The Dawn Country (29 page)

“Skin-beings wear sandals?” Sindak asked, confused.

“They are like ghosts. They wear whatever they had on when they died,” Wakdanek said. “But I—”

“It’s Shago-niyoh.” Odion’s voice rose from right behind Koracoo.

She turned to look at her son. Odion was standing less than one pace away, sucking on his lower lip, trying to see what Sindak and Towa were doing. His shoulder-length hair dangled over one brown eye.

“Who’s Shago-niyoh?” Wakdanek gently asked.

Odion wet his lips, as though he feared no one would believe him. “He helped us escape Gannajero. He’s very powerful.”

Tutelo said, “He’s a human False Face.”

Koracoo frowned. “Why haven’t you told me this before now?”

“You were busy, Mother,” Odion softly replied.

Koracoo heaved a breath. She had been busy, apparently too busy to ask her own children the kind of questions that would have helped her understand what had happened to them. With as much patience as she could muster, she said, “Odion, I need to know everything that happened. Every detail.”

Tutelo walked up to stand behind her brother. “Mother, Shago-niyoh used to come visit us in Gannajero’s camps. He—”

“That’s true,” Baji said. “I think he’s a Forest Spirit that takes care of children.”

“Takes care of children? Is he … ?” She waved CorpseEye in frustration. “Is he a child?”

Odion shook his head. “I’m not sure what he is, Mother. Gannajero calls him the Child, but I’ve never gotten a good look at him. Sometimes … I think he’s a—a crow. He seems to be able to fly. Other times … maybe a wolf … he runs so fast. I …”

Koracoo’s expression must have reflected her disbelief. Odion closed his mouth and blinked self-consciously.

Towa stepped to Odion’s side and put a hand on his shoulder. “I believe them, War Chief. When the children told us, we—”

“The children told
you
? When?”

Towa winced. “Right after we made camp in the plum grove. You and Gonda were standing guard. Tutelo heard us talking about the herringbone sandal prints, and she—”

“That’s not right,” Tutelo corrected him. “You were talking about how scared you were when you heard Father first call Odion’s name. You said that the night you were chased by the warriors you’d heard the man wearing the herringbone sandals call Odion’s name.” She aimed a small hand at Towa. “Then I told Towa that it was Shago-niyoh. Because Shago-niyoh had been calling to Odion for days. Don’t you remember me saying those things?”

The air seemed to go out of Koracoo’s body. She leveled lethal glares at Sindak and Towa. “She told you all of these things and you never told me?”

Sindak’s shoulders hunched. “Koracoo, it’s not as though we’ve had time to sit around the fire and have a long conversation. We told you everything we thought was really important, like the fact that Towa thought he’d seen Atotarho in the big warriors’ camp, as well as—”

Wakdanek stiffened. “Atotarho? The Hills People chief? In that camp? Did his warriors attack our village, too?” His voice kept rising until it was shrill.

To ease the tension, Koracoo said, “Wakdanek, Towa
thought
he saw Atotarho there. He wasn’t sure. He saw the man from a great distance. He may have been mistaken.”

Wakdanek’s shoulder muscles relaxed a little, but his expression remained grim. To Tutelo, he said, “What else did you tell Sindak and Towa that night?”

Tutelo glanced at Koracoo as though no longer certain who to answer. Koracoo nodded. “Continue, Tutelo.”

“Well, I told Towa that Shago-niyoh was a human False Face, and Towa pulled the shell gorget from his cape and said, ‘Does he wear one of these?’ That’s when Hehaka woke up and said that his father used to have a gorget like that.”

Wakdanek stared at Towa as though waiting to see it.

Koracoo aimed CorpseEye at Towa’s chest. “Show Wakdanek the gorget.”

“But, War Chief, it’s not a thing for ordinary eyes! Atotarho told me never to—”

“Do it.”

Grumbling, Towa reached into his shirt and pulled it out. The magnificent shell pendant covered half his chest. The hideous bent-nose False Face in the center, representing Horned Serpent, was surrounded by falling stars.

Wakdanek stared uncomfortably at the pendant. Very few people had ever seen it up close, and outsiders were never allowed to gaze upon it. Koracoo could feel the Power pulsing around the gorget. CorpseEye warmed in her hand. It was almost as though the Spirits that lived in the objects were speaking to each other in voices humans could not hear. A tingle ran up her arm.

“What does it signify?” Wakdanek whispered reverently.

Towa explained, “It chronicles the story of Horned Serpent and the destruction of the world in the Beginning Time.”

Sindak stared at it in awe. The ancient pendant told the most sacred story of all: the great battle between human beings and Horned Serpent.

“Tell me the story,” Wakdanek said sharply. “The whole story.”

Towa’s brows drew together. “I’ll tell you the part that we tell outsiders.”

Wakdanek nodded.

Towa said, “At the dawn of creation, Horned Serpent crawled out of Skanodario Lake and attacked the People. His poisonous breath, like a black cloud, swept over the land, killing almost everyone. In terror, the People cried out to the Great Spirit, and he sent Thunder to help them. A vicious battle ensued, and Thunder threw the greatest lightning bolt ever seen. The flash was so bright many of the People were instantly blinded. Then the concussion struck. The mountains shook, and the stars broke loose from the skies. As they came hurtling down, they hissed right over the People. Thousands slammed into Great Grandmother Earth. The ferocious blasts and scorching heat caused raging forest fires. The biggest star fell right into the lake on top of Horned Serpent. There was a massive explosion of steam and—as Horned Serpent thrashed his enormous tail in pain—gigantic waves coursed down the river valleys and surged over the hills in a series of colossal floods that drowned most of the People. Of the entire tribe, only five families remained—the five families who would become the Peoples that today live south of Skanodario Lake.”

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

Z
ateri 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—

“Look!” Auma hissed, and pointed. “In the tree. What … what is that?”

Only slowly did Zateri become aware of the thing floating in the maple. It appeared in the deepest shadows, then fluttered into view. It looked vaguely human, and wore a shimmering translucent material. As she squinted, it seemed to be flying, rising upon each icy gust, then falling down only to rise again.

“Blessed Spirits,” Auma hissed. “It’s a ghost!”

Zateri had never seen a homeless ghost before, though she knew they roamed the forest, along with other kinds of Spirit beings. Fear warmed her veins.

“Maybe. Let’s get closer.”

“Are you mad? I just told you it’s a
ghost
! I’m not getting closer to it!” Auma said.

Zateri wound through the underbrush until she could see it swaying in the maple branches. A rectangular frame lay canted at an angle in the brush below, but she had no idea what it was.

When the Cloud People parted and sunlight streaked across the heavens, the ghost became even more fantastic. It was nearly transparent, but it crackled as it floated up and down. The kind of crackle that made the breath still in Zateri’s lungs.

Then something miraculous happened. The wind shifted, and flashes of color appeared and disappeared. The ghost held a prism, a rainbow, in its heart. The ground beneath it glistened with wings of light.

“Oh, gods, no.” Frantically, she began searching the forest floor, thrashing through the underbrush until she saw the body.

Carefully, Zateri picked her way around old stumps and brush to reach it. She had to clench her hands to still them.

The old woman is a monster.

“What is it?” Auma murmured as she worked through the brush to get to Zateri.

“It’s a body,” Zateri said. “He’s been skinned.”

Dark red flesh covered the bones and looked startling against the white teeth in the gaping mouth.

Conkesema trotted up behind Auma. When she saw the body, her mouth opened, but no words came out—only a single note, soft and sweet, like the beginning of a phoebe’s song. The purity was stunning. It went on and on, then abruptly rose to a breathless shriek.

“No, Conkesema!” Auma leaped for her and put a hand over her mouth.

The little girl fought like a wildcat, tearing at Auma’s hands, struggling to run away. Auma clamped her lips against Conkesema’s ear and snarled, “Stop it.
Stop!
They’ll hear us. They’ll come!”

Conkesema sagged in her arms, sobbing. Auma stroked her hair. “It’s all right. Just don’t cry. Don’t cry.”