The Broken Land (54 page)

When the blackness strikes, I crush her small body against me and close my eyes.

Sixty-four

H
iyawento threw his arms around Zateri and dragged her to the ground as the blackness swept over them. All around, people in the camp shrieked, racing for whatever cover they could find.

Hiyawento never closed his eyes. He kept watching, watching Kahn-Tineta and Sky Messenger. A thin spiral of mist rose from the ground and seemed to cling to Sky Messenger’s cape; then the worst of the blackness thundered down upon them, swallowed them, blackness and spinning darkness, grass and dropped arrows swirling high into the air, as though to fuel some sky war.

Then it was gone.

Passed over.

In the distance, the blackness continued to uproot whole trees and cast them about like corn-husk dolls, but the deafening roar receded, slowly, until all that possessed the world was blinding sunlight and the silence of the grave.

In the midst of the quiet, quiet world, Sky Messenger still stood, holding Kahn-Tineta in his arms. She had her small face buried against his neck, clutching him like a frightened animal. Sky Messenger took one step toward the east, and his chin tipped up, as though he’d lifted his face to gaze straight into the brilliant eye of Elder Brother Sun.

“Are they all right? Can you see them?” Zateri squirmed beneath his heavy body, trying to turn, to look out across the battlefield.

Hiyawento softly said, “Yes, I see them. They’re all right.”

As he got to his feet, shocked voices erupted throughout the camp. People gasped and pointed. A few ran forward to the edge of the hill to look. Zateri staggered to her feet and grabbed his arm to steady her weak legs.

Sky Messenger set Kahn-Tineta on the ground, then took her hand and slowly started weaving through the dead bodies, now tossed here and there into tangled piles, bringing Kahn-Tineta to Hiyawento and Zateri.

Zateri threw off Hiyawento’s hand and was out of camp, down the hillside, dashing across the battlefield, the fringes of her skirt slashing around her legs, running for them with her arms outstretched.

Sixty-five

Sky Messenger

L
ight cold rain falls, pattering through the forest, creating a melodic symphony of plops and shishes.

I flip up my buckskin hood and lean one shoulder against a sassafras trunk. Gitchi lies at my feet with his gray head braced on his paws. I have my back turned to the hundreds of campfires where warriors sit discussing what happened today. In the branches that surround me, fire shadows flutter like dark hummingbird wings, beating at the soft awed voices. I concentrate on the sensation of cold. It helps me to block out the emotion. Every voice is saturated with it. They are watching me, and have been since this afternoon when most of Atotarho’s remaining forces trotted over the hills, heading home.

“I tell you, I saw it. I was there. He told Sindak to clear the battlefield, and when Atotarho laughed …” The warrior hesitates, as though reliving the moment. “Sky Messenger opened his hands to Elder Brother Sun, and it was as though thunder was born in the heart of the mist. The sound—the sound was like Great Grandmother Earth being ripped apart.”

“You’re exaggerating, Saponi,” another man accuses.

“No,” Saponi murmurs with deep reverence in his voice. “I
saw
it. Sky Messenger lifted his hands for help, and Elder Brother Sun answered him. And then, just before the blackness struck, clouds formed on Sky Messenger’s cape. I swear it looked like he was wearing a cape of white clouds and riding the winds of destruction. Just like the old stories say. I’m telling you, he’s the human False Face.”

Everyone around the campfire murmurs.

There is a brief lull; then singing rises. The notes lilt through the darkness.

I feel drained, utterly empty. Like a transparent husk, useless now. I straighten, preparing to go back …

Gitchi lifts his head, and his tail thumps the ground.

Behind me, whispering through the grass, I hear her long legs. The muscular grace of her movements, just the feline placement of her feet, is like a physical blow. I swallow. As she walks closer, I say, “I knew you’d find me.”

Her moccasins shift, as though she has braced her legs. “It wasn’t hard. Every eye in the camp is upon you.”

She has one of those deep female voices that seem to reach inside a man and stroke his heart.

Gitchi trots away, and I turn to see him leap up to place his big paws in the middle of her chest. She hugs him hard. His tail swipes the air as he whimpers his happiness. “I missed you, Gitchi. Are you all right?”

At the sight of her, guilt blends with a love so powerful it is impossible to explain. The air seems to glitter around her, playing in her long black hair, sculpting the muscles of her arms, flowing across her broad shoulders and pooling in the curves of her narrow waist. I know every line of her body, every hollow; even the slightest imperfection of her skin has lived beneath my fingertips. My gaze moves over her beautiful face, comparing it to my memory. Her black eyes shine. It’s a look that trembles the blood in my veins.

Gitchi returns to my side, gazing up at me as though to say, “Look, she’s back. Isn’t it wonderful?”

I step toward her with my fists clenched. “I’ll never be able to thank you enough for what you and Cord did today. When I saw you leading your warriors down the hill and into the fight … Baji … I could feel victory in the very air I was breathing.”

A bare smile turns her full lips. “I have always been on your side, Odion. I always will be.”

The faintest breath of wind brushes her hair. Jet strands flutter and seem to be suspended upon the firelight itself, pure amber silk, shimmering. They softly fall back to her shoulders.

I rush to say, “I am to be married.”

“I know.”

I jerk a nod. There is silence.

She smiles and walks forward. When she looks up at me, the desperate longing in her eyes is gemlike, crystal bright.

“Are you well, Baji?”

“Well enough, Dekanawida.”

As though she can’t help herself, she reaches up and touches my cheek. “It’s all right. You did what you had to, and I did what I had to. That is how things must be.”

The sensation of her fingers trailing across my skin is like the shock of the air just before lightning blinds the world.

“Baji, forgive me for what I said to you that day. I was wrong.”

Her hand lowers. She closes her fingers, as though to hold onto my warmth. “I forgave you long ago. You thought the boy was better dead than a captive in an enemy village. I understood. I just disagreed.”

“If only I’d had more time to think it over, I …”

A small voice calls, “Sky Messenger?”

I look over Baji’s shoulder and see Taya. She stands four paces away, at the edge of the trees, watching us uncomfortably. I wonder how long she’s been there. I pray not long.

“Taya.” I extend a hand. “Please, come. I want to introduce you to War Chief Baji of the Turtle Clan of the Flint People.”

Taya hesitantly comes forward. She wears a doeskin cape much too long for her; it drags the ground. She must have grabbed the first thing she could find. Which means she probably has a reason for being here, more than just finding me.

I move away from Baji, go to Taya, and put my arm around her, pulling her close against my side. She clings to me like a raft in a raging ocean. “Baji, this is Taya, soon to be my wife.”

Taya looks at Baji from beneath her lashes, not sure what to say. She is barely a woman. Meeting the legendary Baji must be threatening.

Baji takes the initiative. She smiles genuinely. “You are High Matron Kittle’s granddaughter, yes?”

“Yes.” Taya nervously wets her lips and casts a glance up at me.

“I hope we will become great friends, Taya. I suspect that you and I have heard Dekanawida’s vision so often we’ve both memorized what’s coming. We will need to be friends. The road ahead is not an easy one.”

Taya’s face slackens. “Does that mean you’ve decided to join the peace alliance?”

Baji blinks in surprise. “Our Ruling Council approved it with barely any discussion at all. Dekanawida is a hero among our people. They believe his vision.”

With childlike excitement, Taya rushes to tell me, “That means we have the Flint People and Zateri’s faction of Hills People. Now all we need to do is get the People of the Landing, and the Mountain People, and surely we will be able to destroy Atotarho!”

I brush black hair away from her young face. “All in good time, Taya.” I let out a slow breath. “For now, let us just enjoy the night.”

“We can’t yet. I’m sorry. Grandmother requests that you come and tell your vision to the assembled chiefs and matrons.”

Baji is watching me. I feel her gaze. It is life itself.

“I’m grateful to have the chance. Lead the way, Taya.”

The three of us walk out together, with Gitchi trotting at my side, but as we proceed across the cold battlefield to find High Matron Kittle, Baji drops behind. After ten heartbeats of not hearing her steps behind me, I glance over my shoulder, looking for her. She’s gone. Probably wandering among the warriors. She is war chief. She has duties. And more than that, this is as hard for her as it is for me.

“Hiyawento told me what you did today, Taya. It was very brave, and very dangerous. I don’t know what possessed you—”

“I was the best choice.”

“Yes,” I answer.
But you knew it. No one had to tell you. No one had to convince you to risk your life. It never occurred to you that it might not be worth it.
“Someday, you will be the greatest of the matrons of the Standing Stone People.”

She stops and searches my expression, as though greatly surprised, perhaps because she just saw me with Baji. She seems to be trying to determine if I am telling the truth. “Did you Dream this?”

“No. But I know it just the same.”

She slips her arm around my waist, and we start climbing the southern hillside. On the crest of the hill, a large fire blazes. I see Mother sitting beside Chief Cord, smiling. Father and his wife, Pawen, nestle beneath one blanket to their right. Pawen is much stronger, getting well. Hiyawento and Zateri lean together, their shoulders touching, as though they need to know the other is close. Kahn-Tineta sleeps in Hiyawento’s arms with her mouth slightly open. There are many people around the fire that I do not know. It makes me slightly uneasy. High Matron Kittle stands a short distance away, smiling a little too eagerly at Sindak, who seems to have no illusions about the game that is afoot. He smiles back.

“Has War Chief Sindak decided what he’s going to do yet?” I ask Taya.

“I don’t think so. After he deserted Atotarho’s forces, Gonda offered to adopt him into the Standing Stone nation, but so far Sindak has declined. The last I heard, he said he might go off and become a Trader with his old friend, Towa.”

Warmth seeps up around my souls. “I hope so. He deserves—”

“Sky Messenger,” she interrupts. “Look at me.”

I frown down at her.

She swallows hard, obviously preparing herself. “I … I’ve grown up some. I don’t know if you noticed—”

“I noticed.”

“Well …” She nervously licks her lips. “Among our people, marriages are matters of status and duty, not love. I know—as I did not when we started this journey—that my responsibility is to my clan, and to your vision. I will help you as much as I can, and I expect the same from you.” Her expression is serious, somber. “But that is all I expect.”

Above us, a great horned owl calls,
hoo, hoo-oo, hoo, hoo.
We both look up to watch it sail over the battlefield with its wings tucked.

I am so hollow I can hear my heartbeat echoing. I put my arm around her again, and as we walk, I say, “Let’s take it one day at a time, Taya.”

Our moccasins crunch the frost as we climb the hill. Ahead, there is firelight. I look at Zateri and Hiyawento. My muscles relax. My breathing is easier. I am not alone. Trust is no longer in exile.

Taya says, “Before we get to the fire, you need to know several people. The tiny woman sitting beside Zateri is Matron Gwinodje of Canassatego Village. On the opposite side of the fire, the woman with gray hair is Matron Kwahseti of Riverbank Village, and beside her, the elderly man is Chief Canassatego. Kwahseti’s war chief, Thona, is the heavily scarred man with the scowl on his face. He—”