The Broken Land (16 page)

Below, eight blackened pole skeletons stood where there had once been longhouses. The charred palisade had been breached in so many places he couldn’t count them. The souls of the warriors that abided in the trees must be straining to keep it standing.

Disu and Saponi walked to stand on either side of him, and followed his gaze to the ruins below.

“I see a destroyed village,” Hiyawento said. “A place where my relatives lived. It saddens me … but I don’t know why I’m here.”

“Come,” Saponi said. He started down the hill.

Hiyawento expelled an annoyed breath, but followed. When Saponi scrambled through one of the gaping holes in the palisade and trotted out into the plaza, Hiyawento felt a strange sense of foreboding—and it was more than just the ghostly screams of rage that must fill the air. He turned round and round, searching for dead bodies, stray dogs, orphaned children. He didn’t even see scattered baskets or broken pots lying on the ground, dropped by fleeing people when the attack came.

He shouted at Saponi, “This village was burned three days ago. Where are the dead bodies?”

Saponi slung his bow and folded his muscular arms. “Didn’t you wonder why War Chief Sindak wasn’t present at the War Council?”

“Yes. Everyone did.”

“He wasn’t there because he was here.”

“Why? What was he doing?”

“We were ordered to care for the bodies.”

Confused, Hiyawento shook his head. “We … then, you and Disu were with Sindak’s party?”

“Yes.”

“But their relatives, those that survived the attack, should have returned to take care of that.”

Saponi’s lips smiled, but there was no humor there. “Atotarho told them he’d kill them if they tried to bury their relatives. He said they were traitors who deserved to wander the earth forever.”

“But … then he ordered Sindak to form a burial party?”

“Yes.”

He wiped the rain from his eyes with the back of his hand. “You are, I sense, about to get to the point of why you brought me here.”

Saponi put a hand on Hiyawento’s shoulder. “Walk with me. There’s more to this story. Something more interesting.”

Saponi strode northward with his cape billowing around his legs.

“Interesting? That’s a strange word to use, given the circumstances,” he said as he followed.

“You’ll see.”

As they marched across the muddy plaza, Hiyawento’s gaze searched the skeletons of each longhouse. They were empty, as though the people had just packed up and moved, then fired the village behind them. The whole scene was so odd.

They stepped through the palisade, and Saponi slogged out across the wet leaves, then led him down into a narrow trough between two low hills. Leaves filled the trough. The drenched branches of towering sycamores and chestnuts flailed high over their heads. Occasionally twigs snapped off and pattered the ground like hailstones.

Reverently, Saponi said, “The people are here. We stacked them seven high in a row two hundred hands long; then we burned them. We buried them as best we could, given that we were all terrified and anxious to get home.”

“Burned them?” he said in shock. “Why?”

“Those were our orders.”

Hiyawento swung around to stare back at the village. “Did you burn all of their belongings, too?”

Saponi lifted his arm and pointed to the east. “That charred pile over there? That’s where we piled and burned the blankets, children’s toys, bedding hides, and everything else.”

Disu silently climbed the rise and surveyed the stormy forest before adding, “Sindak suspects we were doing more than assuring that traitors never reached the Land of the Dead.”

The cold wind shifted, blowing directly into Hiyawento’s face. He turned away and found himself glaring at withered leaves that cupped the falling rain like small colorful bowls. The storm noise made it difficult to think. Branches smashed into each other; leaves rattled; Wind Mother’s son,
Hadui,
shrieked and whimpered as he beat his way through the trees—and the rain sounded like a siege, the far-off staccato of arrows slapping walls. “What do you mean?”

“He thinks we were sent to destroy evidence.”

“Evidence of what?”

Saponi folded his arms and glared at the trough. “Don’t you find it strange that none of us even knew they were ill, much less …”

The truth struck him like a blow. “Oh, dear gods, the stories our captives tell.” He searched Saponi’s and Disu’s hard faces. “They were witched? You were ordered here to destroy the evidence of Atotarho’s witchery?”

Saponi tilted his head uncertainly. “I doubt anyone will ever be able to prove it, but War Chief Sindak wonders. That’s all.”

“Did you find evidence of witchery?”

Disu answered, “For many moons we’ve heard rumors from passing Traders, and more from captives. No one believed them, except War Chief Sindak.”

“What rumors?”

“Strange stories. Unbelievable. About the Bluebird Witch.”

“There are thousands of stories about the Bluebird Witch, most of them silly. Which one did you have in mind?”

Saponi’s eyes narrowed to slits. “The one about him being Chief Atotarho’s son.”

The shiver started deep down in Hiyawento’s core and radiated outward until it shook his entire body. Across a gulf of twelve summers, he could hear Zateri crying far out in the warrior’s camp, and Tutelo’s little girl voice saying,
“But where’s Odion? I can’t leave without Odion! Where’s my brother?”
His own childish voice answered,
“I’ll wait for Odion. You have to go, Tutelo. Hurry. I’ll take care of Gannajero and her men, kill them all, right down to the last breath in my body. But you have to save yourselves or it will mean nothing. Do you understand? My life for yours. That’s the Trade. Now, please, get out of here before I lose my nerve.”
Faintly, as though seeping up from even deeper inside him, Baji said,
“I’m coming back for you, Wrass. And I’m bringing a war party with me. Come on, Tutelo. Hehaka? Move!”

“War Chief Hiyawento?”

Saponi’s voice broke the memory, for which he was grateful. “Forgive me, I … I was remembering … his son.”

“Perhaps you should think of this, too. If a very Powerful witch can sicken a village first, all a war party has to do is wait outside the gates until most of the enemy is sick or dead; then it can go in and kill the rest with little effort.”

“And Sindak thinks that’s what happened here? The Bluebird Witch sickened them first?”

“Maybe. We didn’t lose a single warrior in the battle.”

Hiyawento rubbed his hands over his face. “I need time to think. To consider the ramifications of such a strategy.”

“Perhaps you should do that on the way back to Coldspring Village?”

“Coldspring Village? I’m not going home. I’m going on to Bur Oak Village.”

Saponi scowled out at the storm-tormented trees. “Are you certain that’s the wise course? Wouldn’t it be better to return home, convene the Coldspring’s council, and confront Atotarho about this? Every person who hears what we were ordered to do here will suspect we were covering up the truth.”

Hiyawento spread his hands. “I understand that Sindak, as the War Chief of Atotarho Village, cannot bring such a claim before his own council. Sindak would be driven from the village with arrows flying around his head. But he should at least broach the subject with Matron Tila. Tell him I said that as soon as you get home.”

“Home?”

“Yes, I’ll be going on alone from here. I don’t wish to risk your lives. But I’m grateful you guarded me to the boundary of Standing Stone country. Tell Sindak that is a kindness I will not forget.”

“Sindak said you’d probably dismiss us,” Disu replied. “He said you’ve never known what’s good for you.”

Despite the circumstances, Hiyawento laughed. “What else did he say?”

Saponi took a few instants to look up into the falling rain. It coated his hood and face. Oddly, his wet pockmarks shone more brightly than the rest of his skin. “He said that he feared this was just the beginning.”

Sixteen

Sky Messenger

I
stand beneath the porch of the Deer Clan longhouse, huddling against the wind. The storm is wild today, with an icy flush of wind that batters the forest and sends colorful leaves tumbling across the wet plaza. Every small depression shimmers, filled with water. Gitchi lies at my feet curled into a ball with his tail over his white muzzle.

From inside the house, I hear Mother say, “The most we will agree to is half of our walnut crop and one-quarter of our hickory nuts. But in exchange, we expect Sky Messenger to be allowed to freely pursue his calling as a Dreamer.”

These negotiations are torture. My clan is giving up almost everything for my vision. If only I …

“We already have fifteen Dreamers in the surrounding five villages. Why do we need another?”

Exasperated, Mother says, “None of our other holy people have seen this coming darkness. Clearly the Spirits have chosen to speak through Sky Messenger about our future.”

“Really? It suggests something far different to me. He’s always been an imaginative boy. I think his visions are just so much wind.” Matron Kittle’s voice is scornful. “This one thing is not negotiable. By his actions he has forfeited his position as deputy war chief, but he must take up his weapons again and be prepared for the war trail.”

My fists clench.

In a cold voice, Mother replies, “The way he serves the clan is not your affair, Kittle. The Yellowtail Village council has already decided that he will serve as apprentice to Old Bahna. Sky Messenger is skilled in his understanding of
Uki
and
Otkon
, the two halves of Spirit Power that inhabit the world, but Bahna says he needs training to understand how to use them to best benefit the People.”

“If he wishes to marry my granddaughter, he will …”

I force my thoughts away from the anger and political maneuverings to the Spirit Power that inhabits all things. I feel it. It breathes all around me, passing through me, to Gitchi, and spreading out, inhabiting everything at once, tying me to the vision like an invisible net. All things are inextricably connected, though most of us have little awareness of the fact. Uki is a serene, hopeful power, never harmful to human beings, while Otkon is as unpredictable as a Trickster; it can either be beneficial or lethal. Though each half contains the same amount of light and darkness, Uki’s half of the day runs from midnight to noon, while Otkon’s operates from noon to midnight. When combined, the halves are potent portals to spiritual awareness, but new Dreamers must be careful with Otkon. I know this from personal experience. My Dream awakens me most often before midnight, during Otkon time, and I can never predict what I will do when I lurch to my feet. One night I grabbed my club and frantically raced through the forest like a madman. Another time, I woke and couldn’t move. I was paralyzed until midnight, when my muscles started working again.

Instinctively, I reach down to touch the four Power bundles tied to my belt. Each is painted a different color—representing the sacred directions—and contains precious items given to me by my Spirit Helper while I wandered the forest. Old Bahna is right. I have only the vaguest notion of how to properly use Uki and Otkon. If I do not learn how to balance the powers, I may harm my People, rather than help them.

An old woman with white hair and a severely pointed chin approaches. She grumbles, “Traitor!” spits at my feet, and ducks beneath the leather curtain into the Deer Clan longhouse.

Shame courses through me. When most people look at me, all they see is a disgraced deputy war chief with no weapons, a man of some previous renown who betrayed his war party and ran away. Despite the fact that different versions of my vision are being circulated through the village, many do not believe. For now, I have only one responsibility: to help Mother and the council secure this marriage with the Deer Clan. Kittle is the most powerful matron in the nation. I understand now, after many discussions with the Yellowtail Council, that I must have her support to have any chance of building the alliances we will need in the future. Alliances with peoples who currently hate us and want to destroy us … as we do them.

“My granddaughter”—Matron Kittle’s voice seems to explode between my souls—“may one day lead all the clans of the Standing Stone nation. She deserves better than your pathetic son, Koracoo.”

“That’s ridiculous, Kittle. After your seven daughters, and her four older sisters, Taya is
twelfth
in line for the matronship. It is unlikely—”

“Eleventh,” Kittle said. “My daughter Yosha is unsuitable.”

“Nonetheless, it is unlikely Taya will ever have a chance to rule, and you know it. Taya is a pampered and protected child with almost no useful skills, while Sky Messenger may well be the greatest Dreamer our people have ever known.”

Kittle’s low laugh chills my blood. “You have fanciful notions of your son’s worth, Koracoo. He’s always been curious. From the day he returned after being captured during the destruction of Yellowtail Village, he’s been a loner. He’s like a turtle with its head pulled into its shell. I don’t know how he managed to rise to the position of deputy war chief. He must have—”