The Dawn Country(79)

Sindak added, “That pendant is especially important because legend says that at the time of the cataclysm, two pendants were carved by the breath of Horned Serpent. This one has been handed down from clan matron to clan matron for generations, and now belongs to our chief. The other belongs to the human False Face who will don a cape of white clouds and ride the winds of destruction across the face of the world in the future.”

Wakdanek turned to Hehaka. “Your father had one like that?”

Hehaka’s nose wiggled. “I think he was my father. I don’t remember very much from before I became Gannajero’s slave, but I remember that gorget. It used to swing over me when the man bent to kiss me at night.” He hugged himself as though it hurt to remember. “The last time I saw it, I was four summers.”

Wakdanek’s brows lowered. In a menacing voice, he said, “Are you telling me your father is Atotarho?”

Hehaka looked as though he’d been struck with a club. “You—you mean my father is a chief?”

“No,” Koracoo stated. “That’s just one possibility.”

“But who else could it be?” Wakdanek asked sharply. “Surely you’re not suggesting—”

“My father is a great Hills People chief?” Hehaka blurted. An expression of almost horrified delight came over his face. His nose wiggled as he sniffed the air, clearly smelling for the gorget.

Sindak offhandedly replied, “We don’t know that, Hehaka. The war chief is right. It’s just as likely that your father is the human False Face who will ride the winds of destruction.”

Hehaka gasped, and Koracoo gave Sindak an annoyed look.

“It’s even more likely,” she said, “that there are many copies of that gorget, and your father owned one. Gonda and I found an exact copy of that gorget resting near the dead body of a girl on the border of Hills People country.”

In unison, Towa and Sindak blurted, “You did?”

“What happened to it?” Wakdanek asked.

“We left it. We had no use for it.”

Baji’s gaze went from person to person, and she flapped her arms against her sides. “We’re wasting time, War Chief. Gannajero must be just ahead of us on the river. We need to go find the other children before it’s too late.”

Sadness twisted Wakdanek’s face and made the barely fleshed bones seem to stick out more. “I can’t just leave the boys here. If wolves find them … I can’t even bear to think about it. I have to take care of them. Please, go on ahead. I’ll find a way to catch up.”

Sindak walked forward. “Can I help you?”

Wakdanek gave him a suspicious look, but said, “I would appreciate that.”

“Very well, but we can’t wait for you.” Koracoo propped CorpseEye on her shoulder again. “If you’re not at the canoes within one finger of time, we’ll go on without you.”

“Yes, go.” Wakdanek waved a hand. “Sindak will be there. I’ll make sure of it. And if I’m not, I’ll meet you somewhere on the river.”

Koracoo nodded. “All right. Towa, take the lead. Children, follow him. I’ll bring up the rear.”





Thirty

Zateri had almost reached the camp when she heard moccasins shishing in the leaves behind her.

She turned to see Auma and Conkesema dogging her steps, threading their way between birches and maples. She shook her head and waited for them to catch up. They both had old leaves and dry grass in their hair.

“We thought you might need help,” Auma explained. Her thin dress clung to her tall, slender body.

“You mean you were afraid to stay there by yourselves.”

Auma had a guilty look on her face. “Well, we thought we heard warriors. It turned out to be two elk, but—”

“Just be quiet.” Zateri breathed the words. “I think the camp is abandoned, but I keep hearing something just ahead.”

Auma and Conkesema went silent. The faint crackling sound came again. Zateri studied the Cloud People. They had formed a bruised blanket overhead, and the temperature was dropping. Every time she exhaled, her breath frosted before her. The only thing that kept her warm was walking.

Auma whispered, “How close are we to the camp?”

Zateri pointed and continued toward the river. She could hear the rushing water. Three people made a lot more noise than one. Leaves rattled. Twigs cracked. She heartily wished they’d stayed behind. She could stand being recaptured, but she couldn’t bear the thought that they might be. They had not yet seen the extent of Gannajero’s cruelty. More than almost anything, she wanted to spare them that. When they got closer, she would force them—