The Dawn Country by W. Michael Gear

“War Chief,” she said, and tilted her head to the old man immediately to her left. “This is Winooski. Next to him sits Kinna, and beside him is Maunbisek. We are all that remain of the Bog Willow Village council of elders. Yesterday morning we numbered twelve.” She shifted to bring up her knees and propped her elbows atop them. “Tell us your tale of Gannajero. What makes you think she’s alive?”
    Odion shivered at the mention of her name, and Koracoo saw tears blur his eyes. He tried to wipe them on his blanket before anyone saw, but the elders were all looking at him.
    Shara gently asked, “Your mother says you’ve seen her with your own eyes, boy. Is it true?”
    “Yes, Elder.”
    “Are you sure it was her? She’s been gone from our country for more than twenty summers. It’s hard to believe she would return. The last time she was here she barely escaped with her life.”
    Odion clenched his fists hard. “It was her. Her men called her Gannajero. Except for last night. At the big warriors’ camp, she disguised herself as an old man and ordered her warriors to call her Lupan.”
    The elders all leaned forward to examine Odion, as though trying to decide if he was telling the truth. He stared into each of their eyes in turn.
    Koracoo explained, “My son, and the other children with us, were held captive by Ganna—”
    “Bah! She’s dead.” Winooski waved a skeletal hand through the air. Among the People of the Standing Stone, it was an insult to interrupt a war chief, but perhaps here, if she was a woman, she did not deserve respect.
    Koracoo proceeded cautiously. “No, Elder, she’s very much alive.”
    “Gannajero died twenty summers ago! I don’t know who held them captive, but it couldn’t have been Gannajero.”
    “I agree,” Kinna said. “Twenty summers ago every village for a moon’s walk had a war party out to kill her. Surely someone must have accomplished it. Even if she lived, why would she return to almost certain death?”
    “Perhaps,” Koracoo replied calmly, “because she escaped last time, she figured she would this time. All four of the children we rescued last night confirm that their captor was Gannajero. Surely there are not two women Traders with the same name.”
    “No,” Shara said with a shake of her head. “It would be a death sentence. The second would change her name to avoid being mistaken for the first.”
    Maunbisek peered at Odion through one eye. It was a curious wolflike gesture that made Odion stiffen. “What is your name, boy?”
    “Odion.”
    To the other elders, Maunbisek said, “Have any of you ever seen Gannajero?”
    Whispers went around the circle. Heads shook.
    Maunbisek tightened his jaw. “No? I didn’t think so. Well, I have, and I’m inclined to believe Odion. But since the rest of you don’t, let’s test him. I saw Gannajero twenty-two summers ago. She was just getting started in her ‘business.’ My village had been attacked. I was tied up, being held hostage, when she came in to buy children from the victorious warriors. I will never forget her face—though I realize she is older now, some things never change. So, Odion, tell me what she looks like.”
    Odion lifted his head, and the tendons in his neck stood out. “She has seen maybe forty summers. Graying black hair hangs in greasy twists around her wrinkled face, and her eyes are black pits. Empty. Her toothless mouth is puckered, and her nose looks like a sun-withered plum. She has a hoarse voice; it sounds like sandstone boulders rubbing together.”
    While he talked, Maunbisek’s expression slackened. The old man wet his lips and looked away. “Well, that’s enough for me. The eyes and voice are the same. Believe me, once you’ve looked into those soulless eyes and heard that voice, you never forget. The age is correct, too.” He glanced at the other elders. “She’s back. And she was Trading for our children last night, buying them from the warriors who destroyed