The Broken Land (8 page)

Kallen whispered, “What mission?”

“I know nothing of it.”

As Atotarho leaned forward to retrieve the cup of plum tea that had been prepared for him, his gorget—a shell pendant that covered half his chest—fell from his cape. Everyone went silent. A sacred artifact of leadership, it was not a thing for ordinary eyes. Twelve summers ago it had been broken, the bottom half lost on a snowy hillside in the distant country of the People Who Separated. Though Atotarho had sent warriors to search for the bottom half, it had never been found, and he’d been forced to hire an artist to replicate the missing piece as best he could. A black line zigzagged through the center of the pendant where it had been glued together with pine pitch.

The pendant was ancient and chronicled the most sacred story of all: the great battle between human beings and Horned Serpent at the dawn of creation. Horned Serpent had crawled out of Skanodario Lake and attacked the People. His poisonous breath, like a black cloud, had swept over the land, killing almost everyone.

In terror, the People had cried out to the Great Spirit, and he had sent Thunder to help them. A vicious battle had ensued, and Thunder had thrown the greatest lightning bolt ever seen. The flash was so bright many of the People were instantly blinded. Then the concussion struck. The mountains shook, and the stars broke loose from the skies.

Legend said that at the time of the cataclysm, two pendants had been carved by the breath of Horned Serpent. One belonged to the chief, the other to the human False Face who would don a cape of white clouds and ride the winds of destruction across the face of the world.

Everyone felt the pendant’s Power, as evidenced by the fact that they could not take their eyes from it. When Atotarho noticed, he tucked it back into his cape, and Hiyawento’s gaze clung to the snake eyes tattooed on the chief’s fingertips. The man wore bracelets of human finger bones.

The tallest, most heavily scarred man, Thona, a war chief renowned for his skill with a war ax, rose to his feet. “If it please the council, I would speak first.”

Atotarho nodded. “War Chief Thona of Riverbank Village, please continue.”

Hiyawento took a deep breath, preparing himself, and as he exhaled his breath hung before him in the cold air like a shimmering creature.

Thona rubbed a hand over his scarred face before he said, “The fever has come to Riverbank Village, brought in the bodies of the captives we took after our last battle with the Flint People.”

The mood of the group changed abruptly. Perhaps all of them, Hiyawento included, had assumed that today’s meeting would be about the destruction of Sedge Marsh Village, and the fearful prospect that the Standing Stone nation would continue to form more alliances with rogue Hills’ villages. That’s what had every clan matron enraged.

Thona propped his hands on his hips, and his cape flared outward, then fell into soft firelit folds around him. “Our Healers have removed many witch pellets from the captives’ bodies, but the things are alive. Once removed they leap into another body, and another. Matron Kwahseti asks that, for the moment, we all forget about Sedge Marsh Village and their treachery, and agree to a new priority.”

“And that is?”

“Our people are dying like leaves in the first heavy frost. We must find the witches and force them to remove their spells or kill them. If we don’t, all of your villages are at risk, too.”

A rumble of voices ran through the council house as people discussed this new development.

Kallen leaned sideways to say, “War Chief, I think we should leave. What if a witch pellet jumped into Thona’s body, or another of his contingent? We could all run home carrying the fever with us. Is it worth the risk to remain? Atotarho will not listen to us anyway.”

Hiyawento turned to her. Kallen had seen twenty-nine summers pass. Short black hair, cut in mourning, framed her triangular face, making her dark eyes appear huge, like polished mahogany moons riding over her thin nose. She shifted, and the soft fur of her cape, made from twisted strips of weasel hide, caught the sunlight falling through the smoke hole.

Hiyawento replied softly, “No, but perhaps the matrons will care what we have to say.”

He glanced at the six old women who sat like silent white-haired statues. Their wrinkled faces might have been carved from stone, but their eyes were alert, listening to every word, and he thought he saw fear on Tila’s face. Was she dying? Or was this just a ruse to get Zateri to return to Atotarho Village?

“How many people have the fever?” Atotarho asked.

“When we left Riverbank Village three days ago,” Thona said, and the white scars that crisscrossed his face tensed, “fifty-seven.”

After a brief stunned silence, War Chief Joondoh of Turtleback Village stood to be recognized. Short, muscular, and loud, he said, “The Flint People did this on purpose. The cowards!”

“What are you saying?” Thona asked.

“I mean that when they heard that our warriors were on the trails, they witched their own people. They wanted us to attack and carry the sickness home.”

Hiyawento opened his mouth to reply, but Thona cut him off. “They would not
dare
to do such a thing. They know we would slaughter them to the last person.”

Atotarho rubbed his right knee and winced before saying, “I think they would dare. They would do anything to kill us.”

“If I may comment?” Hiyawento rose to his feet, and Thona sat down. Eyes turned to Hiyawento—not all of them respectfully, for he was an adopted member of the Hills People. He had been born and raised among the Standing Stone People, and some here believed that’s where his allegiance remained.

“Proceed,” Atotarho said, but his eyes narrowed suspiciously. The other representatives noticed and cast distrustful looks Hiyawento’s way.

“With deference to this assembly, I must say that I doubt the Flint People would witch their own families. It would be too dangerous. The disease might—”

War Chief Joondoh rose to shout, “That is
exactly
the sort of thing they would do! It would be a devastatingly effective method of killing us. After the battle, they could just have their witches remove the pellets from those who survived. Any who were captured would then become the greatest warriors, carrying the witch pellets into the very hearts of their enemy’s longhouses.”

“If you will allow me to finish, Chief?”

Atotarho stared at Hiyawento for a long moment before saying, “Please.”

“I’m sure many of you have heard a different story from your own Flint captives.” He paused to see heads nodding before cautiously continuing, “Though I’m sure none of us believes it, I think we should consider their side of this issue, for they say that the sickness comes from Chief Atotarho.”

As a few outraged voices rose, Atotarho lifted a hand to silence them. “Go on, War Chief.”

Hiyawento said, “Our captives say Atotarho has hired armies of witches to sicken his enemies, and that it is we who are to blame for the fever. In fact, the few survivors of the Sedge Marsh attack are adamant that their village grew ill and died in less than two days. They say that by the time the warriors from Atotarho Village arrived to punish them for allying with the Standing Stone nation, nearly everyone was already dead. That’s why the chief lost not a single warrior in the fight.” He looked around at the assembly. “It does sound like witchery.”

Several warriors leaped to their feet with murderous expressions on their faces. He suspected they would have carried out those impulses if their weapons had not been stacked along the far wall. Hiyawento calmly sat down.

“That is a disgraceful accusation,” Thona said in a seething voice. “Our chief does not consort with witches.”

“Nonetheless,” Hiyawento replied, “that is what they believe, and that is why they hate us so much. Perhaps if we made some effort to disprove this notion, if we sent some of our Healers to the Flint People, for instance, it might save the lives of many of our own villagers.”

Joondoh roared, “The Flint People accuse our chief to cover their own witchery! It is ridiculous to pander to them.”

Atotarho leaned forward and stared thoughtfully at the fire. Hiyawento scanned the faces of the warriors, assessing the impact of his words. No one looked at him, and whenever they, by chance, happened to meet his eyes, they quickly glanced away. That told him a great deal. Not only had they heard the same rumor from their Flint captives or, perhaps, the Sedge Marsh survivors, they believed them. Even if they wished to agree with him, they could not, at least not publicly, out of fear that their own families might be witched next.

Atotarho finally looked up. He stared straight at Hiyawento. “I, of course, have not heard this rumor. But now that Hiyawento has brought it in front of the council, it makes me wonder if the story is not to our advantage?” Eyes widened. People whispered behind their hands. “I do not object to being greatly feared. If the Sedge Marsh elders had feared me more, perhaps they would not have committed treason by allying themselves with the Standing Stone nation. Isn’t fear the most effective weapon we have?”

A gust of wind flapped the leather door covering, and streamers of blue smoke swirled through the shafts of sunlight lancing through the smoke holes. People coughed and squinted against the onslaught while they considered the chief’s question.

Joondoh rose. When Atotarho nodded, he said, “I confess that I believe this rumor may well be to our advantage. It’s fear that causes the Flint People to abandon their villages when they hear we are on the trails. They leave so fast they abandon everything they have, including their meager food stores, for us to claim. Fear, it seems to me, will save far more lives than sending them Healers.” He cast a disgusted look at Hiyawento.

When Joondoh sat down, Hiyawento and Thona leapt up at the same time. Atotarho nodded to Thona, and Hiyawento reluctantly reseated himself.

Thona said, “I agree with Joondoh, and respectfully submit to this council that we should make no attempt to disprove this notion.”

Hiyawento stood again, but Atotarho silenced him by saying, “I think this matter has been adequately considered. Let us move on to discuss the next issue: the treachery of Sedge Marsh Village.”

The change of subject had the force of a war club’s impact. Warriors went silent. Many were obviously uncomfortable with dropping either the discussion of the fever, or the heinous accusation of witchcraft. On the east side of the longhouse, High Matron Tila of the Wolf Clan whispered to Matron Kelek of the Bear Clan. She nodded. Both women turned to speak to the other matrons. Moments later, they all turned to statues again.

Atotarho quietly said, “What have you all heard?”

“Treasonous dogs,” Joondoh spat the last word. “We hear they allied themselves with Bur Oak and Yellowtail Villages for a few baskets of corn.”

“It is obscene,” Thona agreed. “They deserved to die. They had no honor, no pride in the war we fight against our enemies.”

Hiyawento rose, and this time received the chief’s approval. “So you all believe it?” Nods went round. Warriors leaning along the walls hissed threats in voices that brooked no disagreement. “And does anyone have proof?”

“We’ve heard the same story from a dozen Traders,” Thona replied.

“And from Sedge Marsh captives!” Joondoh’s deputy war chief, Dahana, a tall wiry man, insisted. “Why would they lie about such a thing?”

“They have no reason to lie about it.” Joondoh squinted against the shifting smoke.

A chorus of soft voices went round.

At his side, Kallen expelled a breath and rose to her feet. “May I speak, Chief?”

Atotarho nodded, and Kallen said, “Coldspring Village has taken in five Sedge Marsh survivors. They have a different explanation of why they allied with the Standing Stone nation. They acknowledge that they accepted baskets of corn, but only after High Matron Tila refused to help them. They also say the alliance was one of mutual defense. They were afraid of the Flint People, and High Matron Kittle guaranteed them that she would place Standing Stone warriors on the southern trails to keep Flint war parties at bay.” She sat down again.

Thona sneered. “They should have asked her to place warriors on the northern trails as well, to protect them from the wrath of their own people.”

Joondoh added, “It might be wise for us to dispatch a runner to High Matron Kittle to inform her that she is responsible for the destruction of Sedge Marsh Village.”

Atotarho shifted to ease the pain in his hip, and the circlets of skull on his black cape flashed. “Is Turtleback Village suggesting that we dispatch an emissary to High Matron Kittle to warn her not to interfere with any other Hills villages or she will face the consequences?”

“We are,” Joondoh said.

“Riverbank Village sees no harm in this.” Thona’s scars gleamed whitely when he cast a respectful glance at the matrons, whose ancient faces remained impassive.

Atotarho rubbed his knee for a time before saying, “What message would the emissary carry?”

Joondoh replied, “We should tell her straightly that if she attempts to establish another alliance with a Hills Village we will attack Bur Oak Village and kill every last person.”

Thona blinked thoughtfully. “Yes, but who will carry the message?”

Joondoh nodded. “They will recognize any Hills warrior who tries to approach their border. They know us just by the way we move, as we do them. Even if traveling with a white arrow, I suspect our emissary will be dead in less than a heartbeat. Perhaps a Trader?”

The white arrow signified that the traveler was on a special diplomatic mission. Most people respected it, but some did not. Kittle had been known to return white arrows soaked in the emissary’s blood.

Almost too soft to hear, Atotarho said, “I agree. It must be someone they know.”

While the warriors standing along the walls muttered darkly to each other, Hiyawento studied Atotarho. The chief’s deeply wrinkled face had an odd expression. His eyes were downcast, apparently staring at the flames, but in the blue swirls of wood smoke that filled the sunlit air between them, Hiyawento thought he appeared almost triumphant.