The Broken Land (45 page)

“But mother never cried. Not at all. Father—”

“Child, what your mother has to stand, the ancestors have given her the strength to stand. Women were born to carry heavier loads than men.”

Kahn-Tineta let out a tired breath and stared up at the sunflowers hanging from the roof poles. “Do we get that from Dancing Fox and the Wolf Clan matrons who lived long ago in the ancient darkness?”

“Yes. We do. The loss of your sisters has broken your mother’s heart, but she’ll bear that burden with a straight back and clear eyes. If for no other reason than your father needs her to.”

A moment of pride warmed Tila’s heart. Yes, no matter what came, Zateri could and would bear it. Wolf Clan women bent with the winds of change, but when the storm passed they stiffened their spines and got back to work building a better world for their clan and people.

“Great-grandmother? Why did Mother have to go with Father? She almost never goes on war walks.”

“Well, this is different. If we are successful, the full Ruling Council will need to be present when the Standing Stone nation falls. Your mother will stand in for me. Decisions may have to be made on the spot.”

Kahn-Tineta anxiously ran her tongue through the gap left by her missing front teeth. “I wish Mother was home.” Tears filled her young eyes.

Tila hugged her more tightly. “Can I tell you a secret?”

The girl’s eyes widened. “What is it?”

“I’m going to name your mother as matron of the Wolf Clan when she returns, but you mustn’t tell anyone. Can you keep my words locked in your heart until it is announced?”

“Oh, yes, Great-grandmother,” Kahn-Tineta said earnestly. “I’m good at keeping secrets.”

“I’m glad to hear of it. Many people are not.”

Kahn-Tineta’s eyes narrowed slightly, as though something had occurred to her but she wasn’t certain she should say it.

“What’s wrong?”

Kahn-Tineta glanced around the house to make sure no one could hear her; then she cupped a hand to Tila’s ear and hissed, “Great-grandmother, I’m not sure Mother wishes to be high matron.”

“That’s not a surprise. No one does.” Tila poked a skeletal finger into Kahn-Tineta’s young chest. “You remember I said that. Someday you will have to make the choice of whether or not to lead your people. It is an overwhelming responsibility. But I suspect in the end you will choose to place the welfare of the Hills nation above your own. You will shoulder the burden for the nation’s sake. Just as your mother will.”

“She will?”

Tila nodded. “I’m sure of it.”

Kahn-Tineta crossed her legs and shook one moccasin while she frowned at the swirls of blue smoke gliding above her. “But Great-grandmother, Father doesn’t wish to move to this village. I’ve heard Mother and Father talking late at night when they think I’m asleep. Father hates Grandfather Atotarho.”

At the mention of his name, anger filled Tila, and she could not afford the energy it required. She closed her eyes for several heartbeats to let it drain away. “My grandmother—that would be your great-great-great-grandmother—used to have a saying. She said that for every one person hacking at the roots of hatred, there were thousands swinging in its branches. She told me the only way to survive in this world was to make sure I was the one with the hatchet.”

Kahn-Tineta rolled to her stomach and looked at Tila. A faint smile came to her lips. “I like that.”

“I thought you might. You have a pure heart. But you’re going to have to work to keep it that way. Don’t swing in those branches or you’ll fall and break your neck.”

Brilliant sunshine flared when Pedeza pulled back the door curtain and stepped inside the Wolf Clan longhouse. She looked exhausted, her face drawn and jaw clamped. But when she saw Kahn-Tineta she forced a smile. “Are you ready to go home? The high matron needs to sleep.”

Tila gave her a grateful look—she did need to sleep—but more than anything she longed to keep talking with this precious little girl.

Kahn-Tineta sat up. “Great-grandmother, may I come back tomorrow?”

“You will have to ask Pedeza, but I would so love to see you.”

Kahn-Tineta smiled and slid off the sleeping bench. When her moccasins struck the floor mats, she turned, leaned over Tila, and kissed her cheek. “I love you, Great-grandmother,” she said, and trotted to Pedeza’s side.

Tila extended a gnarled hand to her. “I love you, too, child. Don’t forget the things I told you.”

Kahn-Tineta glanced up at Pedeza, then back at Tila. In a conspiratorial whisper, she said, “I won’t. I promise.”

Pedeza bowed. “Good day, High Matron. Sleep well.”

“I’ll try. Be careful going home.”

“Yes, we will.”

Pedeza took Kahn-Tineta’s hand, and they walked away down the longhouse.

When they were out of sight, Tila curled into a tight ball and fought to keep the pain at bay. She felt like sharp fangs were ripping at her organs. If only she …

Something caught her attention. Tila focused on the door curtain. In the slender space where the curtain rested against the door frame, one eye gleamed. It was large and shone with an unearthly light. It seemed to be fixed upon Kahn-Tineta and Pedeza. Then it turned to Tila. It watched her for a time.

When the man ducked beneath the curtain and into the house, her gray brows knitted. He wore a plain buckskin cape with no clan symbols. White and black paint decorated his triangular face. “Who are you?”

He had a strange manner about him. As he searched the house, only his eyes moved. His tall body seemed to be carved of wood.

“I asked for your name.”

“Yes, I heard you.”

With the silence of a big cat stalking prey, he entered her chamber, walked to her side, and pulled the hides up, as though to keep her warmer. Then suddenly he pressed them over her mouth and nose and whispered, “It’s me, Grandmother, your long-lost grandson.”

Horror flooded Tila. She fought, thrashing about with the strength of a newborn, trying to suck air into her lungs so she could scream. She was so weak, it didn’t take long.

The cold black shadow of Sodowego fell upon her, and the darkness came like a soothing whisper … .

Forty-eight

C
onversations filled the cold night, meshing oddly with the war songs that drifted lazily across the hills, moving with the dark shapes of thousands of warriors. The smoky air was sweet with the smell of squash baked in ashes.

Zateri watched War Chief Sindak rise from where he’d drawn the battle plan in the thin layer of snow on the ground and scan the seven people standing in Zateri’s small circle. His gaze remained the longest on war chiefs Thona, Waswanosh, and Hiyawento, clearly judging their emotions—then his eyes flicked to matrons Gwinodje and Kwahseti, took in Chief Canassatego’s expression, and finally came to rest upon Zateri.

“Does everyone understand?” Sindak propped his hands on his hips. He’d pulled his black hair back and tied it with a cord. The lines around his deep-set eyes resembled dark chasms in the firelight. Behind him, a blanket of campfires rose and fell with the hills, stretching to the star-spotted eastern horizon.

“Oh, I think we understand perfectly,” Matron Kwahseti said with a thin smile. Gray strands of hair fluttered around her oval face.

“Good. Sleep well.” Sindak bowed and walked away.

Zateri crossed her arms beneath her cape, waiting before she spoke, giving herself time to digest what had just happened.

“I don’t believe it,” War Chief Thona said through gritted teeth. The white ridges of scars crisscrossing his indignant face resembled writhing amber-colored worms. “Does he think we will stand for this?”

Kwahseti’s attention had fixed on Sindak as he made his way across the huge camp, talking to warriors, sharing jokes, occasionally slapping a man on the back. “It seems that Chief Atotarho doesn’t trust us.”

“It’s an outrage.” Thona straightened to his full height, towering over everyone else in the circle. “We should—”

“No.” Kwahseti put a hand on her war chief’s muscular shoulder. “Be calm, Thona. Emotion only clouds our thoughts, and we must all think straight tonight.”

Thona tried, but continued to seethe.

War Chief Waswanosh from Canassatego Village hissed, “This is unacceptable. How dare he tell us to stay out of the fight!”

“That’s not what he said,” Zateri softly reminded. “He said Atotarho wishes to keep our forces in reserve until we are needed.”

“In reserve?” Waswanosh growled. “He ordered us to stay in camp. To remain behind when everyone else marches off to the fight! It is an insult!”

Chief Canassatego gave them a resigned smile. He had seen fifty-seven summers pass, and had once been a renowned war chief. A long gray braid snaked over his shoulder, looking like a silver snake against the black-painted hide of his cape. As his smile faded, his wrinkles rearranged into somber lines. “Well, War Chief Hiyawento, it seems you have your wish. We will not fight the Standing Stone People.”

“Not fighting isn’t the same as making peace. The only way we will ever be safe is if the fear of attack vanishes for both our peoples. We must end this war.”

Zateri noticed that his fists were clenched at his sides, and his narrow beaked face had flushed. Sindak’s orders had surprised him, as they had everyone else.

Gwinodje said, “What shall we do about it? Are we going to obey?”

Short and slight of build, she appeared childlike standing between Chief Canassatego and War Chief Waswanosh. In the darkness, one could have mistaken her for a frail girl. But her expression belied any such notions. Indignation actually shook the clamshell comb that held her black hair on top of her head, causing it to shimmer like a prism. Colors flashed.

Zateri said, “Each of our villages joined the Hills alliance. If we disobey, it will be viewed as a withdrawal from the alliance. Do we wish to do that?”

Kwahseti massaged her brow. “No, not yet. Our three villages could not stand alone. We would be vulnerable to anyone who wished to destroy us. Assuming Atotarho didn’t beat them to it, the Mountain People would be the first to take the opportunity.”

“Yes,” Zateri added. “I’ve heard they’re desperate. They’ve been so sick with the fever that they could not even harvest their crops. Their corn is moldering in their fields, and their sunflowers have all been plucked clean by birds. As winter deepens, they’ll have no choice but to take what food they need from other nations. We—”

Hiyawento interrupted, “They shouldn’t have to.”

His deep voice had been so low, the others in the circle unconsciously leaned toward him to hear him better. Chief Canassatego asked, “What did you say?”

Hiyawento lifted his head. A somber emptiness had possessed him. It wrenched Zateri’s souls. The loss of her daughters was like a knife slashing inside her, but duty demanded she set it aside until this was over. Then she would find a quiet place to hurt until she could bear it. The difference between them was that she
could
set it aside. He could not. All his life, he’d fought to protect his family and friends, offering his own life in their stead many times over, and his courage had always carried everyone around him to safety. Except for his baby daughters. Zateri knew that somewhere deep inside him, he blamed himself for their deaths. He must be saying, “If only I’d been vigilant, I would have known …” or “I should have killed him when I had the chance; then my girls couldn’t have …”

A lump formed in Zateri’s throat, making it hard to breathe. Guilt had eaten a gaping hole inside him, and he was being consumed by the darkness.

For her, the pain provoked another response. She became unnaturally focused and clear-headed—a lesson she’d learned in Gannajero’s camp, where she had endured things that had killed other girls. She would single-mindedly, with the patience of a hungry wolf, hunt her father until she could destroy him, even if she had to turn the world on its head to do it. It was this pursuit that gave her the strength to face anything she had to.

“I said”—Hiyawento inhaled the smoky night air—“they shouldn’t have to. If they attack us, it’s our fault. By our own greed, we’ve forced them into desperate acts to feed their children.”

Thona stiffened as though he’d been struck. “What are you saying? That because we need the food for our own children we are somehow to blame—”

“Yes.” Hiyawento’s red-rimmed eyes rested on Thona without emotion. He might have been gazing far out into the distances instead of at a livid opponent. “Don’t you see? If we helped each other, we would all have enough. We might not have an abundance that we could hoard and smile at in the dead of winter, but we would survive. As it is, I’m not sure any of us will make it through this.”

Thona snorted. “You sound like you’re repeating the words of your demented friend, Sky Messenger.”

War Chief Waswanosh let out a low disgusted laugh. “His vision is nonsense. I heard one of the Traders say he’d seen Elder Brother Sun flee into a black hole in the sky. Ridiculous.”

Hiyawento’s chin lifted. In a deep reverent voice, he replied, “When the Great Face shakes the World Tree, you will believe. There is a terrible storm coming. We will all be swimming in a cloud-sea when the eerie silence descends and Elder Brother Sun blackens his face with the soot of the dying world.”