Read Online The Dawn Country by W. Michael Gear - Free Book Online Page A

Standing Stone People. As well as Flint People, for that matter.”
    “Well, that’s another tale. Let’s just say that Atotarho’s daughter had been captured in a raid, and he believed she was with our children.”
    “Why did he think they were together? That makes no sense.”
    Gonda braced his elbows on the boulder, supporting his bow and whispered, “Do you know the name Gannajero?”
    Cord’s heart seemed to stop. He pinned Gonda with cold eyes. “Gannajero the Crow. She’s a Trader. But what she Trades in is so abominable, men have been trying to kill her for more than twenty summers. If she weren’t so cunning, none of us would ever mention her name again.”
    “Soon, I will personally make certain her name is forgotten.”
    Names were clan property. Immediately after birth, a child was given a name that had belonged to a revered ancestor. After the deaths of evil people, names were retired forever and no one mentioned them again.
    Somberly, Gonda said, “Gannajero purchased our children, as well as Atotarho’s daughter.”
    Cord bowed his head for a long moment, trying to blot out the horrors he was seeing on the fabric of his souls. Gannajero bought and sold children to satisfy the unnatural appetites of men who deserved to be dead. He wondered if Gonda and Koracoo had reached their children before anything bad had happened to them. “How long ago did you rescue your children?”
    “Last night. Gannajero was in your victory camp, buying and selling children.”
    Cord licked his dry, cracked lips. “I don’t recall seeing a woman Trader.”
    “Nonetheless, she was there, with our children.”
    That meant they’d been Gannajero’s slaves for more than half a moon. Too long to have gone unharmed. “Sindak and Towa are Hills warriors. Atotarho’s?”
    “Yes. He sent them with us to help rescue his daughter—or so he said.”
    “You doubt it?”
    In a low, seething voice, Gonda replied, “I doubt every word that came out of Atotarho’s mouth.”
    “You are wise, Gonda. He has a reputation for deceit that is unrivaled—except perhaps by Gannajero’s.”
    As Grandmother Moon rose like a glowing ball over the treetops, she painted the forest with seashell opalescence. Every twig appeared to have been hand-polished to an unearthly shine.
    Gonda said, “Gannajero still has one of our village children, a brave boy named Wrass.”
    “Why do you say he’s brave?”
    “He sacrificed his own freedom last night to make sure the other children got away. Every moment that we are delayed here, our chances of saving him grow slimmer.”
    “How old is he?”
    “He’s seen eleven summers. He’s four moons older than my son, Odion.”
    An ache entered Cord’s chest and gradually filtered through his entire body. “My son had seen twelve summers.”
    “Had?”
    “Yes, he—he was killed, along with my wife, when the Mountain People attacked Wild River Village two summers ago.” Cord had been standing on the palisade catwalk when he’d heard Lazza, his wife, scream. She’d been clutching both children’s hands, dragging them through the thick smoke, trying to outrun five warriors with war clubs. It was a miracle his daughter had survived the blows to her head.
    Gonda whispered, “Blessed gods, when will we stop killing each other?”
    “When we all have food in our bellies. But not until then. The gods must give us back the rainfall and the warmth, or our great-grandchildren will still be fighting.”
    Hunger stalked the land, and had for a long time. The elders said that the past one hundred summers had been unusually cold and dry. That’s why the corn, beans, squash, and sunflowers rarely matured. The growing seasons were too short. Meager harvests made people hunt harder, but after so many summers, the animals were mostly hunted out. When people couldn’t feed their children, they had to take what they needed from nearby villages. Stealing had become a way of life. When it failed, war