The Broken Land (43 page)

“Of course, High Matron.”

Atotarho repositioned himself, and his polished finger bone bracelets glimmered like frost. He seemed to be trying to decide how to ask her a question.

“Ask,” she ordered.

“I’m just curious about something.”

“Yes?”

“I know you sent runners to each of the village matrons asking them to call a truce to hear Sky Messenger’s vision. Have the runners returned?”

Tila’s eyes narrowed. At this point, it did not matter what he knew, but it irked her. It meant that someone among her trusted few was his spy, and she’d missed it. As she struggled to lift her chin, her head tottered on the slender stem of her neck. “They couldn’t agree. Kwahseti and Gwinodje wished to hear it. The others did not. Without a consensus, there will be no truce. And I …” She forced a breath into her burning lungs. “I must find a way to tell Zateri. It will be another blow to her heart, and it crushes my souls to have to do it.”

Atotarho drew himself up and got that arrogant look on his face that she knew so well—he hated Sky Messenger and was preparing to scold her for sending the runners. Tila said, “What makes you think I care at all what you have to say? Two of my great-granddaughters are dead, and you killed them. Leave me so that I may hurt in private.”

He careened toward the leather curtain, flung it aside, and stepped out to where his guards waited for him.

Tila stared at the swaying door curtain. Atotarho’s reputation for vengeance was legendary. In the old days she wouldn’t have pushed him, but she no longer cared what he might do to her.

Outside, Atotarho’s petulant voice erupted, ordering men around, as he took out his frustration on his personal guards. As they moved away, she leaned her head back against the bark wall. She didn’t have the strength to lie down. If she tried, she would only manage to collapse and perhaps topple off her sleeping bench—which would create a flurry of activity that she couldn’t stand just now.

She closed her eyes and sought sleep. She had endured the deaths of so many loved ones, but somehow the loss of her precious great-granddaughters was unbearable. Perhaps it was just that she was dying and that made life all the more dear, but she also had the eerie sensation that their deaths presaged disaster. Perhaps the darkness foreseen by Sky Messenger truly was coming. She could sense it right over the next hill, rolling down upon them like a massive boulder loosed by an earthquake, and she had the feeling there was nothing anyone could do to stop it, least of all her. Which felt … peculiar.

For most of her life she had been the power behind the Ruling Council of the People of the Hills. No matter the threat, she’d always been able to do something to protect her people. But in her current condition, she was powerless. She could barely prop herself up and stay there without crumpling. Dying was such a disgrace.

And that, perhaps, hurt most of all.

O
ne hand of time later, Atotarho stood beneath the porch of the Bear Clan longhouse, waiting for Matron Kelek to dress. In the ochre firelight streaming around the door curtain, frost glinted, outlining the undulations in the bark walls and glimmering down the shaft of his walking stick. He was frustrated and freezing, and his patience was wearing thin. He’d ordered his guards to stand twenty paces away, so that no one could overhear the conversation he was about to have.

He knew now that his lifelong alliance with the Wolf Clan was over. He had to make other …

Kelek stepped through the leather curtain with her chin elevated, regarding him as if he were a beggar. Her white hair and deeply wrinkled face appeared pale and drawn. She’d pulled a tattered bear hide over her shoulders to stave off the cold. “It’s the middle of the night. What is it?”

He leaned on his walking stick. “I have a proposition I think you will appreciate.”

Forty-five

“
W
ill the Flint People join us?” Kittle asked.

As the Cloud People sailed southward, alternating splashes of darkness and brilliant sunlight covered Bur Oak Village, accentuating the worried expressions of the hundreds of people who had gathered to hear the news brought back by Matron Jigonsaseh. Jigonsaseh stood calmly beside Kittle, her hands held out to the warmth of the flames. She was so tall and slender, she looked statuesque. The long reddish hairs on her woven foxhide cape glistened. She remained still for so long that the silver threads in her short black hair caught the light and her head seemed to be covered with sunlit cobwebs.

In a strong voice, Jigonsaseh answered, “They did not say no. The matrons are consulting with their clans and will send a runner when they’ve made a decision.”

A hum went through the crowd as people relayed her words to those farther in back who couldn’t hear.

Kittle paced before the central plaza fire with her blue-painted cape flaring around her legs. Her shell rings and bracelets clicked with her impatient movements. Two of her spies had returned at dawn and told her they’d seen thousands of warriors at Atotarho Village. Worse, their capes and weapons indicated they’d come from all the surrounding Hills villages.

The news had left Kittle anxious and filled with dread. Of course Tila expected a response after the destruction of White Dog Village, but this could only mean one thing: The Hills People were preparing for a monumental attack. There was no going back. She had the uneasy sensation that the entire Standing Stone nation was little more than an autumn leaf balanced on Wind Mother’s breath above a bloodbath. The instant she turned her head, they would be submerged, and she wasn’t sure they could fight their way out—not without help.

“And what did your instincts tell you?” Kittle pressed. “Are the Flint People likely to agree to an alliance?”

Jigonsaseh quietly exhaled, and it trailed away in a thin white streamer. “I don’t know. The Wolf Clan matron, Gahela, did not seem inclined to agree. Which means the other matrons will be hard-put to gain a consensus.”

“Then you are saying your instincts tell you they will not join us?”

Jigonsaseh tilted her head uncertainly. “My guess, High Matron—and a guess is all it is—is no, they won’t. I think we’re on our own.”

Another low hum, this one like a swarm of angry bees, rose. Facial expressions changed, going from worry to despair. Many people started to wander away, heading back to the warmth of their longhouses, perhaps to hug their children and stuff a few more belongings into hide bags. Already villagers had begun burying precious belongings in the forest, praying they survived and could return to dig them up after the Standing Stone nation had been wiped from the face of Great Grandmother Earth. As she looked around at the remaining people, the hopelessness seemed to congeal into a deadly creature of enormous proportions—a creature just as likely to kill them as the Hills nation.

Kittle announced, “Go home now. Nothing more is going to happen today. Prepare yourselves. We have the finest warriors in the world. We will triumph!”

Kittle took Jigonsaseh by the arm and dragged her away toward the Deer Clan longhouse. As they walked, she said, “We must attack soon.”

“Agreed. We’re going to need every man, woman, and child who can wield a bow. Atotarho can mount an eight-thousand-person army if he wishes to. How many warriors can we gather?”

Kittle subtly shook her head. “The sickness and all the recent battles have gutted us. If we’re lucky, we’ll muster three thousand. The odds are overwhelmingly against us. We
need
the Flint People.”

“I know, Kittle, but what else can we do?”

“Did they look hungry? We could send them food.”

Jigonsaseh stared down at her. Her jet black eyes had an odd tightness to them. “As it is, we don’t have enough food to make it through the winter. But even if we didn’t need the food, it wouldn’t help. The fever has also taken a heavy toll in Flint lands. Chief Cord told me flatly that they have more than enough food for the people who survived. I fear our only hope is Sky Messenger’s vision. If they believe it, they will join us. If they do not …”

She didn’t finish the sentence. She didn’t have to.

Kittle released her arm and drew her cold hands beneath her cape. Her fingers had turned to ice. Several onlookers trailed after them, whispering, trying to overhear their conversation. She kept her voice low. “Where is Sky Messenger? We need him here.”

Jigonsaseh lifted her head, and her gaze scanned the towering chestnuts beyond the palisades. Their leafless branches swayed in the frigid breeze. As though she could sense his presence out on the trail, she said, “He’s coming. He’ll be here.”

“I pray you’re right, because we are on the verge of a battle that will devastate this entire country and cost thousands of lives. The least he could do is to march around spouting his vision to rally our warriors.”

Jigonsaseh nodded. “He will be here, Kittle. He’s coming.”

Forty-six

T
he sound of pebbles striking rocks woke Taya. The
click-clack
rang with such clarity that for a moment she thought it was someone chopping wood in the distance. She roused herself, sitting up in her blankets to listen. Sky Messenger and Gitchi were gone. When panic seized her heart, her gaze instantly searched the starlit forest for them. A storm must be moving in. The bitter night air nipped at her face with particular intensity. Taya threw aside her blanket and followed the sound of rocks being hurled.

She and Sky Messenger had both endured a terrible night. One Dream after another had awakened him. It was as if the Spirits were tormenting him. Often he’d cried out in his sleep. She didn’t know him well enough, and doubted she ever would, to guess whether it was dreams of the future that woke him, or dreams of the past.

I’ll bet Baji can tell the difference.

Jealousy stung her, but only for a moment. And that was a major achievement. For the first time in her life, she was learning to see the world through the eyes of others, and it had broadened her view considerably. What did it matter if he loved another woman? He was going to marry her. And they both knew the marriage was a political alliance, nothing more. Though, she had to admit, she couldn’t help wishing he loved her. On the other hand, she did not love him. She had only just come to the conclusion that his soul was still in his body and not out roaming the forest. She needed time for all of this to sink into her souls. However, she knew one thing for certain: She had to give up her girlish dream of marrying a man she loved. For the sake of her clan and her nation, she could do it.

When it occurred to her that Grandmother would be proud of her, she felt a little better.

In the past few days, she’d come to other conclusions, as well. She might, truly, become the wife of the greatest Dreamer in the history of their nation. That was worth a lot more than love … at least if the Keepers of the Stories spoke well of Taya of the Deer Clan, granddaughter of High Matron Kittle and one of the leaders of the Standing Stone nation—for surely she would become a leader if her husband became a legend.

A small pond spread to her left, surreally bright in the gleam cast by the campfires of the dead. The trail wound around the water’s edge. As she walked, she studied the owls sailing over the treetops, silent, deadly, hunting the darkness for mice or rabbits.

The clacking of rocks grew so loud she could almost feel them pounding against her skin. She followed the curving trail through a copse of maples and into a boulder-filled clearing. The rounded rocks appeared to have melted together, as though they’d spent thousands of summers conforming to each other’s shape. Upon the top of the tallest boulder, Sky Messenger sat, his tall body limned in starlight. He had his handsome face tipped up, as though conversing with the ancestors who peered down upon him from the Path of Souls.

At the sight of him, a sensation of wonder came over her. He was right there. The prophet. As the truth filtered through her body, her muscles relaxed and her breathing slowed down.

For a timeless moment, she felt as though she’d crawled through a badger hole and emerged in a strange sanctuary nestled in the calm heart of the world. The fear that the Hills People would attack and kill everyone she loved had receded into nothingness.
I must be Dreaming. Soon, I’ll wake and the terror will return.