Kahn-Tineta angrily wept. “Why didn’t Mother give it to me before you both left to go to war? Maybe the witch wouldn’t have gotten me!”
As her fear receded, it was replaced with anger, which was a good sign, but the words seemed to tear Zateri’s heart. Tears filled her eyes. She rose. When she ambled over to the fire to place two more branches on the flames, sparks swirled up around her. An orange gleam coated the tears on her cheeks.
“We were just overwhelmed and not thinking right,” Hiyawento explained. “It won’t happen again.”
Kahn-Tineta stared hard into his eyes, as though judging the truth of his words, then her arms went around his neck in a stranglehold, and she pressed her cheek against his. “Give me your oath as a warrior of the Hills nation.”
In a deep solemn voice, Hiyawento replied, “On my life, as the War Chief of Coldspring Village, I give you my oath that you will never be alone again. One of us will always be with you to protect you.”
She pushed away to stare at him, judging his sincerity. “I believe you.”
“I appreciate that.” Hiyawento kissed her forehead. “Now, if you’ll try to sleep, I’ll stand guard.”
“Will you? Really?”
“I’ll be standing right there.” He pointed to the place where Zateri stood by the fire.
Kahn-Tineta rested her head on his shoulder and sighed deeply. “Thank you, Father.”
Hiyawento rocked her in his arms until she fell asleep, then he carried her back to her bed and drew the hides up around her throat. When he started to rise, her tiny hand shot out and grabbed his, clutching it. Her eyes were still closed, half-asleep, but she wouldn’t let go.
Hiyawento knelt at her bedside, holding her hand until sleep loosened her grip. Only then did he tiptoe away, and walk to the fire to stand beside Zateri.
“She’s asleep?”
“Yes. Finally.” Unconsciously, he lifted his hand to massage his injured left arm, just below the shoulder, where Deputy War Chief Negano’s war club had connected. The bruise ran deep, probably all the way to the bone. The pain was intense.
“Hiyawento, you must sleep tonight. You’re hurt and exhausted. I’ll find someone else—”
“If she wakes in the night, I want her to see me standing here.”
When Zateri gazed up at him with tormented eyes, his own unbearable grief returned. He wrapped an arm around her narrow shoulders and hugged her. “I’ll be all right.”
Neither of them spoke for a time. Between them lay the indestructible bond of two people who have seen their worlds destroyed, of childhood captivity and torture, of horrific battles, and friends lost … and two people who have held beloved children in their arms while they convulsed and died. They had been through so much together, but never before had Hiyawento felt this gut-deep mixture of rage and despair. The emotion was unnatural, even inhuman. It covered everything like an impenetrable black cloak, blotting out the light, draining joy from the very air he breathed.
Out in the forest, branches smashed into each other as Wind Mother’s violent son, Hadui, beat his way through the trees and dashed across the hilltop battering anything in his path. He appeared to be headed north, chasing after the flocks of moonlit Cloud People. Whirlwinds of old leaves and twigs careened in his wake. As he rushed through the camps, people cursed in surprise and sparks exploded from fire pits. They trailed through the night sky like swirling ribbons.
Zateri asked, “What do you think we’re going to find when we make it to Canassatego Village?”
He wasn’t sure how to answer that, though he’d been thinking of little else. “The night I killed the witch, he told me we wouldn’t make it home in time.”
“Gods, I pray that was just bluster.” Her eyes reflected the firelight. “Do you think he meant our villages would be destroyed before they could move? If Atotarho did that, our warriors’ indignation and rage will be uncontrollable.” She sucked in a breath and exhaled hard. “It will mean civil war.”
He tossed another branch onto the fire, expecting the night to be long and cold. “We started the civil war, my wife, the instant we ordered our warriors to fight against their own nation. Nothing can stop it now.”
Zateri’s delicate eyebrows drew together. Thoughtfully, she whispered, “There must be a way.”
Eleven
Wind blew Matron Jigonsaseh’s hair into her eyes and rattled the wooden beads around her throat. She shoved the strands away, and continued striding across the sunny Bur Oak plaza. She could tell from the sudden gusts and the change in temperature that another storm was coming. They had even less time to complete repairs than she’d thought.