The Broken Land (29 page)

He turned to gaze back at the edge of the forest. “A … a threshold.”

He walked away, following the path illuminated earlier by Elder Brother Sun.

She miserably glowered at the rain that drifted around his tall body like smoke-colored veils of silk. In the distance, towering hickories swayed through the gray haze.

He kept walking, his gaze focused on the small clearing as though his life depended upon it.

She trudged through the thick leaves after him.

He stopped at the edge of the bladdernut trees and stared out into the deep forest shadows. His gaze focused on something she could not see. She, again, had the feeling he was talking to a ghost that stood barely a hand’s breadth away.

As though answering a question, Sky Messenger whispered, “I can’t welcome the serpent’s poison as it pours into my ears. I …” As though listening, he paused before finishing, “Well, suffering certainly feels evil.”

Taya glanced around the forest with her heart skipping. She saw nothing but autumn trees and dead grass. Here and there deadfall created dark heaps in the depths of the forest. He
was
talking with something!

Sky Messenger heaved a breath and bowed his head. “I don’t understand. If the
way through
is right here, why don’t I see it
?”
Another pause. He shook his head. “I do
not
have my hands over my eyes.”

“Who are you talking to? Tell me!”

Sky Messenger turned and at first didn’t seem to see her; then he blinked, and his eyes cleared. “Do you … ? Taya, do you think there is a child inside you who forever keeps his hands clapped over his eyes?”

His expression was pleading. She tried to piece together the fragments of conversation she’d been listening to for over one hand of time. “I think that’s gibberish. I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

But she wondered … If the child removed its hands would it see
the way through
?

Sky Messenger suddenly went rigid, staring into the forest shadows as though a monster had just appeared. After a time, he turned to Taya and softly said, “I have to go in there. But you can remain out here, if you wish.”

“I’m not staying here alone! There are ghosts everywhere!”

He balled his fists and swallowed hard. She followed him into the cold morning shadows. Twigs snapped beneath her feet, but he didn’t seem to notice.

He’d taken only ten steps before he faltered. His brows drew together. “This is the place.”

“What place?”

He moved around as though his feet were weighted with rocks. Gitchi padded at his heels, but his yellow eyes had narrowed, and his ears lay flat against his skull. Sky Messenger placed a hand against an enormous pine and searched the snow-tipped needles. After several moments, he said, “This is where it happened,” and looked up at the sky. “The tree branches are different. I was looking up at them … part of the time.”

“Well, walk around, think about it. Just hurry.”

Gitchi let out a low growl and froze, his muzzle pointing at a scrubby grove of prickly ash trees. Leafless, they resembled a cluster of spikes.

Sky Messenger followed the wolf’s gaze, and his expression changed completely. He froze like a big cat spotting a mouse. His eyes went wide and alert. Barely above a whisper, he said, “Taya, don’t move. Don’t even breathe.”

“But, why? I don’t—”

He grabbed her wrist in a death grip to silence her.

The six men ghosted through the trees. They were far enough away that she could not tell their nation, just floating glimpses of clothing and glints of arrow points. When they’d passed out of sight, Sky Messenger said, “We have to get out of here
now
.”

He ducked low and led the way with Gitchi trotting in his footsteps. Taya brought up the rear with her heart in her throat. The mosaic of sunlight, barred with indigo shadows, seemed to stretch across the broken land forever.

Twenty-nine

S
leet pattered on the roof of the longhouse, creating a faint chatter that competed with the crackling fire and the whispers in the Council House at Bur Oak Village. Fires blazed down the length of the house, lighting the faces of the people who’d assembled to hear Gonda’s story.

“Give me just a—a moment.” Gonda, Speaker for the Warriors of White Dog Village, lifted his hands to massage his temples. He was a thin, wiry man with a moonish face and brown eyes. He’d seen thirty-eight summers pass, most of them in Yellowtail Village. Never, in all that time, had he felt this weary. Evil Spirits had been cavorting in his head since the attack two days ago, plunging stilettos behind his eyes as though trying to puncture a way to freedom.

When the pain had eased a little, he lowered his hands and prepared to finish the telling. He stood beside the central fire examining the faces of the Ruling Council of the People of the Standing Stone. Concentric rings of benches encircled the fire. Each person had his or her place. The six clan matrons and High Matron Kittle sat on the innermost ring of benches closest to the fire. Behind them, on the middle ring, sat the village chiefs and village matrons. The outermost ring was crowded with the Speakers. Each of the five villages had four Speakers, elected representatives who conveyed various group decisions and asked questions on the group’s behalf. The Speakers for the Warriors sat on the outermost northern benches, including the War Chief of Bur Oak Village, Skenandoah, and War Chief Deru of Yellowtail Village. The Speakers for the Women sat on the eastern benches. The Speakers for the Men occupied the western benches, and the Speakers for the Shamans filled the southern benches.

Gonda responded, “The sickness began the same day the baskets of corn arrived. Our village was deeply grateful for the food sent by the Ruling Council. Portions were divided for each longhouse. By nightfall most people were so ill they could barely stand. The attack came at dawn the next morning.” As he spoke, the whispers quieted and expressions went somber. “Those who could carry a weapon did so, but we couldn’t defend all three palisades. Our war chief, whose name I cannot speak for he is traveling the Path of Souls, ordered all of our fighters to stand on the outermost palisade. As each palisade was overwhelmed, we moved to the next. We were simply too weak to defend the village. The battle was over in less than two hands of time.”

Matron Kittle stood. Still an extremely handsome woman, the firm contours of her oval face had just begun to sag. He could see it in the slight wrinkles at her throat and the lines at the corners of her deeply set dark eyes. She wore her black hair pulled back and twisted into a knot at the base of her skull and fastened with a tortoiseshell comb. Her beautiful white cape, reserved for council meetings, glimmered with circlets of seashells. “Forgive us for keeping you here, Speaker. We realize you are tired, but we must understand what happened so that we can immediately begin planning a response.”

Gonda nodded. “I understand.”

Kittle continued, “Are you suggesting that it was the baskets of corn that sickened White Dog Village and made them vulnerable to attack?”

“Yes, but we cannot say for certain that the corn was to blame. If we’d had more time, High Matron, we could have verified our suspicions. As it was, we barely had time enough to escape with our lives.”

“High Matron,” a deep voice called from the eastern benches, and a very tall woman rose to her feet.

Gonda’s gaze fixed on her. She’d cut her gray-streaked black hair short in mourning, and it made her small narrow nose and full lips seem all the more beautiful to him. Despite all the unpleasantness that had gone between them over the twelve long summers since she’d divorced him, his heart gladdened. Just the sight of her was like the feel of a war club in his hand; it gave him confidence that he could face anything.

“Koracoo, Speaker for the Women of Yellowtail Village, proceed,” Matron Kittle said.

Koracoo folded her arms, and firelight played through the reddish fur of her woven foxhide cape. “In recent days, we have all heard similar stories from the survivors of Sedge Marsh Village. It must be obvious to this council now that someone is poisoning the baskets of corn that we send to needy villages.”

“High Matron?” War Chief Deru said from the northern benches. His massive bearlike body rose and loomed in the murky shadows. Oddly, firelight pooled in his caved-in cheek, turning it amber while the rest of his features remained dim.

“Proceed, War Chief,” Kittle acknowledged him.

“If Speaker Koracoo is right, someone is trying to make it look as though we are poisoning these villages. Which of our enemies is clever enough to accomplish this?”

“It must be a man or woman who can freely walk through both Hills and Standing Stone villages,” Koracoo said. “A Trader? Or a messenger traveling under the white arrow?”

Kittle lifted her pointed chin and surveyed the council. “Since both Sedge Marsh Village and White Dog Village were attacked by Atotarho’s warriors, the man behind it seems clear. The question is, who is Atotarho’s poisoner?”

Daga, Matron of the Turtle Clan in White Dog Village, braced a hand on the bench and grunted as she rose to her feet on spindly legs. Her fifty-six summers showed in her snowy hair and the deep wrinkles around her toothless mouth. “As you all know, I was here attending the betrothal feast of the high matron’s granddaughter when the attack came on my home. Because of that, there are many things I do not know about what went on in White Dog Village. Speaker Gonda, what is your opinion about the poisoner?”

He ran a hand through his black hair. “I cannot even offer a guess, Matron Daga. The day the corn arrived was a day of joy for us. Every longhouse feasted. Many people honored the gift by wearing their best clothing, jewelry, and painting their faces. Identifying a stranger would have been difficult.”

Chief Yellowtail lifted a hand. He stood right behind Kittle. As he rose, his shoulder-length dark gray hair swayed around his wrinkled face. “If the Ruling Council of the People of the Hills is to blame, is it trying to provoke us into attacking Atotarho Village?”

“Blessed gods, I pray not,” Gonda said. “They have four times as many warriors as we do. Such an assault would be doomed to failure and a foolish waste of our young warriors’ lives.”

Murmuring filled the council house. Gonda spread his feet and waited. He needed to get back to his sick wife, Pawen, who lay in the Bear Clan longhouse being tended by his daughter, Tutelo. Pawen had been very ill before the attack, but after the poisoned corn and the long journey here …

“High Matron, how can we be sure it was the corn, and not some other evil? Perhaps a spell was cast upon White Dog Village by Atotarho’s army of witches?” War Chief Skenandoah asked. He had seen around thirty-four summers, and had a square chin and thin lips. He was of medium height, and his short black hair had started to gray at the temples.

Gonda replied, “We aren’t sure, War Chief. I apologize if I gave that impression. We suspect the corn was poisoned, but the illness may have been witchery. Who can say?”

The phrase “army of witches” was whispered throughout the council as nods went round. Gonda stumbled and righted himself.

High Matron Kittle noticed. “If there are no objections, perhaps we should dismiss this council and reconvene tomorrow. Speaker Gonda needs to rest, and it will give us all time to consider his words. Do I hear any objections?”

There were none.

Kittle called, “We will reconvene this council tomorrow morning just after dawn. Go in peace.”

People began to file out of the council house. Gonda didn’t wish to be jostled by the crowd, so he continued standing by the fire, biding his time. When most of the councilors had gone, he saw Koracoo looking at him. She excused herself from the group of Yellowtail matrons that had her surrounded and made her way through the benches to get to him.

He gave her a tired smile. “You look well.”

“And you look like you can barely stay on your feet. How is Pawen?”

He shook his head and looked away. “Tutelo is with her. I—I don’t know.”

Koracoo put a gentle hand on his shoulder. “She’s young and strong. She’ll get well.”

He jerked a nod and changed the subject. “You must tell me about Sky Messenger’s Dream. I’ve already heard five different versions.”

She looked around at the few people still standing nearby, then slipped her arm through his. “Let us speak in private. I have much to tell you.”

“Are the Yellowtail matrons finished with you? They look like they’re still waiting to talk more.”

“They have my answer. They’re just discussing the timing.”

She tightened her hold on his arm. At her touch he realized that, without being conscious of it, he’d needed her closeness. This was the first time they’d seen each other in two summers. Not so long ago, even a glance from her would have fired his veins. Now her touch was as warm and comfortable as a worn pair of moccasins. She looked down at him, for she was taller than he, and smiled in the old way he loved—smiling as though they’d never said hateful things to each other.