Hiyawento bowed his head and glared at the brown oak leaves tumbling across the ground in the cold gusts of wind. He felt dead inside. Too much violence. It gutted the world. His body echoed with emptiness, as though the deaths of his daughters, and the constant warfare, had chased his souls away, leaving behind a hollow cocoon filled with rage. Is that how these lost souls felt?
He searched for any glint of bobbing soul lights, but saw only wind-tormented branches and ash and smoke whirling through the air.
Thona stalked across the decimated village, exited the gates, and came to stand beside Hiyawento. His heavily scarred face was grim and determined. “We should be on our way.”
“Matron Kwahseti has decided not to bury the remains of your relatives?”
Thona shook his head. “We’ll return when we can and care for them. Right now, we must care for the living. Canassatego Village may be under attack as we speak. If so, our living relatives need our help more.”
Zateri, Kwahseti, and Gwinodje walked through the smoking gates, talking softly, their faces pale and cold, as though what they’d seen had drained them of warm blood from their bodies.
Zateri’s desperate gaze clung to Hiyawento’s. She must be seeing the same hideous images he was: Their home burned to the ground, cannibalized dead bodies strewn across the forest …
Kwahseti’s gray hair flipped around her squinted eyes. She stared at Hiyawento, then Thona. “Call in our warriors. We’re leaving now.”
“Yes, Matron,” Thona answered. He cupped a hand to his mouth and yipped his distinctive lone wolf cry.
Warriors instantly began to emerge from the forest and trot toward the village, coalescing into a whispering, eddying army of exhausted men and women.
Just before Hiyawento turned toward the trail, voices went up at the outer margins of the army, but they were not warning voices. A path opened as warriors backed away, allowing a single man to trot forward.
“Who is it?” Zateri asked as she moved to stand at Hiyawento’s side. “Can you tell?”
“No.”
The man came forward at a sluggish trot, as though his legs felt like granite weights. He was tall, with a Trader’s burly shoulders. Long black hair draped the front of his undecorated soot-coated cape. Faint recognition began to dawn on Hiyawento. The man had a straight nose. His mouth clamped into a white line. He kept squinting, as though he couldn’t see very well at a distance.
“Towa!” Hiyawento broke into a run, rushing to meet him.
When Towa recognized him, a tired smile came to his lips. They embraced, pounding each other’s back hard enough to leave them breathless.
“Blessed gods,” Towa said. “We feared you were all dead.”
“No, my friend, we—”
“Tell me quickly,” Towa said as he shoved away. “Are the stories true? Did Sky Messenger lift his hands and call a gigantic storm that swept the warriors from the battlefield?”
“Yes, yes, he did. Now tell me, did everyone make it safely to Canassatego Village?”
Zateri, Kwahseti, and Gwinodje crowded around them, listening. Chief Canassatego came up behind Gwinodje, his wrinkled face somber, framed with gray braids. Thona stood behind Kwahseti like an angry giant.
Towa swallowed hard and nodded. “Yes. I led the Riverbank Villagers there. A few hands of time later, villagers from Coldspring Village rushed the palisades, crying that Atotarho’s forces were right behind them.” He took a deep breath and took a few moments to look at the assembled matrons. “Matron Gwinodje, Chief Canassatego, your village was so well prepared it was astonishing. They flung open the gates for the Coldspring refugees, then lowered bracing logs across them and ran to man the catwalks. Our warriors were already up there, standing shoulder-to-shoulder with yours. When Atotarho’s forces hit the walls it … it was a grisly sight. Within the first quarter-hour we killed so many that the dead piled against the palisades three deep.” He bowed his head as though unable to continue. A dread silence possessed the army. Every ear strained to hear his story. “After three hands of time, it was over. The remnant of Atotarho’s army that survived fled.”
Thona looked shocked. “What fool led the attack? Why didn’t he back away when he saw he couldn’t breach the walls?”
“A deputy war chief from Turtleback Village appeared to be in charge, but you can’t blame him. He died very early in the attack. After his death, his forces seemed to have no head. They just threw themselves at the walls as though senseless rage motivated them.”
“How many died?” Zateri asked in an emotionless voice, as though she’d already braced herself for the worst.