“The sky will split wide open,” Hiyawento continued, “and a snowy blanket of thistledown will fall. As it spreads out all over the world, the judgment will take place.”
Thona uneasily shifted his weight to his other foot. Waswanosh observed him from the corner of his eye. Both men appeared chastened, half-believing, but not quite.
Awed, Gwinodje murmured, “It—it’s Powerful.”
Kwahseti nodded. As she brought up a hand and touched the cape over her heart, she said, “I don’t know about the rest of you, but I want to believe. Very much.”
“Wanting does not make it true, Matron,” Thona remarked.
“No.” A breath of wind fluttered her gray hair. She brushed it away. “But I plan to be ready, just in case.”
“What do you mean, ready?” Gwinodje tilted her head.
Out in the forest, Elder Sister Gaha walked. The hem of her dress set the branches to swaying, and a musical shishing and clattering wafted to them. A light snow started to fall, featherlike, glittering on the branches.
“I mean that when the time comes, I will be on the right side.”
“But …” Gwinodje looked around questioningly. “What is the right side?”
“I don’t know yet, but when I get there, I will.”
Still staring upward at the campfires of the dead, Hiyawento said, “The side of kindness. Which is, I regret, a side I have not always fought for.”
No one responded, but Zateri could tell from their expressions that some of them were thinking that good war chiefs couldn’t afford such weaknesses. Thona scowled. Waswanosh had a faint sneer.
Slowly, each person in the circle followed Hiyawento’s gaze, looking upward into the night sky where a thin layer of Cloud People pushed southward, fuzzing the campfires of the dead, rushing away as though fleeing the supernatural storm to come.
“I’m going to find my blankets.” Kwahseti lifted a hand. “A pleasant evening to you all.”
“Before you go …” Hiyawento quietly said. Kwahseti turned back to face him. “If you could form an alliance with the Standing Stone nation to defeat Atotarho, would you?”
Kwahseti stared at him as though asking the question proved beyond a doubt that Hiyawento’s soul was out wandering lost in the forest. But there was something else in her eyes—some hesitation that made Zateri’s blood rush.
“Kwahseti,” Zateri whispered, “just consider—”
Kwahseti turned her back and walked away. One by one, the others said good night and followed her, plodding across camp to their own fires.
When they stood alone, Zateri moved close to Hiyawento and slipped her arm through his, holding him. Quietly, she asked, “Are you all right?”
He blinked at the sky as though puzzled by what he saw there. His narrow face and hawkish nose reflected the flickers of firelight.
Finally, he answered, “My souls are broken, Zateri, and I cannot find a way to pull the pieces together.”
“Well …” The word condensed and sparkled. “Perhaps you shouldn’t try to.”
“Why not?”
She squeezed his arm. “My husband, kindness does not dwell in souls that are whole.”
Forty-nine
Sky Messenger
The milky light before dawn casts a soft pearl glow over the snow-covered hills.
As I follow the trail up over the rise and look down across the valley to the south, an inexplicable dread fills me. I halt on the rocky ridge, waiting for Taya, who plods up the trail behind me.
Rose-colored mist eddies close to the ground, twining around trunks and boulders. In the distance, leafless trees rise and fall like gray waves, dipping down to where Yellowtail Village and Bur Oak Village nestle side by side, their palisades sheathed in frost. Reed Marsh curves around the western and northern edges of the villages, cupping them like a protective hand. Dark Cloud People blanket most of the morning sky, but a thin band of pale purple swaths the eastern horizon.
Movement. Down in the dense maples. Only my gaze glides across the landscape. After ten heartbeats, I whisper to myself, “Warriors.”
As the morning light brightens, my trained eyes begin to pick them out. Visible through the trees are line after line of archers. Four lines that I can see. As one line fires, the next will move up, and so on, until the first line must again face the enemy.
Taya’s steps pat the soft earth behind me. She slips an arm around my waist and lets out a peaceful sigh. It surprises me a little. “I’m glad we’re almost home.”
She doesn’t notice anything amiss, but why would she? Though I’ve been working hard to teach her to see, the skill takes time.