The Dawn Country (40 page)

A swallow went down Atotarho’s throat. “It had to end. I had to stop her. It was the only way I knew.”

It was as though the earth beneath Odion’s feet had suddenly turned to mud and was sucking him down into the dark underworlds.
It’s true, then. Hallowed Ancestors, he sold Zateri … .

Mother tilted her head to stare at Atotarho, and it was like Eagle spying Mouse. Her intent was deadly. “And you lied to us.”

“You mean about what happened to my brother and sister. I—”

“Is it true that you sold them when they’d seen only eight summers?” Gonda demanded to know. His short black hair glistened in the firelight.

“Yes.” Atotarho’s voice was so low, we almost couldn’t hear it. “But there’s much more to the story.”

“So, she didn’t tell us everything?” Koracoo asked.

A brief flicker of panic touched Atotarho’s expression, but it vanished quickly. Cautiously, he asked, “What did she tell you?”

Koracoo didn’t move a muscle. She didn’t blink. She just stared at the chief with burning eyes.

Atotarho looked away. “Well, it doesn’t matter what she told you.” He smoothed a hand over Zateri’s hair. “It started when Jonodak—that was her name—had seen eight summers.”

The circlets of skull that decorated his black cape flashed as he opened his palms to Koracoo. “She hurt her twin brother first. They’d been inseparable. No one would have ever—”

“How did she hurt him?”

Atotarho pulled his hands back. Koracoo’s interruption was an insult to the chief. If she had been a Hills warrior she’d probably be dead in a less than a handful of heartbeats.

But Atotarho just replied, “One night the entire longhouse was awakened by screams. When I rushed to my younger brother’s bed, I found him sitting up, covered in blood. She was crouched beside him with a sharp chert flake in her hand, smiling. She’d sliced his throat. Fortunately she’d missed the big artery. We cared for him, and eventually returned to our blankets. Just before dawn the screams started again. She had apparently carried a rock to bed with her. She must have hidden it somewhere. She’d slammed it into my brother’s face.”

“Was he disfigured?”

Was Koracoo thinking about Tutelo’s descriptions of Shago-niyoh and his crooked nose? Odion found himself breathlessly waiting for the chief’s answer.

“Yes. Our village Healers tried to set the bones, but it was impossible. She’d crushed them.” Atotarho ran a hand over his face as though he still couldn’t believe it had happened. “A few days later, Jonodak attacked three other children. Two died from their wounds. One was the grandson of a clan elder.” He paused as if trying to remember, then said, “His name was Skaneat. He’d seen only four summers.”

No one said anything. But Odion noticed that Zateri was breathing hard.

“Why both of them?” Koracoo asked in a low menacing voice.

Atotarho seemed confused at first; then his jaw clenched. “It wasn’t my decision. I was Towa’s age, a warrior of some repute. I followed the orders of the council of elders. It tore my souls apart. You cannot possibly imagine what it was like …” His voice died as though he couldn’t continue. “You know the requirements of the Law of Retribution.”

Koracoo’s face slackened, and she saw Towa’s eyes suddenly go wide in understanding. Hehaka was gazing from one person to the next in confusion.

The chief gazed down at his daughter. “Do you understand, Zateri?”

“Yes, Father. Murder is the worst crime. Clans have a right to demand retribution.”

Gonda nodded. “Murder places an absolute obligation on the relatives of the dead to avenge the murder. They may demand reparations, exotic trade goods, finely tanned beaver robes, maybe food. They may also claim the life of the murderer, or the life of another member of his clan.”

Koracoo said, “Then the families of the murdered children claimed the lives of both your sister and her twin brother?”

Atotarho bowed his head. “They did. The Wolf Clan council ordered me to carry out the duty, but I was too much of a coward to do it. I tried. I took them out into the forest. I was a warrior. I should have been able to carry out the order without question.”

Towa silently walked forward, and his cape swung around his long legs. “You sold them and told the village elders that you’d killed them?”

Shame filled the chief’s eyes. “There is a very important lesson here, my daughter. Never,
never
disobey your clan elders. It’s because of my cowardice that Jonodak became a monster.”

A log broke in the fire, and sparks crackled and whirled upward toward the smoke holes.

“When did the elders discover your deceit?” Gonda asked.

“There had always been rumors. Over the long summers, many young women showed up here claiming to be her. But the elders didn’t know for certain until seven summers ago. A Trader came through saying that he’d met an insane woman who said she was the rightful matron of the Wolf Clan. Everyone laughed. Then three moons later an outcast warrior trotted in with captive children for sale. He said he’d bought them from Jonodak, who he said was now calling herself … well, you know that part.”

“Your clan must have been unhappy,” Koracoo said.

A pained smile came to the chief’s face. “The dead children’s clans were livid. They claimed the life of my son.” He gestured weakly to Hehaka, and Hehaka’s mouth fell open. “They ordered me to kill him, then to finish the job and kill Jonodak, or they threatened to claim the life of my mother, or perhaps my grandmother. I hired men. They told me they’d killed her and my son. The clans were satisfied. I didn’t know until much later that Hehaka—”

“You never came for me,” Hehaka cried in a plaintive voice. “I waited.”

Atotarho didn’t look at him. He stared straight at Koracoo with his jaw clenched.

Koracoo asked, “Why did you use Zateri?”

The chief’s mouth trembled. “I knew she was the only thing that might draw Jonodak out. Zateri was Jonodak’s only competition for the leadership of Atotarho Village. I thought if I could capture my sister and kill her for her crimes … I never thought … I mean it never occurred to me that she might actually capture Zateri.”

Zateri stared up at her father with her eyes narrowed, clearly not sure she believed him.

Koracoo glanced at Zateri, then propped her hands on her hips. Her red cape flared out, pulling the blue buffalo tight across the middle of her chest. “We heard a different story about Hehaka.”

The chief shrugged. “I’m sure you did.” He turned to Towa. “I assume you brought the clan’s sacred gorget back?”

Towa tugged the leather thong over his head and extended the broken gorget. “Your sister broke it. We couldn’t find the other half in the snow.”

Atotarho grasped the gorget and angrily pulled it from Towa’s fingers. As he frowned at the broken shell, he said, “I’ll dispatch someone to see if he can find the other half.”

“Very well.”

Atotarho hesitated before he asked, “Did you bury her?”

Koracoo vented a low laugh, and the chief’s eyes immediately lifted and slitted.

She said, “No. In fact, we made certain her soul will be wandering the earth forever. We left her for the wolves to tear to pieces and scatter far and wide.”

Hehaka let out a pathetic whimper, turned, and ran out of the longhouse. No one went after him.

A small shudder passed through Zateri. Odion suspected he knew why. For the rest of his life, he would fear that the old woman’s ghost was waiting out in the forest. Watching him. Always about to catch him again. Zateri must be feeling something similar.

Gonda stood with his feet braced and his fists at his sides. To his right, around the fire, dishes were neatly stacked. The bowls were made from human skulls and the spoons from ground and polished human leg bones. Gonda seemed to be looking at them; then his gaze shifted to human finger-bone bracelets that encircled Atotarho’s wrists, and disdain twisted his face. All the people in this village seemed to wear jewelry and eat from dishes made of human beings.

Voices echoed, and Zateri turned. At the far end of the longhouse, the elders appeared impatient. They kept looking at Atotarho and whispering behind their hands.

Koracoo said, “You treated Hehaka badly.”

Atotarho’s expression turned cold. As he tilted his head, the rattlesnake skins woven into his graying black hair shimmered. “I’ve heard he is a monster. I fear he may be another Jonodak. Besides, how long do you think he has to live? It may be my duty to kill him in the near future.”

A faint cold smile turned Koracoo’s lips. To Gonda, she said, “Well, that was an interesting story.”

“Yes. Very entertaining. Clean. Every detail carefully worked through.”

Koracoo tipped her head to the group of elders. “Is all of this for Zateri’s benefit? Or the people down there?”

Atotarho made an airy gesture with his hand, and his finger-bone bracelets rattled. “I don’t care if you believe me.”

Koracoo said, “Really? Then what are they waiting for?”

Atotarho eyed her malevolently, and Gonda’s right fist flexed.

“I have been … mistaken … in the past,” the chief explained. “They rightly wish to be assured that she is truly dead this time.”

“She is.”

Atotarho slipped the broken gorget around his neck and adjusted it over his cape. “I am grateful to you for bringing my children home. You are under my protection until you pass beyond the boundaries of Hills Country. At that point, War Chief, you and your friends are no longer my allies. You will be my enemies again.”

Koracoo’s red cape swayed as she lowered her hands to her sides. “Yes. We will be.”

Atotarho dipped his head in a nod and turned to Zateri. “Come, my daughter. The elders wish to hear your tale.”

She clenched her fists and turned to Odion. For a few moments, they just stared at each other with their hearts breaking; then Odion walked forward, wrapped his good arm around her, and hugged her with all the strength in his body. “I will never,
never,
forget you, Zateri. If you ever need me, send word. I will be here as fast as I can.”

Crying, she answered, “I love you, Odion. I always will.”

A strand of her black hair had caught on his sleeve and pulled free. He twined his fingers around it, keeping it. In the future, when he was scared or desperate, he wanted to be able to touch her, to remind himself that she’d been real.

Atotarho put a hand on Zateri’s shoulder and tugged them apart. “We must let our guests leave, Zateri. They have a long way to go before Elder Brother Sun sets.”

“I know, Father.”

As she walked away at Atotarho’s side, Zateri turned several times to look back at Odion.

Koracoo continued to stare down the length of the longhouse at the assembled elders. Odion couldn’t read her expression. It seemed to be a mixture of curiosity and hatred. At last, she said, “Let’s go,” and strode for the door curtain.

Epilogue

Odion

Night is falling, draping the forest with gray velvet shadows. Wrass keeps glancing at me from where he walks at my side, and I wonder if he feels the same dread I do. Like a sleeping monster, terror lives just behind my eyes. Breathing deep, dreaming.

I focus on the trail ahead, where Tutelo trudges with her head down, following Mother and Father. Far in the distance, Gitchi trots, scouting the way. The scent of damp trees and earth is strong.

“We’re on our way home, Odion,” Wrass says. “Everything is going to be all right.” He reaches out to touch my shoulder.

I give him a vague smile and nod. The sound of my friend’s voice, the touch of his hand, softly stir the ashes in my heart—the ashes of the days before the attack on Yellowtail Village. A sad hunger for them fills my chest.

“Our relatives will be waiting for us. They’ll be so happy to see us. There will be feasting and dancing. Songs will fill the air. There will be great joy.”

He sounds so happy.

Under the spell of Wrass’ voice, the darkening forest fades and the moons roll away, leaving us racing across the plaza together in a long-gone summer. As his light grip on my shoulder tightens, I hear old half-forgotten laughter, see the sun glinting on the faces of the other racing boys, and watch our spears, cast almost at once, sail through the air toward the stone that careens across a plaza that is no more. There is the far-off barking of dogs in the autumn-hued trees and the smell of roasting corn. Old friends come marching back laughing as though they have not been dead these many moons, and the whisper and fragrance that is Grandmother Jigonsaseh’s cape carries on the wind. Behind it all rests a sense of security and warmth, a knowledge that tomorrow will bring the same happiness today brought.

“Odion?” Wrass calls, breaking the spell. He leans forward to make me look at him. Concern lines his hawkish face. “Please talk to me.”

“I’m all right, Wrass,” I say. “I just miss them. Baji and Zateri.”

His brows lower as though he’s grieving, too. There are so many other children who are slaves, lost, and desperate to get home. I must
never
let myself forget that, but I must also start trying to look ahead. No man can survive if he is always looking backward.