The Broken Land(109)

“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

As 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.”