The Broken Land (33 page)

Wampa’s mouth fell open. “But, Matron, you need a guard! What if they—?”

“I trust the chief,” she said with soft, implacable precision, and started bravely walking through the enemy crowd toward the palisade gates.

The villagers pushed and shoved each other trying to get closer, to see her. No Standing Stone matron, least of all a member of the Ruling Council, had ever set foot in Wild River Village. Their expressions were mixtures of awe and suspicion, but there was an undercurrent she didn’t quite grasp. They were too calm. Not a single stone had been hurled yet. If a Flint matron had suddenly appeared in Yellowtail Village asking to meet with the chief, Jigonsaseh would have had to order half her warriors to encircle the matron for protection and had the other half put down the violent protests.

Cord walked easily at her side. His voice was measured and peaceful, a little reproving. “If you’d come earlier, I doubt our alliance would have collapsed.”

“I couldn’t have done much, old friend. Four moons ago, I was not in a position to influence war policy. As Speaker for the Women, I only relayed decisions.”

His gaze scanned the black bear paws on her white cape. “That has changed, I see. I was saddened to hear of your mother’s death. She was a strong, courageous leader.”

She turned. Very few men were as tall as she. It was strange to look at someone eye-to-eye. “You didn’t have to say that. It was kind, especially given what happened at Flatwoods Village.”

His bushy black brows drew together. “That is something we will speak of, I hope.”

“Yes.”

As they neared the upright log palisade, he lifted a hand and warriors scurried to pull back the heavy gates. The men and women on the catwalk watched her with tight eyes, but not a single weapon shifted in her direction. Koracoo nodded in admiration.

“Your warriors are well trained.”

“I take that as a compliment to my war chief. She will be pleased to hear you said that.”

Cord guided her across the plaza, where children stood staring at her with frightened eyes, but the women calmly continued pounding corn in hollow logs. A few old men reclined against the longhouse walls, enjoying the last warmth of the day, smiling as they talked. Jigonsaseh studied the four longhouses. They were around three hundred hands long, arranged in a square around the plaza. Covered with white birch bark, the longhouses had a pearlescent sheen in the evening glow. Several smaller houses dotted the edges of the plaza. Cord was leading her toward the circular house that stood straight across from the central fire. Two warriors waited outside, standing guard.

“Warn me,” she said. “Who will I be meeting with?”

“Myself, Village Matron Buckshen, who is also the matron of the Turtle Clan, Wolf Clan matron Gahela, and Bear Clan matron Kiska. Others may be called in as necessary.”

“Has Matron Buckshen given you any indication of whether she views my mission favorably or unfavorably?”

“I think our entire village council wishes to hear Sky Messenger’s vision.”

Jigonsaseh breathed a quiet sigh of relief. Often such councils turned into shouting matches where both sides hurled accusations. She prayed that would not be so tonight.

Cord halted. “Before we enter the council, may I ask you something?”

“Of course.”

“Why did you choose Wild River Village? You could have gone to more prestigious and powerful Flint villages. Why here?”

“I didn’t make the choice, Cord. Sky Messenger asked me to come here. But I believe he selected your village because of you. Despite the horrors between our peoples, he has trusted you since he was a child. He respects you a great deal.”

“And I him.” He drew back the leather door curtain and gestured for her to enter.

She ducked inside. For a time, all she could see was the shaft of light pouring through the smoke hole over the fire pit; then, as her eyes adjusted, she saw the three women sitting on benches around the fire. They all wore red capes, but each was uniquely painted with the clan images of turtles, wolves, and bears.

“Let me introduce you,” Cord said.

As she followed him across the hard-packed floor, she looked at the sacred False Face masks on the walls. Their crooked noses and misshapen mouths were expertly carved and painted. She could sense their Spirits watching her, judging her. When she gazed into their empty eye sockets, she wondered what conclusions they’d come to.

Cord walked sunwise around the fire and halted between Matron Buckshen and Matron Kiska. “Allow me to present Matron Jigonsaseh of the Bear Clan in Yellowtail Village, and member of the Ruling Council of the Standing Stone nation.”

She bowed deeply to the matrons. They dipped their heads in return. “Thank you for agreeing to meet with me.”

Matron Buckshen stared at her. White turtles painted her red cape. Perhaps sixty summers old, a white haze covered her eyes. She must be half-blind, but she had a kind face, round and deeply wrinkled, framed by thin gray hair. Buckshen extended a hand to the empty bench to her right. “Please sit down, Matron Jigonsaseh. You have been on the water many days and must be very tired.”

“Thank you. I am.” She seated herself, and her white cape fell into soft folds around her feet. She took a few moments to study Gahela and Kiska. Around forty summers, both had black hair, but silver threads shone in Gahela’s. The matron of the Wolf clan, Gahela, had slitted brown eyes and a hard mouth. She looked at Koracoo with her jaw set. Kiska of the Bear clan, however, appeared relaxed, even happy to see Koracoo—which she doubted. It was probably just that Kiska’s thin childlike face and soft brown eyes gave her a friendly appearance.

Cord seated himself across the fire from her, on the bench beside Kiska, and said, “Please tell us why you’ve come, Matron Jigonsaseh.”

She took a deep breath, preparing herself. The fragrance of burning hickory encircled her. “My son, Sky Messenger, asked that I come to you. He—”

“You are his mother,” Matron Buckshen softly said, “but we are his People.”

Jigonsaseh’s eyes narrowed, confused. “Forgive me. I assumed that after he returned to Yellowtail Village and became a deputy war chief for our nation that you would have considered him to be a traitor and unadopted him.”

“No,” Kiska said. “In fact, many of our people consider him to be a hero.”

Jigonsaseh sat back on the bench and looked to Cord for some sort of explanation.

He turned to Matron Buckshen. “If you will allow me, Matron?” When she nodded, he continued, “After the Flatwoods Village battle, your son shoved a log into the river, told our women and children to grab hold, and then he led the enemy warriors away. He risked his own life to save them. Many of the survivors came here, to Wild River Village. Those women and children speak his name with great reverence.”

Matron Kiska added, “Without Dekanawida, the man you call Sky Messenger, they would be dead or serving as slaves in enemy nations.”

Matron Buckshen shifted on the bench, and all eyes turned to her. “You see, after hearing their stories, we realized that he had never turned his back on his adopted nation. Instead, he’d been serving our people the entire time.”

Koracoo felt a little bewildered. She wasn’t sure she liked the idea that they believed her son had been acting as a spy in the Standing Stone nation. But if it helped her today …

“It was at that battle,” she said respectfully, “that the Spirits of your relatives came to him.” The matrons went silent, listening intently, and the crackling of the fire seemed louder. “Just before he released the women and children, the Spirits of the dead rose up from the battlefield and encircled him. Hundreds of bobbing soul lights followed him to where the captives were being held, and guarded him while he made sure they got away. After they were safe, Sky Messenger’s Spirit Helper called him into the forest, where he was tormented with Spirit Dreams for many days. Visions of our future.”

Almost breathlessly, Matron Buckshen said, “We have heard the stories the Traders tell, but did not know how much to believe. As you know, Traders are not always reliable. They like to embellish to make the stories more entertaining.”

Koracoo smiled. “Yes. I know.”

Her voice light and disinterested, Matron Gahela asked, “So is the world really going to end?”

A log in the fire split, and green flames erupted from the crack. Jigonsaseh watched them until they faded to amber again. “When Sky Messenger’s Dream begins, he can’t feel his body, just the air cooling as the color drains from the world, leaving it gray and shimmering. A great cloud-sea moves beneath his feet, a restless dark ocean punctured by a great tree with flowers of pure light—”

“The World Tree,” Kiska whispered. Her eyes are bright and alert.

“Hush, Kiska,” Matron Buckshen said. “Let her finish.”

“Oh, forgive me.”

Jigonsaseh waited a few instants before continuing, “ … punctured by a great tree whose roots sink through Great Grandmother Earth and plant themselves upon the back of the Great Tortoise floating in the primeval ocean below. Suddenly, the birds in the trees tuck their beaks beneath their wings, roosting in broad daylight, and butterflies secret themselves in the clouds at his feet. A strange silence descends.”

The matrons shifted. Kiska leaned forward, bracing her elbows on her knees, while Buckshen inhaled a deep breath. Gahela just stared at Koracoo with a sour expression.

“Dimly, Sky Messenger, Dekanawida, becomes aware that he is not alone. Gray shades drift through the air around him, and he knows they are the last congregation, the dead who still walk and breathe. A voice calls his name, and he turns. Beyond the cloud-sea a darkness rises and slithers along the horizon. Strange black curls, like gigantic antlers, spin from the darkness and rake—”

“Horned Serpent?” Kiska hissed, then clapped a hand to her mouth and looked apologetically at Buckshen. “Sorry.”

“Please go on, Matron Jigonsaseh,” Buckshen instructed.

Jigonsaseh focused on the fire. The red coals winked as the flames danced. “The antlers rake the bellies of the Cloud People, and Elder Brother Sun trembles in the sky. There is a brilliant flash, and white feathers sprout from his edges. As he flies away into a black hole in the sky, a crack sounds, and when Sky Messenger looks down, he sees a great pine tree pushing up through Great Grandmother Earth. As it grows, its white roots stretch out to the four directions, and a snowy blanket of thistledown rains upon the world.” She hesitated, not sure she wished to tell them the whole Dream. “Then the Dream bursts, and for a time there is only blinding light. Finally, Sky Messenger sees the flowers of the World Tree fluttering down, down, and he falls through a hole in the cloud-sea, and keeps falling, tumbling through nothingness surrounded by petals of pure light. Wisps of cloud trail behind him.”

When she stopped, she looked up and found Matron Buckshen’s white-filmed eyes on something insubstantial, perhaps living the Dream. The other two matrons contemplatively stared at the fire. Then Matron Kiska closed her eyes with desperate effort, as though to blot out the images. Only Cord was looking at her, and he had a slight frown on his handsome face.

“That is his Dream.”

“And what does Dekanawida make of this Dream?” Buckshen asked.

Jigonsaseh wasn’t accustomed to his Flint name yet. It took her a moment to answer. “He thinks our war is killing Great Grandmother Earth and will cause Elder Brother Sun to turn his back on us. He wants the war to stop.”

Matron Gahela’s eyes went strange, almost accusatory. “Are you trying to talk us into another alliance? The last one didn’t work out too well. Many of our people are dead. Ask the survivors of Flatwoods Village. They—”

“Gahela,” Buckshen softly chastised. “We all grieve with you over the loss of your relatives, but—”

“
She
does not grieve with me.” Gahela’s eyes blazed at Jigonsaseh.

Jigonsaseh calmly returned her gaze. “I was not a member of the Ruling Council at the time, Matron Gahela. If I had been, I assure you I would have voted no. We had no cause to attack Flatwoods Village. It was a bad decision, and I grieve both for your losses and ours.”

That seemed to somewhat mollify Gahela. She lowered her eyes but continued to grind her teeth.

Buckshen said, “What does Dekanawida wish us to do to end the war?”

“He said to tell you that there will come a time in the very near future when we must tie our people together again to fight for peace. He asks that you consider joining us, and if you agree, then you should prepare yourselves. He will send a messenger when he needs you to join the fight.”

“When will that be?”

“I cannot say.” She sat back on the bench and heaved a breath. “When I left Yellowtail Village we were preparing to attack Atotarho Village. I pray that is not the battle my son needs you for. I suspect it will be long and bloody.”

Kiska blinked owlishly. “But what if it is? Atotarho is an evil sorcerer. His witchery has killed many of our children, and his warriors have killed the rest! If we band together to destroy him, will that stop Elder Brother Sun from turning his back on us?”

Matron Gahela snorted disdainfully. “You’re not thinking, Kiska. Dekanawida’s request makes no sense. He says he wants us join the Standing Stone nation to fight for peace. Does that mean he wishes to fight, or not to fight?”

Buckshen said, “That is a good question. Matron Jigonsaseh?”

Koracoo gestured uncertainly. “I’m no Dreamer, Matrons. Just a Dreamer’s messenger. I leave all interpretations up to you. But I suspect, sooner than any of us wish, we will all know the answer to that question.”

Buckshen tilted her head, and the firelight reflected from her white-filmed eyes, turning them into amber mirrors. “The council will need to deliberate on this matter; then we must seek the opinions of our clans.”

“I understand. I will return to my own village and await your decision. I thank you with all my heart for agreeing to hear my son’s Dream.” She stood and bowed deeply to the council members.

Cord stood up. “Matron Jigonsaseh, if it would not delay your journey, I would offer you something to eat and drink. Our village makes an excellent walnut bread.”