The Broken Land(123)

I drape an arm over her shoulders and softly say, “I want you to be calm. Can you do that?”

She tips her face up in confusion. “What do you mean?”

I kneel and draw the lines of archers in the thin snow, then make a crescent for Reed Marsh, and circles for the locations of the villages. “Do you see them?”

Taya lifts her gaze and scans the hills, glances back at his map, looks up again. Slowly, the joy drains from her beautiful young face. I see her eyes stop at each place where warriors are clearly visible in the forest.

“Oh, no. Grandmother must have received word that we’re about to be attacked. We have to hurry. Let’s run!”

She starts to launch herself down the trail, and I catch her arm and pull her back. “The warriors are jittery, worried about their own lives and the lives of their families. Never run into a line of archers.”

“But they know me! Every warrior out there has—”

“Fear creates a strange kind of blindness. Your eyes are wide open, but the only thing you see is your own weapons. Your ears hear only your heart pounding. Let’s continue walking down the main trail in clear sight. They’ve already seen us. They’ll be watching, monitoring our movements. Keep your hands open at your sides.”

For the first time, she looks up at me as though I know more than Elder Brother Sun. A swallow bobs her throat. “I will.”

I put a hand lightly on her shoulder to encourage her to walk at my side, and she clings to me like a shadow.

We’ve gone no more than one hundred paces when the trail curves and I see an eerie sight behind us. To the west, a cloud of snow billows over the trees. But it’s not falling from the sky. It rises from the ground, like summer dust, kicked by the trotting feet of warriors. Because of the way the hills fold, I doubt the Standing Stone archers see them yet. I swing around to look at the Standing Stone lines to the north of the villages, then back at what must be the enemy. I can hear them now. Beneath their pounding feet, Great Grandmother Earth rings like a drum being struck. The thunderous roll echoes.

“What is that?” Taya turns to look over her shoulder.

“Just keep walking. We’ll be home before they get here.” I grip her hand to keep her from running.

She jerks around to look back at the billowing snow, and when understanding dawns, I feel her heartbeat stutter in her wrist.

“Are those … warriors?”

“Yes, but—”

“Enemy warriors?” she cries. “They’re coming right at us!”

My grip on her hand tightens. “Do you see where the trail to Hills country meets the main trail that curves around the eastern side of the villages? When we hit that, we’ll run. For now, just walk.”

I lead her down the trail.





Fifty

Elder Brother Sun blazed scarlet and gold into High Matron Kittle’s eyes as she marched along the outermost catwalk of Bur Oak Village, speaking confidently to her warriors, judging their moods, making her way down to where Skenandoah stood. At regular intervals, jugs of water and cups hung from the palisade, at hand for later when thirsty warriors could not leave their posts. Beyond the palisade, thick morning mist curled and spun across the valley.

When he saw her, Skenandoah bowed. “High Matron?”

In the glistening vapor, he more closely resembled a pale-faced phantom than a war chief. Muscular and of medium height, he had seen thirty-four summers pass. Short black hair, cut in mourning for the many friends he had lost in the long war, clung damply to his square face. Red feathers, ornaments of war, fluttered at the bottom of his long war shirt. He had his bow slung over his shoulder and carried a quiver bristling with arrows. A war club, ax, and two deerbone stilettos hung from his belt.

Kittle smiled. “What’s going on out there?”

He propped an elbow on the palisade and gestured to the hazy battlefield. “Our archers are in place, but the fog is so thick in the valley bottom they won’t see the enemy warriors until they emerge like fanged wolves from the gray.”

“You’ve seen no Traders, no travelers, no messengers traveling under white arrows? Nothing?”

Skenandoah gave her a sad look, seemed to be debating with himself, then clearly decided to ignore her implication that she was waiting for a messenger from Atotarho, hoping to end this before it began. “No, High Matron. Just the two terrified sentries who ran in at dawn after sighting the approaching army.”

Her heart sank. She didn’t know what she’d been hoping for, perhaps that Atotarho wished to make peace, which was as unlikely as seeing summer replace the winter solstice. Had she grown so desperate she’d started believing in fantasies?