The Broken Land (30 page)

“I swear I’m getting old and decrepit,” she said.

“Well, the good thing about being a legendary former war chief is that few men will ever be brave enough to suggest it.”

She smothered a chuckle. “Then I am more fortunate than I deserve.”

He clutched her arm as they made their way out of the council house and across the plaza through the cold sleet. When they stood beneath the porch of the Bear Clan longhouse, Koracoo stopped.

“Let’s speak of the important things out here.”

He nodded. “Of course.”

Her warm smile turned into a bleak tight-lipped expression. “First, I want you to know that I believe battle with Atotarho Village is a certainty.”

“Why?”

“War Chief Hiyawento was just here. He came to deliver a message from the Hills Ruling Council.”

“A threat, no doubt.”

“Yes. They told us not to attempt to make any other alliances with Hills villages or they would destroy us. Many members of our Ruling Council believe that it is foolish to live in fear that they will carry out their threat, and wiser to attack them first.”

Gonda bowed his head. “That would be a grave error. They will cut us up and lay us down like a summer hailstorm does the corn. Are you trying to talk sense into them?”

“Trying without much success.”

“Is this just pride or—?”

“No, it’s Sky Messenger’s Dream.”

For a long quiet moment, they gazed at each other. Between them lay many summers of warring side by side, of mad desperate passion, of two beloved children stolen and rescued and now grown to adulthood … so many intimate moments unthinkingly shared. And he could tell from the way she ground her teeth that she needed someone to talk to, someone she trusted.

Gonda said, “He Dreamed the end of the world, or so I’ve heard.”

“He says that we must end this war, and if we do not, there is a great darkness coming.”

With a touch of irony, he said, “You, naturally, believe that means making peace with our enemies. Matron Kittle, however, thinks it means annihilating them. Is that pretty much it?”

A small hard-edged smile curved her lips. “Pretty much.”

Gonda squinted out across the plaza, watching the sleet fall. It bounced from the frozen ground as though alive. “With your mother gone, you will soon be the Yellowtail Village matron, won’t you?”

“I have agreed to the Requickening Ceremony, yes. That’s what the matrons were discussing in the council house.”

“When will the ritual take place?”

“Tomorrow, midmorning.”

He sighed. “Then this is the last day of our lives when I will be able to call you Koracoo. Tomorrow, you will become Matron Jigonsaseh. The following day you will have considerably more power to direct the future course of the nation.”

Her expression tightened. “Village matrons have power in their own villages. In the Ruling Council, however, each voice is just one of many.”

He remembered all the times he’d called her a “peacemaker” with loathing in his voice. Apparently, so did she. She had a guarded expression on her face, as though preparing to hear the same words she’d always heard from him.

Instead, he said, “Let me speak with what’s left of the White Dog Village council. Perhaps I can convince them to back your peace efforts. The Spirits know we cannot win a war against the Hills People. There simply aren’t enough of us to wage the fight.”

When he looked back at her, he saw an unsettling mixture of relief and old love in her eyes. “I would like to have Bahna present Sky Messenger’s vision to your council, if you think that would be acceptable.”

“I’m sure they’d rather hear it from your lips, but I’ll ask.”

She walked forward and drew aside the entry curtain. Warm air rushed out, and when it struck his face, he shivered.

She said, “Let’s tend to those who need us. Perhaps, if you are not too tired, we can speak more later.”

“I’d like that.”

Just before Gonda ducked through, Koracoo said, “Gonda, immediately after the Requickening, I’m leaving.”

“Leaving? This is hardly the time for the new matron of Yellowtail Village to be away.”

She gazed at him without blinking, as though worried how he was going to respond to what she was about to say. “Sky Messenger asked me to carry his vision to Chief Cord.”

A tiny thread of old jealousy went through him, which amused him. It had been twelve long summers since she’d removed Gonda as her deputy war chief and installed Cord in his place. What did it matter now? “Well,” he said, “we need more warriors. If you can convince Cord to join us, even just for this battle, it will help.”

She gave him a grateful smile, and Gonda ducked beneath the curtain and headed for Tutelo’s chamber, where his ill wife rested.

Cord. Why did it have to be Cord?

Thirty

F
our nights later, Taya and Sky Messenger made camp in the hollow of a toppled pine. The deep hole had been gouged when the old giant had blown over in a windstorm; it was filled with rocks and gravel and, in her opinion, created the worst place possible to try to sleep. They’d stowed their canoe, hidden it in a pile of brush along the river, and now were traveling on foot through the trackless wilderness of enemy territory.

As she arranged the kindling on the small island of dirt at the rear of the hole, she morosely glanced around. The hole, deeper than she was tall, didn’t give her much to look at. High above, crooked pine roots zigzagged over her head, and beyond them, the campfires of the dead filled the sky and sparkled through the treetops. Her gaze drifted over the brush that fringed the rim of the hole—a mixture of ironwood saplings and dense holly. The forest canopy was luminous. Moonlight streamed between the sycamores, bleaching the bark where it struck or draping inky weblike shadows through the forest.

She couldn’t see him, but she knew Sky Messenger was gathering wood. At night, he moved with the stealth of a cougar. Were it not for the occasional snapping of twigs, she wouldn’t know he was out there. She couldn’t hear Gitchi at all, but the wolf was at Sky Messenger’s side. He always was.

Taya finished arranging the kindling, pulled her cape closely around her, and flopped back against the cold dirt wall. Rocks poked into her back. She shifted to avoid them.

When water starting soaking through her cape, Taya jerked forward and dragged the doeskin around to look at the wet spot. “Not only is this a rocky hole, it’s oozing water!” She leaned forward and took a good look at the floor of the hole. All around the small island of dirt, water glistened.

“Wonderful. Just wonderful,” she groaned. This was the most abominable place he’d yet chosen to camp. Was he trying to punish her for wanting to go home? This just made her long for the warmth of her longhouse even more.

The brush rattled softly as Sky Messenger shouldered through the holly and carefully worked his way down into the hole. The old gray-faced wolf came through behind him. Taya watched them with an annoyed expression on her face. Sky Messenger carried a small pile of branches in the crook of his left arm.

“That’s not nearly enough wood,” she complained. “There’s water in this hole.” She pointed to the puddles. “We’ll have to build a really big fire to dry it out.”

“We can’t, Taya. We’re in the middle of Hills country. Our fire will have to be very small. Even that is a risk. You can have my blanket tonight. I’ll be plenty warm wrapped in my cape.” Sky Messenger knelt and placed the wood beside her kindling. As he pulled his pack off and drew out the little pot where he kept coals from their morning fire, she frowned at him. Grandmother Moon cast a queer silvery sheen over his cape and hair, and threw the planes of his face into sharply contrasting arcs of gray and black. Sky Messenger carefully tucked the coals into her twig pile, added some dry leaves, and began blowing on the coals. It seemed to take forever before they reddened and flames licked through the tinder. She instantly extended her cold hands to the tiny blaze and sighed. “Thank the Spirits.”

“Here, this will help.” Sky Messenger reached into his pack and pulled out his carefully folded rabbit-fur blanket. Composed of worn, sewn-together rabbit pelts, it resembled a shabby patchwork. As he draped it over her shoulders, he said, “Why don’t you also pull your blanket from your pack? Then you—”

“Please, do so.”

He blinked as though annoyed about being ordered around like one of her slaves. He picked up her pack and tossed it at her. “I’m sure it’s in there.”

Indignant, she roughly rummaged through her pack and jerked out the wadded pine marten blanket. The thin strips of marten fur, woven tightly together, were beautiful, and kept her very warm. She tugged it over her shoulders.

Sky Messenger added twigs to build up the blaze, but it was barely a palm’s width across.

“Why can’t we make a bigger fire?”

As though irritated because he’d already explained, he said again, “We’re in Hills country. A big fire will reflect from the trees and can be seen from a good distance. It will also produce a lot of smoke. The scent carries. On a dark night, billowing smoke wouldn’t matter so much, but tonight there’s a full moon. Streamers from a big fire would rise over the treetops and stretch out across the sky like a trail. Anyone could follow it to us.”

“But a small fire will produce light and smoke, too.”

“Yes, but not much, if it’s built correctly. Down here in this hole, a small fire will be almost invisible to passersby, and what little smoke rises will be diffused by the breeze and the thick branches over our heads. If anyone gets close enough, they’ll still smell the smoke. Every fire is a risk.”

She cocked her head and thought about it. “That makes sense. I guess I’d rather be alive than warm.”

“I’d rather you be alive, as well.”

They sat in silence, listening to the crackling of the fire, while he set up the dinner pot. The size of two fists put together, the pot held barely enough to feed them both, but since he always cooked, she never complained. It was a little like being at home in the longhouse where the newly adopted war captives cooked for her family. She wondered if he realized that, and did it to make the nights easier for her, or if it was just his way. Because it was small, the pot did boil faster, which allowed them to get more sleep. She liked that.

Sky Messenger drew his chert knife from his belt and sliced up the squirrel they’d snared at dusk, letting pieces drop into the pot, occasionally tossing a piece to Gitchi. After he’d poured water over the top and set the pot at the edge of the flames to boil, he sat down cross-legged beside her. His black cape spread around him in sculpted folds.

“Are you certain you’ll be warm enough without your blanket? I want you rested tomorrow.”

He glanced up as though intrigued that she cared. “I’ll be fine. I am accustomed to the cold.”

He tossed another twig on the meager flames. Sparks sailed into the air. He frowned uneasily at them until they winked out amid the sycamore branches.

“Sky Messenger?” she said hesitantly. “This friend who saved you, the man we’ll be stopping to see on the way home, who is he?”

Even pitched low, as it was tonight, his deep voice was startlingly beautiful. Gitchi eased down and propped his big muzzle in Sky Messenger’s lap. Sky Messenger stroked his head. “He’s a war chief. He taught me everything I know about honor and duty.” More softly, he added, “And about self-sacrifice.”

“Really?” She brightened. If he was a war chief, when they got there, they’d be feasted and showered with gifts. Her world was brightening. “I probably know him. Standing Stone war chiefs come to see Grandmother all the time. What’s his name?”

“He’s not Standing Stone, though he was born among our people.”

It took a moment for her to digest this news. “You can’t mean … Are you trying to tell me that we’re going to walk into an enemy village without a war party at our backs?”

“I think we’ll be all right.”

“You
think?”

He leaned against the dirt wall and worked to find a comfortable position before he replied, “I can’t be sure. I haven’t seen him in a long while. And it won’t be easy getting close to his village. But if we make it, I think he will protect us.”

“What nation is he?” Her eyes slitted.

“He was adopted by the People of the Hills. The woman he loved was there. He went to her. They have three beautiful daughters.” While he scratched Gitchi’s ears, he gazed at the moon-glittered water that pooled between the rocks in the bottom of the hole. “I am happy for them, though I miss them very much.”

Indignantly, she said, “And is your mother happy that you are friends with an enemy war chief? She was once a great Standing Stone war chief. Doesn’t it worry her?”

“I’m sure it does.” Love and respect softened his voice. “Especially now that she is the Speaker for the Women.”

“And she will soon be the Yellowtail Village matron.”

“I suspect she will, yes.”

When his grandmother, Jigonsaseh, journeyed to the afterlife, the matrons of the Bear Clan would almost certainly cast their voices to requicken Jigonsaseh’s soul in her daughter, Koracoo.