The Dawn Country(70)

“Your brother?” Dakion said. “Who is he? How rich is he?”

The old woman scanned the faces of her warriors. “Anyone who wishes can walk away now with no punishment.” She adjusted the limp skin over her arm. “Go on. Get out of my sight. But anyone who chooses to stay will be richly rewarded.”

The men glanced at each other. She’d already bestowed enough wealth upon them to make them very rich men. Wrass studied the gleam that came to each man’s eyes. How could they still want more?

“So,” Gannajero said. “No one wishes to leave.”

They shifted; someone mumbled; all of them glanced at the skin over her arm.

“Then get out of my way,” she growled.

She walked through the middle of their circle. Men stumbled backward to clear a path for her. As she knelt and began rinsing the skin in the river, graying black hair flopped around her wrinkled face.

Kotin gave the other three men an evil look. “I’ve been with her a long time, and she’s never failed to keep her promises. In a few short moons, you could all have enough wealth to ransom a village. Keep that in mind the next time you threaten to betray her.”

Wrass—beside the maple tree—saw Gannajero smile.

Dakion kicked at an old branch. “She’d better keep her promise. I expect to live long enough to enjoy my earnings.”

Gannajero stood up and stretched the clean, dripping skin out from arm to arm. Without turning she called, “Who would like to help me make a frame? As soon as he’s dry, I’ll enchant him. Then we’ll leave.”

Kotin and Ojib trotted to her side. Dakion shook his head. Dust swirled and sparkled faintly in the still air around him.

With practiced ease, Gannajero collected and tied together four long sticks of driftwood, creating a rectangular frame. Ojib and Kotin then helped Gannajero stretch the feet, hands, and neck into place to keep the skin taut while it dried. The vaguely human-shaped skin continued to drip onto the old leaves.

The shape fascinated Wrass. He couldn’t take his eyes from it. The old woman had skinned Akio as a man would a deer, her knife slitting up from the ankle to the groin, then peeling back the skin. The legs and arms appeared to be twice as wide as they had been when alive and sheathing muscles. Only the head was missing.

Something clinked. Wrass’ gaze shot back to Gannajero as she pulled a beautiful copper bell from her belt pouch. Pounded into a thin sheet then twisted into a cone, such copper bells were traditionally used to adorn the moccasins of ceremonial dancers. A shell bead was hung in the center of the cone and made it tinkle pleasantly.

Dakion shouted, “Where did you get that? That’s mine!”

He tramped over to where his pack rested in the canoe and began digging through it, searching, as though to make certain.

While he occupied himself, Gannajero carried the bell to the skinned neck and tied it on. Even the slightest breath of wind encouraged it to make music.

Dakion roared, “You took it!”

Gannajero touched the bell with gnarled fingers. It had been polished to a beautiful sheen. She took a few moments to stare at it before she glanced at the other warriors and whispered, “It’s like giving a fresh fox skin to a dog just before the hunt. By the time you release the dog, he’s so desperate for the taste of fox blood that he’s lunging at his tether and frothing at the mouth.”

Fear prickled Wrass’ skin. What was she talking about?

Dakion climbed out of the canoe and stalked back with his club swinging. “Why did you tie it to the skin? Give it to me.” He extended his hand.

Gannajero laughed softly. “I’m training a new dog.”

“A dog? Are you calling me a dog?”

She smiled, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “This hanehwa has one duty. No matter where you go, he’ll track you down and tell me where you are.”

As the implications sank in, Dakion’s extended hand slowly clenched to a fist. Where only moments before he’d scoffed at her powers, now he licked his lips and his eyes darted to the others. “She’s insane. I don’t believe any of this.”

“Yes, I can see that.” Gannajero straightened, and the shells and twists of copper on her cape flashed. “Kotin, untie Hawk-Face. He can’t run. Then bring the skin and come find me. I want to talk to you. Alone.”

“Yes, Gannajero.”

Kotin quickly walked over and slit the ropes tying Wrass’ hands. “Don’t try anything stupid,” he growled.

Wrass struggled to give him a defiant glare. “I can’t even walk. How could I?”

Kotin turned away and went to retrieve the frame with the stretched skin. As he walked back into the trees where Gannajero stared up at the sky, the old woman said, “Hang it up there where it can dry in the sunlight.”