The Dawn Country (10 page)

Six heads lifted. On the far side of the group, Zateri stood up. Her black hair glistened in the firelight. She was skinny and short for her ten summers, eight hands tall, and had a round “chipmunk” face. Her two front teeth stuck out slightly. She glanced at Wrass.

As the new children woke, the crying started. The two Bog Willow girls had fled their burning village dressed in thin doehide dresses. They stood huddled together, whimpering. The boys refused to stand. Toksus lay curled on his side on the ground, sobbing against his cape. The other boy tried to sit up, but fell weakly back to the ground. He didn’t even seem to have the strength to cry. Zateri and the new Flint girl stood a short distance away, talking while they watched the guards. Auma and Conkesema walked over to join them. They were all shivering.

And that’s how it would be for many days.

It was part of Gannajero’s method of breaking new children. They would freeze and starve. When the evil old woman finally decided to throw them a rock-hard biscuit or ratty blanket, the children would weep their thanks while they groveled at her feet.

Involuntarily, his gaze darted to the left.

The old woman rose.
Gannajero the Crow, black, black as coal.

She walked over to a fire and sat down with two warriors. In the orange gleam, the greasy twists of graying black hair that fell around her wrinkled, toothless face looked like handfuls of baby snakes. “Where’s Hehaka’s blanket?” she demanded to know.

The warrior sitting with his back to Wrass shrugged. “I don’t know. Why?”

“I want it, Dakion, that’s why,” Gannajero snapped. “Find it.”

The man rose and walked away. A short while later, he returned and handed her a blanket. The old woman clutched it to her lips, as though it were a long-lost child, and started whispering. He thought he heard her singing a song. Was she witching the blanket?

Wrass closed his eyes. If he just concentrated on breathing, maybe the pain would ease.

A few instants later, he heard steps. The canoe rocked. He opened his eyes to see Zateri walking toward him across the packs.

“Z-Zateri,” he whispered. “Are you all right?”

“I’m worried about you.” She put a hand to his fevered brow, and fear tightened her brown eyes. “Your fever is dangerously high, Wrass. I brought you food. You need to try to eat.” She pulled a wooden cup filled with smoked eel from beneath her cape and slid it into his limp fingers.

Wrass closed his shaking hand around the cup and stared at the food. Gingerly, he pulled an eel from the cup and brought it to his lips. The smell made his stomach squeal. He took small bites.

“Wrass, have you been chewing the strips of birch bark I gave you?” She sounded desperately worried.

“Yes … but most came right back up.”

She reached into the top of her knee-high moccasin, drawing out several willow twigs wrapped in yellow cloth. “I cut these twigs from the river just a little while ago. They’ll be bitter, but they’ll help with the pain and fever. Then you have to drink, Wrass. Your headache will only get worse if you don’t drink. And I need to bandage your head with this cloth.”

“Z-Zateri,” he stammered around a mouthful of eel. “Since the beatings, I keep stuttering. Will it go a … away?”

As Zateri watched him struggle to swallow each bite, her dark eyes glistened with tears. “I think so, Wrass. A long time ago, I saw my mother Heal a warrior who’d been clubbed in the head. His headache was so bad that for many days he couldn’t speak at all; then he stammered uncontrollably for many more days. But, finally, he was all right.”

She soaked the yellow cloth in the river, then gently tied it around his battered head and knotted it. “This cloth was dyed with musquash root a moon ago. I hope some of the Spirit medicine is left. It will make the swelling go down.” She gave him a serious look. “But if you start feeling even sicker, rip this off your head and get in the river fast to wash as much off as you can.”

“I will.”

Grieving people often used the roots of musquash to kill themselves. It was a powerful poison, though it smelled pleasantly like raw parsnip. “Where did you get the cloth?”

“I …” She lowered her gaze. “I Traded for it with Dakion, one of the new warriors. He’s from the Mountain People.”

Wrass studied her downcast eyes. She didn’t want to look at him. Knowing what she must have Traded, sick rage warmed his veins. He searched the camp for the warrior who’d hurt her. But he said, “How are the new ch-children?”

“Scared and hungry. Just like we were. There’s one boy, Sassacus, who is very sick. I think he’s about your age, eleven. But I’m really worried about the youngest Dawnland girl. Her cousin says she stopped talking after she saw her mother killed during the attack on Bog Willow Village. And she’s
too
pretty, Wrass.”

He closed his eyes, understanding what that meant. “Conkesema.”

“Yes. She’s ten summers. The other girls are eleven and twelve. One, Neche, is from the Flint People.”

“What’s wrong with S-Sassacus?”

“Auma says he’s been sick several days. I don’t know why Gannajero bought him. It doesn’t make any sense.”

Wrass pulled out another piece of eel and ate slowly. “If you can … tr-try to see that the boys get in this canoe … with me? I need to … talk to them.”

Zateri wet her lips nervously, but nodded. “I’ll try. When you’ve finished the eel, dip the cup in the river and drink. Promise me? Drink and chew the willow twigs.”

He nodded and rested his temple against the cold gunwale, continuing to eat. When his cup was empty, he dipped up water and slowly sipped it. His headache was so bad he longed to climb into the water and drown in the icy depths.

Zateri said, “I’d better get back before they—”

A sharp cry rent the darkness.

They both jerked around. Akio was dragging the two boys across camp by their bound hands. Every time Sassacus stumbled, Akio wrenched the ropes so that they cut into his bloody wrists. Toksus sobbed uncontrollably.

When Gannajero saw them coming she knotted Hehaka’s blanket around her shoulders and let out a hideous shriek. It sounded like a dying eagle. The warriors around her fire leaped to their feet in surprise.

Gannajero rose and spread her arms as though they were wings and she was preparing to take flight. Her cape wafted in the breeze.

Akio frowned uneasily at her as he hauled the boys over and shoved them to the ground at Gannajero’s feet. Toksus sobbed, while Sassacus just quietly stared at the fire.

Akio said, “Would you like me to—?”

“Guard the other children. If anyone escapes, it will cost you your life.”

Akio hurried to stand over the girls. A short distance away an uneasy circle of warriors formed. The men muttered darkly to each other.

Gannajero cocked her head, first one way then another, studying the boys like a curious bird. “What’s your name, boy?”

“Sassacus,” the sick boy bravely said. “What do you want from me?”

Without taking her eyes from his, she said, “Kotin. Bring my pack.”

He grabbed it from beneath a tree and carried it over. Gannajero took it from his hand. “Bind their feet.”

Kotin knelt, pulled short ropes from his belt—as though he’d been expecting this—and tied the boys’ feet. Then he stepped back.

Gannajero drew a chert knife from her pack. Both boys stared at it. Her voice started low, barely audible, just a soft
caw, caw, caw,
as she hopped around in an eerie dance that resembled Crow hunting Mouse in a field. Her steps were light, almost graceful.

As his heartbeat thundered, pain stampeded through Wrass’ head. “Oh, no, dear gods.” He struggled to get up, to get out of the boat and run to the boys, but Zateri grabbed him around the shoulders and dragged him back down.

“Don’t move!” she whispered. “You’re in no condition to fight a bunch of warriors.”

“But you know what she’s about to—”

“You can’t stop it!” she said. “None of us can. I don’t want to lose you, too!”

Gannajero let out a shrill cry and plunged the knife into the sick boy’s back; then she leaped away.

The impact threw Sassacus forward. He shouted,
“What?”
and tried to twist around to see what she’d done.

Toksus screamed, flopped on the ground, and rolled away. He didn’t make it two paces before Kotin grabbed him by the feet and dragged him back. “Stay here you little worm, or I’ll cut your—”

“Let him go, Kotin!” Wrass cried. “Leave him alone!” He flailed uselessly against Zateri’s arms. When had he gotten so weak?

In his ear, she pleaded, “Stop it, Wrass! Please?”

Kotin glared at Wrass, and his gaze promised death a thousand times over. Where she held him, Zateri’s arms started to shake. Kotin looked like he was debating whether or not to walk over and crush Wrass’ skull for good.

“Please, please, Wrass!” Zateri hissed.

Gannajero’s bizarre birdlike squawk made Kotin shift his gaze to her. With her arms spread, the old woman tiptoed forward to loom over Sassacus.

The boy wept, “Why are you doing this?”

She tucked her dripping knife in her belt and pulled Hehaka’s blanket from around her shoulders. As she held it in front of Sassacus’ face, she said. “See this? Smell it. I want your soul to go find him for me.”

Sassacus blinked at her like a clubbed dog. “What?”

“Smell it!” She put one hand behind Sassacus’ trembling head and jammed the blanket over his nose. Blood was streaming down his back. It looked black in the firelight.

Sassacus writhed and tried to squirm away, but as more and more blood filled his lungs, his strength failed him. He sagged in her arms, sobbing so hard he couldn’t breathe.

Gannajero tossed the blanket aside and turned toward Toksus.

“No!”
he screamed and fought against Kotin’s grip. “Let me go! She’s going to kill me, too!
Let me go!”

Gannajero threw back her head and let out a bloodcurdling shriek that seemed to echo from the trees. Toksus froze.

Gannajero’s cape resembled gigantic wings as she leaped upon Toksus like Eagle downing Rabbit, knocked him flat, and clamped her hands around his throat. Toksus kicked and shrieked, “Help me! Someone help me!
Wrass?
”

Wrass fought against Zateri’s arms, but she held him tighter and whispered, “Don’t! Don’t even think about it. It’s too late now.”

Tears streamed down Wrass’ face as he watched Kotin grab the boy’s legs and pin Toksus’ feet to the ground.

“Stop it! Let me go! Please, please!”

Gannajero leaned over until her shriveled nose almost touched Toksus’ and stared into his panicked eyes. “I’m not going to kill you.”

Choking and writhing, Toksus could only stare at her with bulging eyes.

Zateri’s hold momentarily relaxed, and Wrass saw the disbelief that slackened her face. “Do you think she’s telling the truth?”

“No.” Wrass shook his thundering head. “She’s lying. Just like always.”

As Gannajero’s gnarled fingers tightened around Toksus’ throat, he croaked like a tormented frog.
“Don’t hurt me!”

“There, there,” Gannajero soothed. “Don’t be afraid. This isn’t going to hurt.”

Toksus thrashed as her grip tightened, cutting off his air. It took a long time. When Toksus’ eyes rolled back in his skull and he went limp, a hideous smile came to Gannajero’s face. She crawled off the boy and walked over to Sassacus. Her black eyes flickered in the firelight.

“Is Sassacus still alive?” Zateri whispered to Wrass.

“Probably, but just b-barely. It takes a while to bleed to death from a punctured lung.”

Gannajero twined her fists in Sassacus’ shirt and dragged him over to Toksus. A faint groan climbed Sassacus’ throat.

Wrass felt as though his heart had turned to wood. Every beat sounded hollow, empty.

“Help me,” Gannajero told Kotin.

They lifted Sassacus on top of the younger boy; then she straightened Sassacus’ arms and legs. Finally, Gannajero knelt and arranged Sassacus’ gaping, bloody mouth right over Toksus’ mouth.

“What’s she doing?” Zateri said. “I don’t understand.”

Wrass shook his head. He felt numb. “I don’t know.”

It took another twenty or thirty heartbeats for Toksus to start coming around. His eyelids fluttered; then he suddenly gasped in a huge breath and woke staring straight into Sassacus’ dying eyes. His high-pitched scream lanced the night. He writhed like a fish out of water, trying to get away, and managed to shove out from under Sassacus.

Gannajero rose to her feet.

“You caught it,” she said. “Good.”

“Caught … wh-what?” Toksus gasped, and fell into a coughing fit.

Zateri glanced at Wrass with terror glittering in her eyes. “Witchery,” she whispered. “She made Toksus catch his last breath.”

“You mean …” Wrass stared at the boy. “Sassacus’ afterlife soul is inside Toksus now?”

“That must be what she was doing. What else could it have been?”

Gannajero pulled her knife from her belt and bent over Sassacus. He was lying on his back, staring blindly up at the glittering campfires of the dead. He looked strangely peaceful.

As though she’d done it a thousand times, Gannajero slipped her knife into Sassacus’ right eye socket, severed the tissues that attached the eyeball to the skull, and popped it out into her waiting hand. Then she cut out the left eye.

Toksus looked stunned. He peered at the eyes without blinking or moving. The girls on the other side of camp sobbed until their guards threatened them with war clubs.

“Cut little Toksus loose,” Gannajero ordered in an unnaturally kind voice. “Sassacus’ afterlife soul knows what it must do. Give Toksus that special bag of dried huckleberries, then let him go.”

“The
special
bag?” Kotin asked, as though to clarify which bag.

“You heard me, and give him Hehaka’s blanket to take with him. We wouldn’t want him freezing to death,” she said with a toothless smile.

Toksus’ head suddenly jerked up. “You’re going to let me go?”

“Of course I am. But don’t eat those berries until you see someone. Understand?”