The Broken Land (41 page)

Kahn-Tineta shrieked as she ran across the house and grabbed Pedeza around the legs. Pedeza petted her hair. “Come, let’s make a cup of tea and talk.”

Hiyawento wiped his nose on his sleeve and got to his feet. He was shaking badly. “Come with me, Zateri. Outside.”

“Let me grab my cape.”

She swung it around her shoulders and followed him out of the house into the icy night wind.

Hiyawento led her to the central village fire, where a bed of coals glowed. He kept his back to her, trying to hide his face. Her heart ached for him. He was on the verge of drastic actions, but she did not know whether they were based upon grief, or rage.

A strange, eerie clarity had come over Zateri. Unlike the people in the longhouse, Zateri did not make futile anxious gestures or sob. Her souls were busy, piecing things together. The instant she’d understood without a doubt that her daughters were dead, she’d started asking why, how, and who. As the truth took shape, it loomed over her like the shadow of a dark clawed beast.

Hiyawento sank down on one of the log benches that surrounded the fire and dropped his face into his hands. She saw his wide shoulders shake and heard the desperate choking sounds he made. When he raised his head and she glimpsed his face, she swiftly went to him and sat down on the log.

“Hiyawento,” she began. His arms went suddenly around her waist, and he crushed her against his broad chest.

“Dear gods, what have I done?”

“You?” she said in confusion. She stroked his shoulder-length hair. “You’re not to blame.”

“It’s the war council. I should never have …” His grip tightened around her waist, and he began speaking rapidly, babbling incoherent words while he pressed his cheek against hers. “I knew it would be dangerous … when I agreed … but I thought … Zateri, you know I’m right!”

He continued, speaking against her hair, words blurred, indistinct, saying things she could not decipher. “Stop this,” she said. “There is something important I must speak with you about.”

“Dear Gods,” he wept, “they … can’t be … can’t be dead.”

She shoved away and forced him to look at her. His face had contorted. “Listen to me. Try to concentrate.”

“What is it?”

“I don’t think this has anything to do with your peace initiatives in the war council.”

“How can you say that? You know what they accused—”

“Listen to me. Just after Ahweyoh arrived, I heard a rumor that Ohsinoh was in Atotarho Village today.”

He didn’t seem to comprehend her implication. “The Bluebird Witch wouldn’t dare walk into a village. He’d be killed on sight.”

“Apparently, he wore elaborate face paint.”

“Face paint …” Hiyawento’s voice faded. “Like the man who … who gave our daughter the doll?”

“Pedeza heard that his face was painted white with black stripes. Think about this: He said he was a friend of ours, and that he’d known us since we were children. I think, maybe, Hehaka is Ohsinoh.”

A frightening mixture of rage and fear creased his face. “Even if he is, why would Hehaka want to destroy our family? We never did anything to him—except free him from slavery.”

“He may see things differently.”

“What do you mean?”

Two people emerged from the Snipe Clan longhouse and proceeded across the plaza. They spoke in low ominous tones as they cast glances at Zateri and Hiyawento. Already, the news must have spread through every longhouse in Coldspring Village.

“He loved that old woman, Hiyawento. Our clan abandoned him when he’d seen four summers. For all practical purposes, she was the only mother he’d ever known. He probably also saw her Outcast warriors as his family—”

Hiyawento’s bloodshot eyes fixed upon her face. “But they enslaved and tortured him!”

“Yes, but the old woman and her men were all he had.”

“ … And we killed them.”

A haunted sensation filtered through her. His words repeated in her head, spinning around, mixing with memories of Hehaka’s facial expressions from twelve summers ago. After Koracoo’s party had rescued him, Hehaka had fought like a caged bear to get back to the evil witch.

“You didn’t kill the old woman, my husband. Baji, Odion, and I did.”

Hiyawento seemed to wilt. He sagged against her, burying his face in her long hair. “I killed several of her men. He must blame all of us.”

“So … this is the Law of Retribution? We killed the old witch and her guards, and he believes that gives him the right to—”

“Your father could just as easily be to blame. He consorts with witches! Do you think he’s responsible?”

“I can’t believe he would murder his own granddaughters. Even my father—”

“He’s a monster, and you know it!” he replied. “He’s capable of anything. Even this.” Hiyawento suddenly swung around to look at the longhouse with blazing eyes. “They can’t be dead!”

He leaped to his feet and marched away so swiftly, Zateri had to grab the log to keep from falling. She called, “Hiyawento, come back.”

“No, I—I have to check them again. Maybe they’re breathing now.” He broke into a run.

Zateri rubbed her cold arms. The red coals in the fire pit flared when Wind Woman breathed upon them, shimmering and casting reddish light across the longhouses. Where had Ohsinoh gone after he’d left? He was her brother. Or at least, it seemed likely. Was he still here, perhaps watching her? They had no proof that it was Ohsinoh who’d poisoned the corn-husk doll. Many people painted their faces white with black stripes. It was common enough, but …

Did my father pay a witch to kill my daughters?

Somewhere in the quiet depths of her soul, details churned, some matching, some not. All relevant if she could just keep the overwhelming grief at bay long enough to figure them out.

Her gaze moved over the plaza. Blue smoke curled from the smoke holes in the roofs and hung over the village like ghostly serpents. They twined together and slithered upward, flying for the Sky World.

Memories seeped up from the deep recesses of her heart. In the background, Zateri could hear Baji screaming … then Hehaka’s voice:
“Sometimes the men want boys. You should be ready. They’re going to hurt you.”

“Tonight?” Wrass asks.

Hehaka shrugs. “I don’t know. Maybe.”

Wrass looks around, says to Odion, “Hehaka is just guessing. How could he know that?”

Hehaka crawls closer, his batlike face alight. He has seen eleven summers. “I know. Believe me. There are a few men who keep coming back just for me.”

The horror of that memory snapped Zateri back to the plaza, but not before a thin wail started deep in her lungs. She had to shake herself to force it down. If she lived to see ten thousand summers pass, the pride in Hehaka’s voice—his words spoken against a background of Baji’s screams—would still ring in her ears.

Shouts rose in the Wolf longhouse. Hiyawento yelled, “They’re my daughters! Give them to me!” A woman’s shrill voice responded.

Zateri dragged herself to her feet.

For a few terrible moments she continued staring out at the firelit darkness, trying to imagine what life would be like without the running patter of their small feet, without the feel of their arms around her neck or the sound of their laughter in her ears. The shining eyes that had looked up at her with such love … gone.

Pedeza shouted, “Leave Kahn-Tineta alone! She doesn’t know anything else!”

Zateri squared her narrow shoulders and started back.

Forty-two

A
s Pedeza marched across the plaza of Atotarho Village, people raced around her, flying in and out of longhouses, carrying water and firewood, already preparing for the Standing Stone attack that everyone knew was coming. All, that is, except for the young men. Most of them huddled around the council house. Some had their ears pressed to the walls, listening. She wondered why they needed to, for she could hear the raised voices from here.

Two guards stood outside the council house door, their faces set into hard lines, war clubs braced upon their broad shoulders. She hated this village, hated Chief Atotarho: He had brought so much pain to the Wolf Clan. If her lineage achieved prominence, the first thing it would do would be to remove Atotarho.

She was dressed in a long buckskin cape without decorations. Her black braid bounced upon her back as she hurried through the cold wind.

When she halted before the guards, her voice sounded small, even to her. “Please. I need to see War Chief Sindak?”

“There’s a war council going on, woman. Can’t you hear the shouting?

“I need to see him. It’s urgent.”

“Urgent?” The guard hooked a thumb over his shoulder. “They’re talking about annihilating the entire Standing Stone nation before it can attack us, and you want me to disturb the discussion? Go away. Come back later.”

Pedeza wrung her hands. “Please. If I don’t see Sindak, someone he cares about is going to die.”

The guard’s expression changed. He looked at her from the corner of his eye, apparently thinking about the ramifications if Sindak’s friend died because he’d refused to deliver a simple message. Finally, the guard pulled his war club off his shoulder, set it beside the door, and stabbed a finger at her. “All right. I’ll tell him, but if you’re wrong and Sindak slits my throat for this—”

“He won’t. I swear. He’ll reward you. Maybe even make you deputy war chief. It’s
that
important.”

The man scowled at her, ducked beneath the curtain, and vanished.

While Pedeza waited under the second guard’s alert gaze, she paced. Last night had been the worst of her life. She’d loved those little girls. Watching them die, seeing them lying cold and still in the firelight, had been like dying herself. Then the parade of relatives and Healers had begun and hadn’t ended until this morning. Pedeza was exhausted and heartbroken. Zateri had met each person, consoled their grief, and thanked them for coming. All the while, she’d watched Hiyawento disintegrating like a sand sculpture in a rainstorm.

Sindak ducked beneath the curtain. When he saw her, his narrow face creased with worry. He wore a pure black cape—the color of war and death—and had his hair tied back with a cord. The style made his lean face appear even more narrow. “What is it, Pedeza?”

“Hiyawento …”

Misunderstanding, he said, “He’s not here. The war council is livid.”

She hesitated, uncertain where to begin. “Then you haven’t heard about Matron Zateri’s daughters? They’re dead.”

His deeply sunken eyes were bloodshot and red-rimmed, as though he hadn’t slept in days. “Blessed gods, forgive me. No one told me. When did it happen?”

“Last night. Please, I know this meeting is critical, but if I could just have a few moments to speak with you in private—”

“I don’t have much time,” he said as he took her by the arm and led her into the middle of the plaza, out of hearing range of the guards. “How did they die?”

“I don’t know everything—just that an unknown man gave the girls a doll, and it was poisoned. Our Healers say it was filled with ground musquash root. You know how children are. They put the doll in their mouths.”

Sindak bowed his head. “That’s terrible, but how can I help?”

She braced herself. “It’s Hiyawento.”

“Is he all right? I can’t even imagine how he must be feeling. Those little girls were beautiful.”

Suddenly Pedeza’s tears began to flow. She lifted her cape and dried her eyes. “You have to come, War Chief. Matron Zateri has done the best she can, but Hiyawento has become a madman. I swear he’s lost his soul.”

“What do you mean?”

“He’s gone crazy! Last night after he knew they were dead, he charged around the longhouse smashing pots, tearing down the bark partition walls, screaming at the top of his lungs. You know how much he loved those little girls. This morning at dawn, he carried them out into the forest and won’t come home. He says he’s never coming back to Coldspring Village.”

Earnestly, Sindak replied, “Tell me quickly what Zateri needs. I’ll help if I can.”

“She wants you to speak with him. She says he needs a friend, a man he trusts, and you’re the only man in our entire nation that he’ll listen to.”

Shouts rang out from the council house. Sindak turned to look, and his jaw went hard. He took Pedeza’s arm in a friendly grasp. “Where is Hiyawento?”

“Between the aspen grove and Mallard Marsh.”

“Very well. Tell Matron Zateri I will come as soon as I can.”

“Yes. I will. Thank you, War Chief.”

Pedeza watched Sindak stride back to the council house, his long legs eating the distance; then she smothered her sobs and started back for Coldspring Village.