packs and capes, blankets with too many stitched holes, and hide bags filled with who-knows-what litter the shore. The bank is marked with dozens of depressions where canoes rested last night.

Tutelo stops in the middle of the refuse. “Do you hear it?” she whispers.

Baji and I listen. The rushing of the river is loud. It’s hard to hear anything else.

Then a soft muffled “woof” erupts.

A short distance ahead, I see a sack wiggle. “There’s something alive in that sack.”

We all run up the bank and encircle it. The sack flops over; then whimpering starts again.

I kneel by the sack. “It’s a dog.”

“Hurry, open it and let him out,” Tutelo urges. “There’s no telling how long he’s been in there. He may be dying of thirst.”

I take a few moments to gently pet the warm body inside. Barks erupt and the sack writhes as the dog frantically struggles for freedom.

“Hurry, Odion!”

“All right.” I work to untie the tight laces. “But get ready. He might try to bite us.”

Baji takes Tutelo’s hand, preparing to drag her away if necessary. The sack is flopping around like a big dying fish. Yips and panicked barks fill the air.

“Easy, boy,” I say.

As soon as I loosen the laces, a soft gray nose pokes up through the opening, then scrambling begins as the frightened puppy tries to force his way to freedom. “Wait!” I cry. “Let me get the sack off before you—”

The dog wriggles the top half of his lean body out into my lap and looks around with curious yellow eyes. I pull the rest of the hide sack off him and toss it away. He is young, maybe four or five moons old, and looks like a wolf pup.

“He’s probably half dog,” I say.

“Well, if he is, he doesn’t look like it,” Baji observes.

“He’s a wolf puppy,” Tutelo says. “Not a dog.”

The puppy examines each of us, cautiously sniffs our scents. Finally, he wags his bushy gray tail.

Baji releases Tutelo’s hand and leans down to examine the puppy. “Look at those yellow eyes, Odion. Tutelo’s right. He’s all wolf.”

When the wind blows a lock of Baji’s long black hair, the puppy lets out a surprised yip, leaps up, and clamps it in his jaws. As he tries to rip it out by the roots, he growls ferociously.

“Hey!” Baji tugs to get it away from him. “Let go!”

“Puppy, no!” I say. “Stop it.”

He knows the word “no.” Puppy immediately drops the hair and looks up at me with hurt eyes.

I stroke his silken gray head. “He’s smart.”

Baji tentatively extends a hand, lets him smell it, then pats his side. “He’s also pretty. I’ll bet one of the warriors stole him from Bog Willow Village last night and was carrying him home to his children.”

“But why didn’t he just tie a rope around his neck and lead him? It would have been easier.”

Tutelo’s pretty face is tight with concentration. “I’ll bet the puppy was supposed to be dinner.”

Roasted dog is delicious, and among our people, it is the special meal cooked for victorious warriors when they return home. There’s nothing better than tender puppy.

“Maybe, but it’s also possible that the puppy attacked the warrior when he killed his master, and the warrior was on his way to drown him,” I suggest.

“I don’t think so.” Baji shakes her head. “If I were the warrior, I’d have just clubbed him to death. I wouldn’t have taken the time to put him in a sack and carry him down to the river.”

Tutelo edges forward and pets the puppy’s silken back. “He’s the color of a ghost,” she says. “Maybe his name was Ghost.”

“Or Oki,” Baji suggests.

We both turn to stare at her.

Oki are Spirits. They inhabit powerful beings, including the seven Thunderers, rivers, certain rocks, valiant warriors, even lunatics. The most powerful oki is Brother Sky, because he controls the seasons and the waves on the sea. Oki can bring either good luck or bad. People who possess supernatural powers—shamans, witches—are believed to have a companion Spirit, an oki, whose power they can call upon to help them.