The Broken Land (10 page)

“Yes … but will she risk it?”

“I think she will.”

He shifted his weight to his other foot. “Disobeying the council’s orders—”

“May save your life, and the lives of many warriors who will die if your mission fails. How many relatives do you still have in Yellowtail Village?”

“Well, to my mind I have dozens of Bear Clan aunts, uncles, and cousins there. But I am Outcast. To them I do not exist.”

She shook the crumpled leaf in her fist. “The Koracoo I know will at least hear you out. No matter what you’ve done.”

“And then kill me,” he said with certainty, and grinned at the irony in his own voice. Koracoo held a special place in his heart, as she did in Zateri’s. It had been Koracoo—Sky Messenger’s mother—who had organized the search party to find them when they’d been stolen as children. Koracoo; her former husband, Gonda; as well as Sindak and Towa had risked everything to rescue them. She would always be one of their greatest heroes. But the world had changed in the past decade, and Koracoo with it. He had no idea what pressures she might be facing or what decisions she might make when she saw him standing at the gates of Yellowtail Village.

Zateri gave him a perturbed look. “Go to Koracoo first.”

“All right.”

Relief slackened her face. She walked to him and slipped her arms around his waist. They stood together in the morning gleam. As Elder Brother Sun warmed the world, his light sparkled through the branches, falling around them in a dusty golden veil. On the forest floor, the golden rays resembled scattered fragments of amber. Here and there the last beetles scampered through the leaf mat.

“I’ve been ordered to leave at nightfall.”

“I know,” she whispered against his throat and hugged him tighter. When she backed away, she pulled a necklace over her head. “Traders say the fever has come to Bur Oak Village. I made this for you. It’s wood nettle and white oak. It will counteract even the most powerful witchcraft. Don’t take it off.” She slipped it over his head.

Hiyawento tucked it into his cape. “Zateri, I want you to listen to me. Don’t argue. Just listen. If anything happens to me, and it won’t, but if it does, I want you to take our girls and go to Baji or Tutelo. Don’t stay here. I’m afraid of what your father might do without me around to—”

“Enough, my husband,” she said with tears in her voice. “I don’t even wish to think of life without you. You’re coming back.”

He nodded firmly. “Yes. I’ll be back.”

“In less than half a moon.”

“Thirteen days at most. Five days there, five days back, and three days to deliver the message and wrangle a way of keeping my head attached to my body.” He crushed her thin body against him and kissed the top of her head.

Zateri nuzzled her cheek against his chest, and her hands slipped beneath his cape, smoothing her fingers over his chest, then venturing lower. A sensation like warm water flooded his veins.

“Zateri, we don’t have much time.”

“Then let’s not waste it talking.” She kissed him as she worked to lift his cape over his head.

Hiyawento pulled it off and spread it upon the soft leaves. Zateri sank down and extended a hand to him. “Come, let me hold you for just a short while.”

He stretched out beside her and hastily worked to remove her cape and unlace the front of her soft dress.

They loved each other in the frosty meadow with Wind Mother playing through the branches above them. Each gust showered them with cascades of bright leaves.

Afterward, Hiyawento tenderly kissed the tears from her cheeks and held her tightly. “I love you, my wife. I love you so much.”

“Don’t take any unnecessary chances.”

“You have my word.”

They rose and dressed. As they walked back along the deer trail with their arms around each other, they talked and laughed, knowing full well that today might be all they would ever have.

L
ate that night Zateri lay in her bedding hides. Her sleeping girls snuggled beside her, as they always did when Hiyawento was gone. Every now and then laughter and soft voices eddied down the house. Somewhere, people gambled. She could hear the painted stones rattling in the cup before the gamblers tossed them out across the hide. Occasionally, a soft curse rose.

Memories filled her. Summer solstice, nine summers ago. She hadn’t seen Wrass in four summers. She was a newly made woman with a woman’s heart and needs, longing for children and a home … but unable to get over the scars left long ago by the terrifying days after she’d been sold into slavery. Every time a boy touched her, her heart seemed to shrivel in her chest. She couldn’t breathe. She had the overwhelming urge to run away. Grandmother had told her to get over it. Plain and simple.
Just get over it. You are Wolf Clan. You have duties.

Despite Zateri’s objections, Grandmother had decided to negotiate her marriage to a youth from the Snipe Clan. Marriage was an obligation. Providing children for the clan a responsibility. She had little choice.

Lying here with her girls, she remembered Wrass the night she’d first seen him as a man. The summer solstice celebration that cycle had been huge. Over four thousand people had come. She’d been shouldering through the gathering, heading for the Wolf longhouse, when her breath had suddenly caught. He’d been standing at the edge of the firelight talking to three Traders. Despite the intervening summers, she would have known Wrass anywhere. He’d had the same eagle face, sharp dark eyes, and beaked nose that she’d loved when she was ten summers old—though he’d grown much taller than she’d ever imagined he would. He’d always had a special skill with languages, and had sneaked into the crowds enjoying the solstice feasting just to see her. Dear blessed gods, what a wonderful moment that had been.

When he’d finally seen her running across the plaza toward him, he’d smiled—as though seeing her again was the best thing that had ever happened to him. He’d moved away from the Traders just in time for Zateri to throw herself into his arms.

Three moons later, she had left her father’s village among a flurry of accusations and threats, and formed her own village less than one-half hand of time away. Wrass was an enemy warrior, Grandmother had warned. She was a fool. Marrying beneath her. Father had been furious when she’d adopted Wrass into the Hills nation and requickened in him the legendary soul of her ancestor, Hiyawento, also known as He-Who-Combs-Away-Evil. She hadn’t cared. Of all men, Hiyawento knew what she’d been through. In his arms, she found shelter and understanding. She longed for nothing more than to spend the rest of her life with him.

Kahn-Tineta shifted, rolling over, and Zateri looked at her eldest daughter. The girl’s mouth was slightly open, showing her missing front teeth. If all went well, in five or six summers she would be married with her first child on the way. Zateri had already begun thinking about the boys in the village, sorting them, watching the ones who seemed to be brave, honest, loyal.

Pedeza’s dog, Little Boy, got to his feet, stretched, and peered down the length of the house, as though curious about something he saw. A few instants later, Sindak, the war chief of her father’s village, appeared standing at her fire, warming his hands. His black cape bore a coating of dust, as did his buckskin leggings. He had seen thirty-one difficult summers of almost constant warfare, and the trials had left their mark on his lean face, etching lines around his hooked nose and deeply sunken eyes. He wore his shoulder-length hair pulled back and tied with a cord.

Very softly, he whispered, “Are you awake?”

She nodded and eased out of the bedding hides so as not to wake her daughters, then reached for her cape, slipping it on as she walked toward him. “What’s wrong?”

He gave her a smile, easing her fears. For her ears alone, he said, “I sent two men with him. No one knows. I told your father I’d sent them out to scout the trails.”

Zateri threw her arms around his neck and hugged him hard. “Thank you, Sindak. Thank you. I was so afraid.”

“You must tell no one.” He gently shoved away from her, and his sharp gaze scanned the nearby compartments before he whispered, “It’ll mean my head if Atotarho finds out.”

“I understand.”

He smiled at her again, but he made no move to leave. Instead, he looked away and frowned.

“When did you get back?” she whispered. “I heard you were gone.”

“I was. I returned two hands of time ago. I haven’t even reported to the chief yet.”

Uneasily, she asked, “Where were you?”

Little Boy trotted across the floor and stood looking up at Sindak. The war chief absently patted the dog’s head. “I have something more important to discuss with you. Something you probably haven’t thought about in many summers.”

“What is it?”

“Do you know what happened to Hehaka?”

A cold sensation, like ice forming in her veins, went through her. Her brother had disappeared long ago. “I heard rumors, that’s all.”

“What rumors?”

Zateri shrugged. She didn’t like remembering; the images were stilettos lodged in her heart. “You … you remember. He ran away from Atotarho Village after only three days. I thought he would find another village. Another home. He’d only seen eleven summers. I convinced myself that someone would want to adopt him. But he was … He …”

“His soul was loose, Zateri. Out wandering the forest.”

“Yes.” She pulled her cape more tightly around her shoulders. “One rumor said that he’d found and joined a group of Outcast warriors who were hiding in the forest. Another said he went searching …” She paused to expel a breath.

How curious that even now as a grown woman with a family, the memories struck terror into her souls. As though the images were stored in every muscle, every sinew in her body, she found herself flinching, tensing to run from a horror that no longer existed in this world. “Apparently, the old woman had many stashes of rare Trade goods, worth a fortune, and he went back to Dawnland country to search for them.”

It was forbidden to say the name of the evil old woman who’d captured her as a child. After the deaths of evil people, names were retired forever and forgotten by their people. But she didn’t have to say it. Sindak had seen the old woman’s dead body after Zateri, Baji, and Odion had killed her.

Snow and darkness. Bone stilettos slinging blood. A dripping ax.

She flinched and momentarily closed her eyes. When she opened them, she found Sindak staring at her sympathetically.

“Forgive me. I wouldn’t have made you remember if I didn’t need to know.”

“Why? What’s going on?”

Sindak continued rubbing Little Boy’s ears while he thought. The dog tilted his head in pleasure. “You’ve heard nothing about him as an adult? Not where he might live? What he’s doing?”

She shook her head. “No.”

“I may have.”

She folded her arms beneath her cape, protecting her heart. “Do I wish to know?”

Sindak frowned and blinked at the fire several times, as though considering what he should or should not say. “If I’m right, you will, but I’m not going to tell you anything until I’m sure. Except to say that it has to do with Ohsinoh.”

“He’s allied himself with the Bluebird Witch?”

“I promise I’ll answer that question when I’m sure.”

He leaned forward, kissed her lightly on the forehead, and left the longhouse as silently as he’d come.

Ten

Sky Messenger

S
outh of Yellowtail Village the predawn forest rests as though under some terrible enchantment. I stop on the crest of the trail to survey the rolling hills. Sunrise is at least one hand of time away. The sky is so blue it’s almost black.

My people rarely make war at night, but the scent of burning bark rides the breeze, and ash continually sifts down from the high branches, turning my black hair and cape a powdery gray. Gitchi shakes often to rid himself of the annoyance.

In the distance, I see Sedge Marsh Village, though I can’t make out what happened to it. This is a Hills People village.

“Tell me it’s still there,” I murmur to myself, and Gitchi looks up. “They were our friends when I left.”

For seven days now, I’ve been marching through burned villages and empty country. Trees have often been felled to block the trails into the village, or perhaps to close the trails behind those who fled. It’s clear that someone wanted these paths closed.

My progress down the hill becomes a torment. The larger rock slides force me to scramble over them on my hands and knees, and the trip is agonizing for Gitchi’s aching joints. He groans behind me. When at last we make it down to the trail again, the sky is a little brighter. Pale blue lights the forest floor and streams through the branches. Where it strikes the ground, steam rises into the air. The lack of people frightens me. I have seen no dead bodies. No injured. No orphaned children hiding in the trees. Yet every village I know is gone.

I stop just outside Sedge Marsh Village and study the charred palisade. This has been a wet autumn. Nothing burns easily, but the upright logs here have burned through at regular intervals, indicating that someone had the time to set fires purposefully, turning the palisade into a sieve impossible to defend.