The Broken Land (39 page)

Taya flapped her arms against her sides. “Let’s get back to the subject. I’m telling you, if Grandmother knew the truth about what really happened to White Dog Village, the matrons would vote not to attack the Hills villages that weren’t responsible. Grandmother hates Chief Atotarho—she says he’s an evil cannibal sorcerer who deserves to die—but she can be reasonable. Perhaps, if Sky Messenger and I can get home quickly enough, we can redirect Grandmother’s rage.”

“What do you mean? Redirect it?” Hiyawento asked.

“Perhaps we can use it like pine pitch, to glue our peoples together for one purpose: to destroy Atotarho. Please listen to me. I’m sure Grandmother would like that idea, as would the other matrons. Even if it required an onerous alliance with you to achieve it, killing the enemy chief responsible for the deaths of so many Standing Stone women and children would be worth it.”

In an ominous voice, Sky Messenger said, “We are all talking treason. Let us not forget that. If we do this, it will have to be done with the stealth of Cougar stalking Hare. Are we all prepared for that? Taya? Are you?”

Am I?

She took a deep breath and exhaled the words: “By the time we reach Bur Oak Village, I think I will be.”

Sky Messenger and Hiyawento both nodded to her, as though understanding perfectly well that it took time to brace the body and souls for the possibility of being executed. But then, both men had already committed treason, at least in the eyes of some—Hiyawento for allowing himself to be adopted into the Hills nation, and Sky Messenger for releasing the Flint captives. They understood, as few men ever can, the price of loosing the whirlwind. Once released, its path was almost impossible to control.

“Then we will speak with our matrons about this,” Sky Messenger said.

“And I will speak with Zateri about gathering the Women’s Council to consider a truce to hear your vision. But don’t get your hopes—”

A tall woman warrior, silent as a wolf on a blood trail, trotted out of the darkness, her short black hair flapping around her taut face. “War Chief? You must hurry. Several of Atotarho’s warriors are coming. They mean to bring you back to the council meeting.”

Hiyawento leaped to his feet. “Kallen, pick two warriors and take my guests to the Bur Oak Village trail. Be back by morning. I don’t wish anyone to know you were gone.”

“Yes, War Chief.”

Hiyawento and Sky Messenger embraced one last time. Hiyawento whispered, “Before you go, tell me of Baji? Is she well?”

“I don’t know. I’ve had no news from Wild River Village for moons. I pray she’s safe.”

Baji is from Wild River Village … .

“Be off, my friend. I’ll send word as soon as I know if the matrons will hear your vision.”

Sky Messenger gripped Taya’s elbow and turned to Kallen. “We’re ready.”

“We must move quickly.” Kallen took the lead, pointing to warriors as they emerged from the forest. Two men fell into line behind Taya.

As they trotted away, Taya said, “Why didn’t you tell me that Shago-niyoh had come to both you and Hiyawento?”

Sky Messenger shoved her ahead of him and took up the rear. “We are not the only two people who have been visited by him.”

“Others have seen the Spirit, as well? Blessed gods! If I’d known, it would have made a difference.” She shook her head. “I’m still terrified, but—”

“You can still change your mind, Taya.”

“No, not after tonight. Not after what I heard. I am with you, my future husband. To be against you is even more scary.”

Thirty-nine

O
hsinoh followed the mob at a distance, lagging behind the others as they crossed the plaza of Atotarho Village and proceeded on to the sacred platform. Ten hands tall, three upright logs stood in the center of the platform. Some of the most impressive longhouses in the country formed a square around it. People crowded near the platform, their gazes fixed on the man who staggered in the midst of the warriors. He’d been captured seven days ago, and had managed to survive the torture until this moment. His two friends had not. Their bodies hung limply from the two poles on the sides. The crows and magpies had been at them for days. Their eyes were blood-blackened sockets, and the flesh had almost been completely stripped from their faces, leaving gape-mouthed skulls to stare down upon the people of Atotarho Village.

Ohsinoh stopped, allowing the party to continue without him, and knelt to dip a handful of water from a puddle. It tasted earthy and dank. He sang a little to himself as he drank,
“The crow comes, the crow comes, pity the little children, beat the drum …”

The words had been stuck in his head since childhood. He heard the tune all day and all night, repeating over and over as though seeping up from a black door inside him. There were times when it drove him so mad he beat his head with rocks, trying to make it go away.

People glanced at him, wondering why he didn’t simply help himself to the large pots of rainwater that stood near the houses. But he would never do that. He’d never share water with these people. The Wolf Clan had abandoned him to horror when he’d seen just four summers. Everything here was unclean, full of contagion. If a man stayed too long, he felt certain a part of his soul would remain behind, condemned to wander the village until the last timbers rotted to dust.

Two old women passed, pointed at him, and whispered behind their hands. He gave them a grim smile, and they made the sign against evil and hurried away.

When he dipped his hand again, he saw his reflection. He’d painted his face to hide his identity. His white face paint was decorated with black stripes. Though the paint did not hide his oversized ears, upturned nostrils, and small dark eyes, it obscured them, as the striped shadows of the forest did the deer. Few people ever recognized him when he wore face paint. Those who did didn’t live long.

As he rose to his feet, his heavy moosehide cape waffled around his tall body. Powerfully built, he’d seen twenty-three summers pass. His thick eyebrows were obsidian black and formed a single line over his slitted eyes.

A flock of children veered wide around him, laughing, running to see the latest spectacle. Their dirty feet were bare and caked with mud.

Warriors marched the doomed man up the platform steps and tied him to the middle pole. Ohsinoh couldn’t tear his gaze away. He had never even met the victim, but—like everyone else here—he yearned to watch him die. The prisoner was a warrior from White Dog Village, a village of the Standing Stone People. That was enough reason to hate him.

The man’s head hung down, and he breathed heavily. His muscular body had endured much over the past few days. Slashes and punctures adorned his flesh. All had been cauterized with fiery brands. Even from this distance, Ohsinoh could smell the taint of burned skin and muscle.

The esteemed and powerful Atotarho emerged from the Wolf longhouse and with great ceremony marched toward the platform. Two holy men followed him. As he climbed the steps to stand before the doomed man, the circlets of human skull on Atotarho’s black cape flashed. The prisoner had no strength left. His chest heaved, and he panted as he licked parched lips. With little ceremony, Atotarho drew out his flint knife and slit open the man’s belly. When his entrails fell onto the platform, the man let out one final wail and slumped. As was his right, Atotarho cut the still-beating heart from the warrior’s chest and presented it to the glorious war chief, Sindak, who’d won the battle. Sindak bowed and strode away to eat his prize in private.

Ohsinoh chuckled. The rest of the human carcass was soon cut up and distributed among the villagers. Three little girls ran by him carrying bloody pieces of meat, their faces alight.

When the crowd dispersed, Ohsinoh stood for a while gazing up at the three dead men. They’d gotten better than they deserved. The Standing Stone People were savage beasts, cowards not worthy of life. Even Wrass and Odion had chosen to be adopted by other nations.

He moved a little closer, standing in the rear, waiting to catch the great Atotarho’s gaze. The chief stood atop the platform speaking with the holy men.

Finally, Atotarho turned, glimpsed Ohsinoh, and paled. His crooked body careened down the platform steps, his walking stick clacking. “I told you
never
to come here. You were supposed to send a messenger telling me where to meet you.”

“But, Father, I wished to see my home. Surely I have that right. I’ve been away too many summers. I’m certain my relatives have missed me.”

He smiled at the old man, and the chief’s eyes narrowed. Atotarho looked around to see who was watching and whispered, “Give me your message and leave.”

“I’ve accomplished both tasks.”

Atotarho blinked. “Really? Because it isn’t apparent. If anything, my daughter’s husband is even more a problem now than before. Last night in council he urged peace.
Peace!
And after everything we’ve gone through, his words had power. Two clan matrons sided with him and the Coldspring Village council. It was a disgusting display of arrogance.”

Ohsinoh leaned down to whisper in an amused voice, “Sky Messenger has pitied the little children, and soon, very soon, the Crow will come to sit upon Hiyawento’s head.”

“That’s gibberish. Are you saying you’ve seen Sky Messenger?”

“Oh, yes.” Ohsinoh chuckled. “Sky Messenger met with Hiyawento last night outside of Coldspring Village, just before Hiyawento rejoined your council meeting.”

It took a few instants for the words to sink in; then rage twisted the old man’s wrinkles into frightening lines. “Are you certain of this?”

“I personally followed him from Atotarho Village to Coldspring Village. I saw them sitting together in the aspen meadow.”

Atotarho stamped his walking stick on the ground as though to punish Great Grandmother Earth for allowing such an abomination. “My own daughter’s husband is conspiring with the Standing Stone People behind my back? What did they talk about?”

“I couldn’t get close to hear, but given what he said in council, it isn’t hard to figure out.”

Enraged, Atotarho said, “Very well. You’ve brought your message. Now get out of my village before someone recognizes you. When it is clear to me, and it isn’t yet, that you have accomplished both of the tasks I gave you, I’ll send your payment to the usual place.”

Ohsinoh laughed and gave him an exaggerated mocking bow. As he strode across Atotarho Village, he drew magical symbols in the air, cursing his relatives. When people noticed, they hastened to flee from him. Even the dogs trotted away growling.

Forty

T
hat night Zateri knelt before the fire in the longhouse, stirring a pot of cornmeal mush filled with strips of venison jerky and pine nuts. The rich scent of the jerky mixed with the sweetness of the corn and scented the air. Hiyawento sat on the mat beside her, staring at the fire as though praying hard the flames would speak to him and tell him what to do next. The council meeting had not gone well. Hiyawento had been openly accused of cowardice and collaborating with the enemy. At the end, it had almost come to blows.

Across the fire, their three daughters played with a corn-husk doll, handing it back and forth, tousling its long corn-silk hair, rattling the beaded fringe on the doll’s leather dress. It was a pretty thing. She wondered where Hiyawento had gotten it.

Barely above a whisper, Hiyawento asked, “What about the other matrons?”

She shook her head. “I don’t know. Grandmother wishes to hear Sky Messenger’s vision. She agreed to send messengers to the others. She’ll inform us if there is a consensus that he should be heard. But this is the worst possible time to be asking such a thing. The turmoil in the nation is growing worse.”

Early that morning she’d run to Grandmother’s chamber in the Wolf longhouse and told her about Sky Messenger’s visit. She’d also begged Grandmother not to tell Father for fear that he’d immediately dispatch a party to hunt down and kill Sky Messenger and Taya. Grandmother, who’d barely been able to lift her head from her bedding hides, had reluctantly agreed.