Authors: W. Michael Gear

Tags: #Fiction, #Historical, #Native American & Aboriginal

People of the Longhouse (34 page)

BOOK: People of the Longhouse

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Her gaze slid to Gonda, probably considering Sindak’s proposal, and Gonda suddenly straightened. “Koracoo, think about this. You’re asking one man to sneak through a war-torn country with three children and miraculously get them to safety. With two of us, it might be possible. But not one man.”

Towa said, “He may be right. There are thousands of warriors on the trails.”

Gonda added, “It’s regrettable, but the children are probably safer traveling with us—”

“—right into the jaws of death,” Sindak finished for him. “Really, War Chief, this is silly. None of us is safe if we’re stumbling over children while we’re trying to draw back our bows. Send Gonda away with the children.”

Gonda leaned forward and gave Sindak a smile.

Sindak waited for him to speak, and when he didn’t, asked, “Why are you looking at me like that?”

“I was imagining your head in a stew pot.”

Scary.
Sindak could suddenly see his own boiled eyes staring up at him.

“Well, then, there’s another reason. If he’s planning on murdering me, I’d rather not have him here.”

Gonda laughed softly. “Of course not. Without me to keep watch on you, you’d be free to spend all of your time excitedly following your minuscule erection from one pipe stem to another—”

“Enough.” Koracoo’s eyes narrowed. She glanced back and forth between them for a time before she said, “I’ve made my decision.”

They all fell silent.

She squared her shoulders. “We’re taking the children with us, and leaving long before dawn. I want to be at the river landing just before sunrise.”

“Very well.” Towa nodded.

Sindak had assumed the children would cheer. They did not.

The silence stretched. The children glanced at each other, but there wasn’t even a smile—just a sober realization that tomorrow would carry them right back into Gannajero’s lair.

Only Hehaka reacted. He said, “You’re taking me home?”

Wrenching sadness filled Koracoo’s eyes. “Finish your cups of tea and get to sleep. We must all be well rested.”

The children drained their cups and curled up around the fire without another word.

Koracoo added, “Gonda, take Towa’s guard position. Sindak, I’ll wake you in three hands of time to take my watch.”

“Yes, War Chief.”

Gonda and Koracoo trotted in opposite directions and took up their positions guarding the trail.

Forty-five

S
indak threw another handful of twigs onto the low flames and glanced at Towa. His black eyes and straight nose had a pinched look. He fiddled with the hem of his buckskin cape, creasing it between his fingers.

“You’ve been brooding since we left the warriors’ camp. What’s wrong?”

Towa tilted his head uncertainly. “I’m not sure about this, so don’t fall down and kick your heels in a fit.”

Sindak sat back. “What?”

Towa spread his hands, palms up. “When Gonda and I were lying on the overlook hill waiting for you and Koracoo, I thought I saw … someone … maybe two people … down in that camp.”

“Two people?” The expression on Towa’s face had made Sindak go still. “People you knew?”

Towa rested his hands on his knees. “I’m sure I’m mistaken, all right?”

“You’ve already said that. Who were they?”

Towa grimaced. “Well, the one I really saw looked like Akio. He was—”

“Don’t be ridiculous.” Sindak laughed. “He’s too fat to have waddled this far.”

Towa jerked a nod and let out a breath. “I’m sure I’m wrong.”

“Why would he be here? After Atotarho made the deal with Koracoo, the elders decided not to send out the war party, so there’s no reason—”

A hot tide swelled in Sindak’s veins and rushed through his body. The logical conclusion struck him with the force of a war club to his head. “No,” he said. “I don’t believe it.”

Towa ran a hand through his black hair. “I don’t either. But why else would he be here?”

“Akio?” Sindak hissed incredulously. “The traitor?”

Towa didn’t say anything. He just tossed another clump of twigs onto the tiny blaze to keep it burning. A bed of red coals had built up. It would continue to warm them for a couple of hands of time.

Sindak said, “You said there were two people you recognized. Who was the other?”

Towa ground his teeth for a long moment. His jaw moved beneath his tanned cheek. “He was an old man with gray hair, being carried on a litter by men I did not know. I never saw him step off the litter, but he wore a black cape with white ornaments—maybe circlets of human skull.”

Sindak blinked. “Could you see his face?”

“No, I was too far away.”

“Well, that’s not much evidence then. Many people have black capes with white ornaments.” But Towa had seen Atotarho’s cape many times. He probably would not mistake it, even at a distance. It was a frightening possibility. In the back of Sindak’s thoughts, Gonda’s voice hissed:
You actually believe Atotarho sent you along with us to help rescue his daughter.
“And even if it’s true, there’s nothing we can do about it tonight.”

“You’re right.”

Towa rose and went to his pack by the tree to pull out his blanket. He threw it over his shoulder and walked back to the fire. After wrapping up in it, he stretched out on his back, but didn’t close his eyes. He stared up at the dark night sky.

Sindak ground his teeth for a time, then whispered, “Don’t go to sleep yet. There’s something I want to discuss with you.”

“What?”

Sindak glanced at the children; then he swiveled around and, barely audible, said, “I almost fainted when I first heard Gonda call his son’s name.”

Towa’s bushy brows drew together. “Why?”

“Do you remember the night I was late getting to the fork in the trail?”

“The night you were chased by the warriors?”

Sindak nodded. “I swear the man wearing the herringbone sandals was calling a name:
Odion.
”

Towa shrugged. “That doesn’t mean anything. There are probably dozens of Standing Stone boys named that.”

“But why would a warrior chasing
me
call that name?”

Towa braced himself up on one elbow. “Are you suggesting that he wasn’t chasing you? He was chasing Koracoo’s son?”

“I don’t know what I’m suggesting. Maybe he was. Or maybe he was trying to tell me that Odion was close, and I should follow him. I don’t know, but—”

The pretty little girl, Tutelo, sat up and peered at them with large dark eyes. A halo of black tangles framed her face. She hissed, “It was Shago-niyoh. The Child. He’s been calling Odion for days.”

“You have ears like a bat,” Sindak said. “Go back to sleep.”

“It was Shago-niyoh,” she repeated.

“Who’s Shago-niyoh?” Towa asked.

Tutelo eased away from the other exhausted children and crawled toward them. She got on her knees beside Towa and whispered, “He’s a human False Face.”

Towa suppressed a smile. “Is he? Did you see him with your own eyes?”

“Yes,” she answered firmly. “He’s tall and has a crooked nose and a long black cape.”

Teasing, Towa asked, “He doesn’t wear herringbone-weave sandals, does he? That would answer a lot of our questions.”

In a deadly earnest voice, Tutelo replied, “He wears sandals, but I’ve never seen the weave.”

A chill tingled Sindak’s spine. The little girl was utterly serious. He glanced at Towa. His friend had a skeptical expression on his face. Sindak shifted to prepare himself, and asked, “So … this Shago-niyoh has spoken to you?”

“Oh, yes, he came to visit us many times when we were slaves. He was trying to help us escape.”

As though half-amused, but a little worried, too, Towa said, “Does he wear one of these?” He reached into his cape and pulled out the gorget. It was so big it rested like a magnificent shell platter on his chest.

Tutelo moved closer and reached out to touch it. “No, but … this is beautiful. Look at the shooting stars! Who made it?”

“Well, our legends say that two of these were created during the Beginning Time. The human False Face who is to come will …” His voice dwindled to nothing. He was staring over Sindak’s shoulder.

Sindak jerked around expecting to see a war party rushing them.

Instead, Hehaka was sitting up. His mouth opened and closed, as though he couldn’t speak. Finally his finger snaked from beneath his cape, and he croaked, “What—what is that?”

“It’s a sacred gorget,” Towa explained. “It chronicles the story of the death of Horned Serpent. There’s no reason to be afraid. It’s just a carved shell.”

Hehaka shivered. “My father had one like that … I think.”

“Your father?”

Hehaka shook his head. “Yes, I think that’s who the man was. I’m not sure. I remember almost nothing about my family or village. But I remember that. It used to swing above my eyes when the man bent over to kiss me at night.” He hugged himself as though the memory hurt. “The last time I saw it, I was four summers. That’s when I became Gannajero’s slave.”

As though disparate puzzle pieces were being pulled together from across vast distances, Sindak’s heart thundered. “What’s your nation? Are you from the Hills People?”

Hehaka lifted his nose and sniffed the air, as though scenting them again. “I don’t know. Why?”

Towa started to answer, but Sindak cut him off. “No reason,” he said. “Go back to sleep, both of you. We’re going to run your legs off tomorrow.”

Hehaka reluctantly curled up on his side, and Tutelo crawled back beside her brother. But instead of closing her eyes, she kept staring at them.

Sindak positioned himself so that his back was to her and his body blocked Towa from her view, then whispered, “It’s not possible, is it?”

Towa gestured lamely with his hand. “It was seven summers ago. Why not?” Towa gave him a knowing look, stretched out on the ground, and pulled his blanket up to his chin. “Sleep, Sindak. You’re going to need it.”

Sindak exhaled hard and got to his feet. “Later,” he said.

He walked up the trail to the east. Only Koracoo’s head moved
when she saw him coming. Her black eyes fixed questioningly on him.

Sindak stopped a pace away and folded his arms tightly over his chest. “War Chief, there’s something I need to discuss with you.”

Forty-six

G
onda’s gaze shifted between watching the western trail and watching Sindak and Koracoo. They spoke in low ominous voices twenty paces away. Talking about what? Sindak was supposed to be asleep. Everyone else was dreaming by the fire. Though Towa kept flopping and twitching, the children looked innocent and peaceful.

Gonda checked the western trail again. The wind had blown a thick cloud of smoke over the top of them. There was no light except for that cast by the tiny blaze, and it flickered weakly, on the verge of going out. He couldn’t see more than thirty paces up the trail. If he was going to stop any intruders, he’d have to hear them, not see them. He tried to concentrate on the sounds of the night. Wind sighed through the plum trees, and the few shriveled fruits that clung to the branches rattled. Limbs creaked. Old leaves rustled as they whipped around the forest.

And Koracoo’s soft steps patted the trail behind him.

He turned. Short black hair blew around her cheeks, and he could see the tightness around her dark eyes.

Sindak walked back to the fire and rolled up in his blanket near Towa.

Before Koracoo stopped, he said, “What’s wrong?”

She swung CorpseEye up and rested the club on her shoulder.
After she’d ground her teeth for several moments, she said, “Towa thought he saw Atotarho in the warriors’ camp tonight.”

“Impossible. He was mistaken.” Gonda examined her face. “But … you don’t think so, do you?”

“Hehaka told Sindak that his long-lost father owned a gorget like the one Towa wears.”

Gonda shook his head lightly, trying to figure out where she was going. “Who’s his father?”

Koracoo’s gaze lanced straight through him. “The boy is eleven. He was captured when he was four.”

“So, seven summers ago …” He regripped his war club. “What?”

“Sindak told me that’s when Atotarho’s only son was captured in a raid.”

Gonda felt suddenly as though he were floating. “Are you saying … wait … I don’t understand. Are you suggesting that Gannajero is targeting his family? First his son? Now his daughter? Why would she do that?”

“I don’t know, but I have an idea.” She turned toward where Sindak lay rolled in his blanket by the fire. “Let’s go ask some questions.”

Sindak heard them coming and sat up with his blanket still draped over his shoulders. He rubbed his eyes. “I’m listening.”

Koracoo knelt in front of him. “When we were in your village Atotarho told us a story. He said that when he was a child, his older brother and sister were captured in a raid. Do you know anything about that?”

Sindak shook his head. “No. However, everyone in our village knows that when he was twenty summers, his younger brother and sister, twins, were captured in a raid.”

Gonda glanced at Koracoo. Her eyes had started to blaze. “He lied to us. Koracoo … he lied. What’s he hiding?”

“Sindak, how old were the twins?” Koracoo asked.

Sindak blinked his tired eyes. “Eight summers, I think. It was devastating for his clan. If she’d lived, his sister would have become the most powerful clan matron in our village.”

“What would have happened to Atotarho?” Gonda asked.

“As is customary, he would have married and moved to his wife’s village.”

“And,” Gonda said softly, “the gorget that Towa now wears would have passed to his sister when she became clan matron.”

Sindak’s gaze suddenly darted between Koracoo and Gonda. “Are you suggesting that maybe she did not die?”

Towa had wakened and lay on his back, listening with his dark eyes narrowed. He said, “If she’s alive, why hasn’t she returned home to claim her rightful position among our people?”

Koracoo’s face suddenly went slack, as though a horrifying thought had occurred to her. She slowly rose to her feet and stared down at Sindak. “Maybe that’s why Towa has that gorget. He’s supposed to deliver it to her.”

Gonda, Sindak, and Towa gazed at her in silence.

Across the fire, Odion sat up. He didn’t say a word. He just stared at them as though he finally understood something.

BOOK: People of the Longhouse

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