Free The Dawn Country by W. Michael Gear Page B

whispered to Gonda, “She was probably one of the children stolen during the Bog Willow Village raid. I’m sure she’s already been sold.”
    “Let us pray she was not sold to Gannajero.”
    Koracoo cupped a hand to her mouth, and shouted, “Tagohsah is not here, and we know nothing of your cousin. Go away and leave us in peace!”
    The tall warrior rose from the midst of the “elders” circle and walked toward the unknown boy. He wore a cap made from the shoulder skin of a moose; the long hairs of the moose hump formed a bristly crest down the middle of his head. Two feathers were tied to the crest, and they bounced with his steps. A sheathed knife rested on his breast, hung from a cord around his neck. In addition to his slung bow and quiver, he carried a war club with a ball head, probably made from the root crown of a hardwood tree. “We have you surrounded. You can’t escape. Stop lying! We know you were part of the war party that attacked our village. We followed you from their camp.”
    Cord stared at Gonda. “They don’t want you, Gonda. You didn’t hurt them. If you’re smart, you’ll give us up to protect your children.”
    “Well, frankly, I would, but my former wife stubbornly protects her allies. Even if they are Flint People.”
    As though she’d heard, Koracoo called, “I am War Chief Koracoo from Yellowtail Village of the Standing Stone People. We did not attack you. Though you are correct, you did see us run away from the warriors’ camp last night.”
    “You are Standing Stone,” the man replied, and sounded confused. “I can tell from your accent.”
    The man carried on a brief conversation with the other members of his clan, then turned back. “My elders tell me there were no Standing Stone warriors in the attacking war party. What were you doing in their camp?”
    “We weren’t in their camp. We went there to rescue our own children from the monster, Gannajero. She was in their camp. When our village was attacked and destroyed by Mountain warriors, my son and daughter were stolen and sold to Gannajero.” Koracoo walked out into the moonlight, giving them a clear shot at her. “Tell me your name.”
    “I am Wakdanek, a Healer of the Dawnland People. It is my daughter, Conkesema, who is missing, as well as many other children. I saw Tagohsah buy Conkesema from one of the men who attacked us.”
    “Then you and I should talk, Wakdanek. We are all being fools here tonight. Let us see if we share a common goal.”
    “We may, War Chief Koracoo, but I fear—”
    “Wait, Wakdanek.” A short hunchbacked woman waddled forward. Her feet slapped a clumsy rhythm as she crossed the frozen ground. She wore a conical cap that covered her ears. A frizz of white hair stuck out around the edges.
    “She must be fifty summers old,” Gonda observed. “Look at that snowy hair.”
    The old woman stopped beside Wakdanek and studied Koracoo, who stood on the ravine’s lip twenty hands above her. “I am Shara, an elder of the Otter Clan. Come down, War Chief. I want to hear your story of Gannajero. That is a name I have not heard in more than twenty summers, and it terrifies me to hear it now.”
    Koracoo tied CorpseEye to her belt and started down the steep incline, moving with slow precision, letting them see her hands at all times.
    Cord’s gaze shifted. During the conversation, the Dawnland warriors had taken the opportunity to crawl closer to their prey. He could see one youth, perhaps fourteen summers, openly lying on his belly in the moonlight. A short distance away, another boy crouched half-hidden behind an elderberry bush. While Cord watched, the boy opened his mouth, and saliva drooled down his chin. He licked his lips in anticipation.
    Cord aimed his bow at the boy and struggled against the overpowering need to sleep. Even with death looking him straight in his face, his body wanted to give up. The need was like a calm pool of warm water; it kept seeping up around him and taking hold