The Broken Land(111)
When he got close, Hiyawento shouted, “Go away or I’ll kill you!”
Sindak suppressed the urge to pull his war club from his belt and called, “I’m a friend. At least I think I am. Correct me if I’m wrong about that?”
Hiyawento thrashed through the brush. When he stood no more than ten paces away, he looked at Sindak with bright glazed eyes. He held his nocked bow up, aimed at Sindak’s heart. His jaw muscles trembled despite his efforts to clench his teeth—the action that of a man teetering on madness.
Sindak spread his arms. “I heard the doll was poisoned. Yesterday someone in Atotarho Village claimed he’d seen Ohsinoh talking with the chief. Have you heard this rumor?”
The bow lowered slightly, and Hiyawento’s broad shoulders shook. In a choking voice, he said, “Yes.”
“I need more information about your daughters’ deaths. May I speak with you?”
Hiyawento relaxed and lowered the bow. “Come.” He turned and walked back toward the campfi re.
When Sindak made it through the brush, he found Hiyawento standing over the dead children. They’d been laid out on their backs, their clothing smoothed, their hair combed. Each stared up at the sky with shrunken death-gray eyes. Their white faces shone in the firelight. No matter how long he lived, that wrenching image would never leave Sindak.
He knelt on the opposite side of the fire and watched Hiyawento stroking Jimer’s face.
Sindak said, “Ohsinoh would never have had the audacity to enter Atotarho Village unless he knew he’d be protected.”
Hiyawento’s eyes went shiny. In a lethal voice, he said, “The man who gave my daughter the doll he—he had painted his face white with black stripes.”
Sindak nodded. “That matches the description of the man who spoke with Atotarho.”
Hiyawento’s grip tightened on the elk hide over Catta’s heart, and words tumbled from his mouth, hoarse and broken. “He told her that … it … the doll. Was more a gift for me than for her.”
Sindak quietly released the breath he’d been holding. If he could keep Hiyawento talking, everything might be all right. “Listen to me. For the past nine moons, I’ve had a man tracking Negano. The chief has met with the Bluebird Witch several times, and Negano has delivered many bags of payment to a clearing two days’ run from here. I think Atotarho has been working with Ohsinoh for a long time, perhaps for many summers.”
“Blessed gods, Sindak, if he’s been working with Atotarho, then the chief paid him to do this! He—the old man—he wanted me to watch my daughters die. He’s punishing me for speaking out against war in the council. I swear before my ancestors that I will kill him! I will cut his heart out—”
“And I will help you do it,” Sindak said, and waited for Hiyawento to turn so he could stare directly into the man’s wild eyes. “But I must have proof.”
“Proof?” Hiyawento cried and sprang to his feet. “I’m not waiting for proof! I’ll kill anyone who tries to stop me!”
Sindak remained kneeling before the fire, but his thoughts were on the war club tucked into his belt. Could he get to it faster than Hiyawento could shoot an arrow through his lungs? Just as Sindak’s hand started to edge for his club, Hiyawento seemed to deflate. He hung his head, and tears filled his eyes. “This is my fault, Sindak. All … my fault.”
“None of this is your fault.”
Tears ran down his face as Hiyawento hugged himself and looked back at his daughters. “Yes, it is. I should never have come to Hills country. I should have left Zateri alone. I—I loved her so. I’d loved her since we were children. We’d endured so much together. I thought … maybe, if I just … I tried to obey my clan and marry another, but … oh, gods. I’m leaving, I tell you. I’m killing the chief, then I’m leaving and never coming back.” He put his head in his hands and squeezed as though to crush the thoughts. “Blessed ancestors, what have I done?”
“You made a life for yourself, a good life, that’s what. And a good life for Zateri, too.”
“If it weren’t for me, none of this—”
“That’s foolish.” Sindak rose to his feet to loom over Hiyawento.
Hiyawento blinked and gazed up at him with a stunned expression. “You haven’t heard a word I’ve said. I’ve been trying to tell you—”
“You’re moaning like a twelve-summers-old boy. You still have a loving wife and daughter who need you more than they ever have. I saw Zateri on my way here. Kahn-Tineta was lying curled in a ball with Zateri stroking her hair. If you think you’re dying inside, how do you think they feel? Zateri and Pedeza have laid out clean clothes and all the ritual necessities to clean your daughters and send them on their journey. If you cared at all about them”—he waved his hand to the dead girls—“you would take them back so that their mother could prepare them. Instead, the great war chief, Hiyawento, is out hiding in the forest weeping like an infant.”