The Broken Land (4 page)

Jonsoc, a stoutly built youth of sixteen summers, flexed his muscles and winced. He always kept his black hair cut very short, in mourning for friends lost in battle. “I can still fight, War Chief. Don’t worry.” His dark deeply set eyes appeared haunted.

Deru propped his hands on his hips, and it made his red-painted leather cape flare outward. “There will be no more fighting for a few days, at least I hope not. We’ll be headed straight back to Bur Oak and Yellowtail villages tomorrow.”

For defensive purposes, villages had been moving closer together, combining warriors to mount larger war parties. It seemed to be working. They’d had many successes of late. Though tonight’s triumph was a hollow mimicry of true victory. It had not been a battle of skilled, passionate warriors fighting for the honor of their clans, but a slaughter of sick people who could barely lift their heads from their bedding hides. An unknown fever stalked the land, making enemy villages easy targets. That’s what was eating at his men. They felt like murderers, instead of warriors.

Both Deru and Sky Messenger had spoken out against the orders, arguing that it was more honorable to wait until the Flint People were well, then attack. High Matron Kittle had barely listened. In a bored voice, she’d informed them, “The council wishes to keep our losses low. Which should be obvious to you two, since you claim to be warriors. Surely you know it’s easier to kill people when they are sick and can’t fight. We are also, all of us, obligated to gather enough captives to restore the numbers of clan members lost in the last battle with the Mountain People. How do you propose we do that if we do not attack someone? Get out of my sight. Both of you make me ill.”

A stinking wave of smoke gusted out of the burning village, scattering the embers in the fire and flinging them about. Warriors cursed and lunged to get out of the way. Deru pulled up his cape and covered his nose until it passed. Ashes spun across the meadow like tiny tornadoes, then thrashed through a copse of leafless plum trees before vanishing into the forest.

“I wish Wind Mother would calm herself,” Jonsoc said. “Her constant whining has a sickly quality that shreds my nerves.”

“You’re such a girl.” Hannock chuckled.

Wampa’s brow lifted. She shoved shoulder-length black hair away from her irritated face. She had seen twenty-four summers and distinguished herself in battle many times. Her twin sister, Yaweth, sat beside her, smiling as Wampa’s hand dropped suggestively to her belted war club. “Perhaps you would like to rephrase that before I crush your skull.”

Hannock grinned sheepishly. “What I meant to say is, Jonsoc, you are such an
infant.
”

Jonsoc sighed. “Oh, yes, I like that much better than being called a girl. Thank you, Wampa.”

Smiles replaced the hollow expressions. Warriors shoveled more cornmeal mush into their jaws and laughed as they chewed.

Deru glanced around the camp, searching for his deputy. “Has anyone seen Sky Messenger? I’ve been looking for him for over one hand of time.”

Between bites, Hannock said, “He relieved us so we could eat. He’s guarding the captives.”

“Ah, good for him, always thinking of his warriors before himself.”

Deru turned and saw Sky Messenger standing before the captives with his war club propped on his shoulder. Strangely, the children had stopped crying. He studied their firelit faces. They sat like small statues, still and quiet. Some must by lying down in the grass. He saw only a handful of children and two women.

Deru gave Sky Messenger a nod, and his deputy lifted a hand in return. He was a tall man, almost as tall as his legendary mother, former War Chief Koracoo. She towered over almost everyone in the village. Tonight her son had tied his shoulder-length hair back with a cord that made his round face appear moonish in the firelight. Sky Messenger’s brown eyes had a tight look. Deru squinted, wondering what was wrong—other than the fact that they had just killed the families of friends.

Deru looked again at the warriors around the fire, but Sky Messenger’s expression nagged at him. He rubbed his jaw. The way the children had been roped together, it would have been very difficult for any of them to lie down.

Just as he started walking toward Sky Messenger, his deputy let out a shout and pointed.
“Warriors!”

Shrill war cries erupted on the opposite side of the camp. Wampa leapt to her feet and shouted, “We are attacked! Grab your weapons!”

Deru jerked his club from his belt and led the charge through the deep leaves toward the birches. Men ran to follow him, their own distinctive clan war yells tearing from their throats as they barreled forward, preparing to do battle with Flint warriors … .

“
S
tay close to me,” I hiss, and trot down the muddy bank with the women and children slipping and sliding behind me. I have my bow and quiver over my left shoulder. A war club, stilettos, and a small pouch are tied to my weapons belt. But if we are discovered, my weapons will be useless. Despite the fact that they will soon consider me to be a traitor to the Standing Stone nation … I will not kill my friends. These are men and women I grew up with. Warriors who have saved my life many times over.

Which means I must free these slaves quickly.

The scents of wet earth and water fill the night. The rushing river covers most of the sounds we make, and every time a child cries, one of the women runs back to shush it.

I head straight toward two dead trees that lay canted at an angle near the water. They must have blown over recently. Ax marks cover the trunks where the branches have been chopped off and used to warm longhouses, fire pottery, and cook food, but most of the trunks are intact. I stop at the thickest trunk. Three body-lengths long, it looks like it will float thirteen people. The wood has just begun to weather a silver-gray.

I turn to look at Gitchi. He stands on the river terrace where I left him, his lean body silhouetted against the firelight. He will warn me when they are coming.

Whimpers and sniffling sound as the children, and the two women, gather around me. I stare hard into their terrified faces. Their wide eyes glisten in the orange gleam reflecting from the river. “You have to be absolutely quiet. Do you understand?”

Nods eddy through the group. One of the two women, the younger, maybe sixteen summers, asks, “Are we going into the river? It’ll be freezing. Can’t we run—?”

“No, Dekanawida is right,” the other woman, gaunt, with the skeletal face and short black hair, says. “This is the best chance we have. We can stand it.”

I say, “What’s your name?”

“Sagoy.”

“We have to hurry, Sagoy. Both of you, help me roll this tree into the water.”

The two women brace their feet, and together we roll the log into the river. When it’s floating, I say, “Stay in the river for as long as you can, until you’re starting to turn blue. By then, you will be far enough away that you’ll probably be safe.”

When Sagoy looks up at me, she’s shaking badly. “But aren’t you coming with us?”

“No. I—”

“They’ll kill you, Cousin. You must know that!”

I wave the children forward. “Come on! All of you, wade into the water. Divide up, six on one side of the log, five on the other. You—” I point to the young woman—“take the front of the log. Try to guide it around the snags. Now! Get going.”

The children splash into the icy river and grab hold of whatever they can. In only moments, their teeth are chattering. All I see as the log rides the waves is small tear-streaked faces.

Sagoy looks at me as though she’s on the verge of blind panic. “They’ll come after us, won’t they?” She wrings her hands. “They’ll chase us down!”

“Just be sure to put the river between you and them. Step out on the opposite shore and head straight for Wild River Village. It’s the closest Flint Village.” I cast a glance over my shoulder. Gitchi still stands looking at the camp. But I know I don’t have long.

I shove Sagoy toward the log. “Hurry.”

“But what about you? Where will you—?”

“I’m going to lead them on a wild chase. Now leave, before we’re all dead!”

She splashes into the water and swims for the log. When it gets caught by the waves and pulled into the current, the log bucks wildly and water splashes around them. No one makes a sound. Then they are swept around the bend in the river, and I lose sight of them.

A soft bark draws my attention. Gitchi has one foot lifted.

I wave to him, and he runs like the wind, his muscular body stretching out, eating the distance between us. When he’s close, I break into the run of my life.

Three

W
hen Deru rushed into the forest, he found only two women sitting on the ground with their chins up, glaring at him defiantly. “What is this?”

He strode forward and kicked one of them in the chest, toppling her. “What are you doing here? Who are you? Survivors of the village?”

The gloating expression on the elder woman’s face struck him like a blow to the belly. She was proud. Of what? He whirled to stare at where the captives were being held, certain she’d been one of them, and found them gone, along with Sky Messenger. As the slow burn of understanding began to sear Deru’s chest, he gripped his war club in a hard fist.

“Utz, where are captives? Take six men and find them. Now!”

Utz ran, tapping men on the shoulder as he passed.

Through gritted teeth, Deru ordered. “Wampa, rope these two together and guard them. Hannock? Follow me.”

Deru dashed back to examine the place where the captives had been held. Utz and his men were scouring the area, following out the trails through the leaves. Dredged by short legs, they headed to the water.

Hannock whispered, “They escaped down the river! Where’s Sky Messenger? Did they kill him?” He immediately rushed to search the deep leaves for his friend’s body.

Deru stalked down the slick riverbank, toward where Utz stood with an ugly expression on his face, examining Sky Messenger’s distinctive moccasin prints. They lined the bank beside the children’s.

Deru took his time walking the bank, reading the tracks. Sky Messenger and the two women had rolled a log into the water. Its path was clear. The children had been running when they’d followed the log into the water.

Deru clutched his war club tighter. A painful mixture of shock and rage surged through him. He continued walking. A short distance away, Sky Messenger had stood surrounded by the women and children … as though they’d been listening to him. Had he been giving instructions? Telling them what? How to avoid being recaptured by Deru?

Deru looked up. Utz’s mouth was hanging open. The gap left by his rotted-out front teeth created a dark hole.

“Utz? Come here.”

The warrior trotted to Deru. “Yes, War Chief?”

Deru ordered, “Take your men. Follow the riverbank south. Find Sky Messenger.”

Utz glanced down at the moccasin prints and swallowed hard. “But, Deru, I don’t care what it looks like, I—I don’t believe it. He must have been taken hostage!”

Sky Messenger’s mother, Koracoo, was Deru’s closest friend, and his former war chief. She’d nominated Deru to replace her when she’d been elected as Speaker for the Women of Yellowtail Village.
Blessed Spirits, please let Sky Messenger be a hostage; then he’ll only have to live down the jeers and taunts of friends asking how a bunch of women and children managed to subdue him
. He’d be the butt of jokes for a time, but he’d be alive. Unless the Flint women killed him before he could escape. On the other hand, if he had not been taken hostage …

“Do you believe it?” Utz asked. “That he betrayed—”

“If you keep standing here flapping your jaws, we’ll never know, will we?”

“But War Chief, he’s as loyal as I am. He couldn’t—”

Deru gripped his arm hard. “If it looks like he’s a hostage, give him the benefit of the doubt. If it’s clear he’s leading them … or running from us …” He didn’t finish the sentence.

Utz nervously licked his lips. “I understand.”

The punishment for treason was death.

Out in the river, water splashed over rocks, kicking up spray. Streamers of white foam frosted the waves as they rushed downstream toward the lands of the Flint People.

“Be back by tomorrow at noon,” Deru ordered. “We will wait for you until then. Now move.”

Utz backed away, calling to his search party, “Follow me! We’re heading down the river.”

With narrowed eyes, Deru watched the seven men trot away. On the opposite shore maples swayed in the icy breeze. Snowflakes had started to fall, featherlike, softly alighting on the branches. A crystalline sparkle lit the air.

“He’s not a hostage,” Deru whispered as he looked down at the clear tracks in the mud. “Why did he do it? He must have known the consequences.”

Deru gripped his war club. He would rather face an entire Flint war party than call Koracoo’s son a traitor.

He trudged back up the bank and out into the firelit meadow. His men stood in a semicircle waiting for him. Snow had already begun to frost their shoulders and heads. Their hushed voices sounded like the low hiss of a snake.