Am I?
She took a deep breath and exhaled the words: “By the time we reach Bur Oak Village, I think I will be.”
Sky Messenger and Hiyawento both nodded to her, as though understanding perfectly well that it took time to brace the body and souls for the possibility of being executed. But then, both men had already committed treason, at least in the eyes of some—Hiyawento for allowing himself to be adopted into the Hills nation, and Sky Messenger for releasing the Flint captives. They understood, as few men ever can, the price of loosing the whirlwind. Once released, its path was almost impossible to control.
“Then we will speak with our matrons about this,” Sky Messenger said.
“And I will speak with Zateri about gathering the Women’s Council to consider a truce to hear your vision. But don’t get your hopes—”
A tall woman warrior, silent as a wolf on a blood trail, trotted out of the darkness, her short black hair flapping around her taut face. “War Chief? You must hurry. Several of Atotarho’s warriors are coming. They mean to bring you back to the council meeting.”
Hiyawento leaped to his feet. “Kallen, pick two warriors and take my guests to the Bur Oak Village trail. Be back by morning. I don’t wish anyone to know you were gone.”
“Yes, War Chief.”
Hiyawento and Sky Messenger embraced one last time. Hiyawento whispered, “Before you go, tell me of Baji? Is she well?”
“I don’t know. I’ve had no news from Wild River Village for moons. I pray she’s safe.”
Baji is from Wild River Village … .
“Be off, my friend. I’ll send word as soon as I know if the matrons will hear your vision.”
Sky Messenger gripped Taya’s elbow and turned to Kallen. “We’re ready.”
“We must move quickly.” Kallen took the lead, pointing to warriors as they emerged from the forest. Two men fell into line behind Taya.
As they trotted away, Taya said, “Why didn’t you tell me that Shago-niyoh had come to both you and Hiyawento?”
Sky Messenger shoved her ahead of him and took up the rear. “We are not the only two people who have been visited by him.”
“Others have seen the Spirit, as well? Blessed gods! If I’d known, it would have made a difference.” She shook her head. “I’m still terrified, but—”
“You can still change your mind, Taya.”
“No, not after tonight. Not after what I heard. I am with you, my future husband. To be against you is even more scary.”
Thirty-nine
Ohsinoh followed the mob at a distance, lagging behind the others as they crossed the plaza of Atotarho Village and proceeded on to the sacred platform. Ten hands tall, three upright logs stood in the center of the platform. Some of the most impressive longhouses in the country formed a square around it. People crowded near the platform, their gazes fixed on the man who staggered in the midst of the warriors. He’d been captured seven days ago, and had managed to survive the torture until this moment. His two friends had not. Their bodies hung limply from the two poles on the sides. The crows and magpies had been at them for days. Their eyes were blood-blackened sockets, and the flesh had almost been completely stripped from their faces, leaving gape-mouthed skulls to stare down upon the people of Atotarho Village.
Ohsinoh stopped, allowing the party to continue without him, and knelt to dip a handful of water from a puddle. It tasted earthy and dank. He sang a little to himself as he drank, “The crow comes, the crow comes, pity the little children, beat the drum …”
The words had been stuck in his head since childhood. He heard the tune all day and all night, repeating over and over as though seeping up from a black door inside him. There were times when it drove him so mad he beat his head with rocks, trying to make it go away.
People glanced at him, wondering why he didn’t simply help himself to the large pots of rainwater that stood near the houses. But he would never do that. He’d never share water with these people. The Wolf Clan had abandoned him to horror when he’d seen just four summers. Everything here was unclean, full of contagion. If a man stayed too long, he felt certain a part of his soul would remain behind, condemned to wander the village until the last timbers rotted to dust.
Two old women passed, pointed at him, and whispered behind their hands. He gave them a grim smile, and they made the sign against evil and hurried away.
When he dipped his hand again, he saw his reflection. He’d painted his face to hide his identity. His white face paint was decorated with black stripes. Though the paint did not hide his oversized ears, upturned nostrils, and small dark eyes, it obscured them, as the striped shadows of the forest did the deer. Few people ever recognized him when he wore face paint. Those who did didn’t live long.