The Broken Land (9 page)

Thona said, “Do you have someone in mind?”

Atotarho lifted his eyes, and his gaze fixed on Hiyawento. A faint smile touched his lips.

It took a moment for the realization to sink in, and when it did, the earth seemed to shake beneath Hiyawento. Every gaze stuck to him like boiled pine pitch.

“War Chief Hiyawento was born among the Standing Stone People. He moves as they do.”

“I won’t consider it!” Thona fumed and glowered at Hiyawento. “We can’t trust him. It’s unconscionable.”

Atotarho said, “He’s the best choice.”

“Maybe, but what if they turn him? He may return as a spy. It’s not worth it.”

As a cacophony of dissenting voices erupted, Hiyawento slowly rose to his feet. “May I speak?”

“Go on.”

“I am a man of the Hills People. Though I was not born among you, my wife is the chief’s daughter. Our children are of the Wolf Clan. I will defend this village to my last breath, as I have done for the past eight summers.” He paused to allow people to quiet down. “As all of you are aware, by allowing myself to be adopted into your people I committed treason. Rather than hearing the message I carry, I believe Matron Kittle will have me killed on sight.”

Atotarho’s lips pressed into a tight white line. Is that what the old witch had in mind? He could kill two birds with one arrow? He could threaten High Matron Kittle, and get Hiyawento out of the way? Or perhaps this was about Zateri? With Hiyawento out of the way would she be more inclined to return to Atotarho village?

“I think Hiyawento is far more likely to make it to the gates of Bur Oak Village than anyone born among the Hills People. Whether or not he is allowed inside the gates, I cannot say. But I believe he is still the best choice for this undertaking.”

Kallen, astonished, said, “But, my chief, he will be murdered long before he has a chance to speak!” Kallen seated herself and whispered to Hiyawento, “Matron Zateri will surely vote no in the Women’s Council. She—”

“No,” Hiyawento cut her off. “She will vote to send me. As she should.” He exhaled hard. All eyes were upon him. “Allow me to take back my objections. Chief Atotarho is right. I’m the best man for this mission.”

A faint knowing smile touched Atotarho’s face.

When Coldspring Village joined the Hills alliance eight summers before, every clan matron agreed to support the decisions of the Ruling Council of Matrons. If Zateri refused to accept one of the council’s decisions, she would be breaking that agreement, and thereby separating Coldspring Village from the alliance. They would be on their own, a lone village vulnerable to attack by anyone. Their paltry three hundred warriors would be no match for a heavily armed party of Mountain or Flint warriors. Not only that, once the news reached their enemies, Coldspring Village would become a prime target.

On the eastern bench, Tila’s frail hand lifted, and all eyes turned to her. As she leaned forward, short white hair, cut in mourning, fell around her deeply sunken cheeks. “How long will it take to prepare War Chief Hiyawento?”

Atotarho shrugged. “A day. No more. We need to carefully word our message, and make sure he can repeat it exactly.”

Tila’s neck trembled as she nodded. “We will discuss the issue with our clans, and return with our decision as soon as everyone’s voice has been heard.”

Such negotiations often took days, perhaps even moons. Hiyawento felt slightly ill. Atotarho’s action had obligated him to remain close at hand until the matrons returned with their decision. And if they approved sending him to Bur Oak Village, Hiyawento would have no choice but to go.
Sky Messenger, forgive me, old friend … .

“Thank you, High Matron.” To the assembled warriors, Atotarho said, “This council meeting is dismissed until the matrons call a new meeting.”

No one said a word as the old women rose and filed out of the house. They walked unsteadily, their white heads tottering above their capes. Tila was last in line. She used a walking stick to slowly make her way toward the leather door hanging. Once the matrons were gone, hostile voices rose, and the gazes that locked on Hiyawento were like lance thrusts. Knots of warriors began to form near the stacked weapons.

Kallen said, “I don’t think you will be leaving on your journey to search for your friend today, War Chief.”

“No.”

Kallen’s eyes slitted as she looked around. Men had started shifting their weight to the balls of their feet, moving like warriors on a blood trail. “Perhaps it would be best if we go home before this gets out of hand?”

He rose to his feet. “The sooner the better.”

Eight

Sky Messenger

I
jerk upright and try to force air into my starving lungs. The musty fragrance of fallen leaves carries on the night breeze. All around me the autumn forest is still and quiet, wrapped in a cool cloak of darkness. The campfires of the dead blaze through the swaying maple branches. I rub my hands over my face and fight to shove away the Dream images.

Gitchi whimpers. When I turn, I find the old wolf staring at me with luminous eyes.

“I’m all right.” I reach out to gently stroke his side. His bushy tail wags.

After several deep soothing breaths, I heave a sigh and drag myself to my feet. Gitchi expectantly lifts his big head. The wolf has seen twelve summers pass. Though the thick fur on his lean body is still dark gray, his face has gone almost totally white. He gazes steadily at me, waiting. He has traveled the war trail with me since he was a puppy and I was a child. He knows my strange ways. This isn’t the first time the Dream has awakened both of us like a clap of thunder.

Through a long, difficult exhalation, I whisper, “We have to go home, old friend. I have to tell them what I’ve seen.”

Gitchi stretches, groans softly, and walks to my side. I know he will follow me anywhere, no matter the danger or disgrace. And there is no doubt in my heart that when I reach home my clan will heap mountains of humiliation upon me. I don’t even wish to imagine the expression on Mother’s face. Though she is now the Speaker for the Women of Yellowtail Village, a village of the Standing Stone People, she spent ten summers of her life as a war chief. Regaining her respect, and the respect of my clan, may well take the rest of my life.

“If it is even possible.” The words echo through the dark trees, coming back sounding more desperate and forlorn than I imagined.

A deputy war chief who betrays his people after a particularly brutal battle and vanishes into the wilderness is a marked man. I pray I can make them understand why I did it, but I will probably be chased from the village as a traitor. I dare not imagine what my warriors, or my war chief, have said about me in my absence. They have, perhaps, declared me an Outcast. In that case, I am dead. When I walk through the gates, the whispering will begin, and I fear it will be like the hurricane that sweeps away my world.

I pat Gitchi’s head, and he gazes up at me with loving eyes. “We may not have a home, my friend. Are you ready for that?”

He wags his tail, telling me he can stand anything so long as I am there with him.

Gitchi has always been at my side, fighting for me with blind loyalty, warming me with his body when I was freezing cold.

I have few other true friends. Four: Hiyawento; Zateri; my sister, Tutelo; and Baji. Our friendships were forged in the white-hot flames of slavery. Even when we are far apart, I feel them breathing inside me, and it gives me strength. Despite distance, or disagreements, or even death, I know they will come to find me if I need them. As I would if they needed me.

That’s one of the reasons my clan considers me an oddity. I am a loner. I have never married, never produced children. To my clan this verges on being criminal. I’ve always managed to keep them at bay by excelling in the skills of diplomacy and warfare. Now, even that is gone.

Gitchi’s luminous eyes stare off to the south. He cocks his head, as though wondering about something. I say, “I think the Flint children made it. By now, hopefully, they’ve found relatives in other Flint villages, and are being cared for and loved.”

I reach for my pouch and tie it to my belt; then I take a few moments to study the night. Twenty paces away, a marshy bottom stretches to the east. The powerful scents of moss and wet vegetation waft on the cool fragrant air.

Gitchi stretches again, as though limbering up his stiff joints for the journey home.

Involuntarily, my gaze searches the trees for my Spirit Helper. He was just here … wasn’t he?

Time has shifted. I don’t know how long I’ve been here. Days? Weeks? Perhaps only moments.

Spirit Dreams, I think, do not really take place in the here and now, but in some otherworldly realm where the sky cycles have ceased. Perhaps it is the Land of the Dead. Or just a frozen future. I cannot say. “Come on, Gitchi. Let’s go face Grandmother Jigonsaseh. And then …” I vent a deep halting breath. “Mother.”

Her face appears on the fabric of my souls, and the darkness seems to close in.

As I turn toward the southern trail and begin placing one moccasin in front of the other, sweat melts down my face like tears.

Nine

H
iyawento and Zateri walked hand in hand through the cold morning. It was as if, during the night, the Spirits had frosted the forest with pearl dust, for every shrub, fallen log, and leaf that lay upon the ground glittered whitely.

When Zateri finally released his hand and stopped, they were far out into the trees, a long way from Coldspring Village. “I wanted to vote no, you understand that, don’t you?” she asked with slow precision. “I know you long to be out hunting for Sky Messenger.” She was so short and slender she looked childlike standing in the striped forest shadows. Her long black braid fell over the right shoulder of her white cape. Tipped up to him, her eyes wet, her face was as pretty as ever.

Hiyawento spread his hands. “You had to vote yes. I’m just surprised the decision came so quickly.”

“No one objected. You were clearly the best choice.”

Maples created a laced canopy over their heads, their remaining leaves like drops of blood against the blue sky. “I’m glad they think so. I’m just hoping I make it across the border into Standing Stone country. I’ll be traveling under the white arrow and not allowed to carry weapons. A lone man makes for good target practice.”

“Don’t joke. If Kittle has you executed, it will give Father an excuse to attack the Standing Stone alliance, which will be a catastrophe. The matrons have consistently voted against it for eight summers.” Worry filled her soft brown eyes. Her cape rustled as she folded her arms.

“Attacking Kittle’s allied villages would be a lethal error. While they cannot muster the number of warriors we can, each village is ringed by three circles of palisades. Our losses will be very heavy.”

Zateri reached down and picked up a fallen leaf. The red was still veined with pale green. She stroked it gently as she spoke. “Which means we will have to mount even larger war parties to capture children to replace our losses, and that will cost more lives, and then the whole thing will begin over again. I hate this.”

“As I do. I just don’t see any way out. We must protect ourselves.”

On the fabric of his souls, like a faint brushstroke, flashed the moment yesterday in the war council when her father had smiled at him, and he’d felt the earth shake. To his warrior’s eyes, the gesture had been larger than life, filled with unimaginable malice. After he and Kallen returned to Coldspring Village, he’d shoved it away, but he hadn’t forgotten. The gesture lay like a coiled serpent sleeping in the darkness, ready to rear its ugly head and strike.

Zateri crumpled the leaf in her hand. “Don’t go directly to Kittle.”

His brows drew together. “But those are my orders.”

“And these are mine.” She spun around to stare at him. “Go to Koracoo. She is the Speaker for the Women of Yellowtail Village now. You will have a far better chance of actually meeting with Kittle if you plead your case before Koracoo first.”