The Broken Land(140)
As he sprinted down the hill, Kwahseti said, “Good for you. We’re winning and he knows it. It will be over soon.”
In a soft voice, she said, “Not soon enough,” and her gaze returned to Hiyawento.
He stood in the midst of a tormented knot of warriors that clashed not more than fifty paces from Atotarho’s war lodge. The fighting was desperate. Through the blowing fog and smoke from the burning villages, the figures were somehow unreal, just floating phantoms, condemned to forever fight a battle no one could win. They were killing aunts, uncles, cousins, brothers. In a fight such as this, victory was impossible.
Hiyawento and Sky Messenger fought side by side, guarding each other’s backs as they had done since they’d seen eleven summers. Slowly, inexorably, they were closing in on her father’s position. When they got there … when they got there …
Zateri closed her eyes and let the darkness soothe her fear and hurt. She didn’t want to see any more of this. Dear gods, no more of this!
Sixty-three
Sky Messenger
There is a sudden deafening roar when the sides converge. War Chief Sindak is in front of me, blocking the path to Atotarho, who has retreated into his lodge as though the thin deer hides will protect him.
I glance to my right, where Hiyawento swings his war club. He needs no help from me. Someone yells, “Got to pull back!” Another shouts, “No, no! Can’t. Nowhere to go!” The Hills warrior in front of me has wild eyes; his head shakes violently. He leaps for me with a stiletto in his fist. The sharpened white bone shines as it plunges toward my heart. I flip sideways and he crashes by. My war club crushes his hip. Ten paces from the war lodge now. Sindak’s face, the face of the man I consider to be one of my saviors, is raw and determined. He’ll never let me pass, never let me get to Atotarho.
I am aware suddenly of the cold tears blurring my eyes.
As though the world has slipped sideways, from the corner of my eye, I see Atotarho step from the war lodge hauling a little girl by the arm. She is perhaps eight or nine, gagged, but when she spies Hiyawento, she goes crazy, trying to scream, twisting to get away from Atotarho, falling to the ground kicking. Hiyawento is occupied, running down a wounded man. There’s something familiar about her, but I can’t place it. She looks like someone I know.
From the lodge behind her steps a man. His cape is stunning, made of thousands of bluebird feathers. He has his hood pulled up. The blue fluttering around his hidden face and down his chest creates a sensation of movement, as though he’s about to lift off the ground and fly away. When he sees me, he tilts his head like a man who has heard a blast of thunder right over the top of him. As though he can’t quite hear, or is deaf and trying to understand the world through sight alone.
When people see him, a hiss erupts, the gasps like a beating of great wings.
Then … a cry. A long, shuddering, deep-throated wail.
Hiyawento lurches past me.
The next few moments happen so quickly, I can’t move, can’t …
Hiyawento throws himself at Sindak, and Sindak pivots and swipes Hiyawento’s feet out from under him with his war club. Hiyawento lands hard. As Sindak brings his war club into position for a killing blow, there is an instant of hesitation. His eyes tense. I unthinkingly jump between Sindak and Hiyawento, my club cutting upward, crashing into Sindak’s. We are eye to eye, shoving each other, trying to gain leverage, but I can see it in his face. He wishes he didn’t have to do this. From the edge of my vision, Hiyawento leaps, slams Atotarho to the ground, and roars like a wounded grizzly as he grabs the old man around the throat.
“Help! Help … me!” Atotarho cries. He’s choking. Struggling.
“Leave my daughter alone! Leave her alone, you—”
Negano’s club takes Hiyawento squarely in the left shoulder, knocking him off Atotarho and sending him rolling.
“Hurry, my chief, get up!” Negano shouts, and drags Atotarho toward the lodge.
Hiyawento slowly crawls for the little girl. Tears are streaming down her face. She’s trying to wriggle free of her bonds to get to him.
Blessed gods, that’s why she’s familiar. She looks like Zateri. Zateri as a child. She’s Hiyawento’s daughter. His oldest daughter. Kahn-Tineta.
“Sindak,” I hiss through gritted teeth, “let the girl go.”
So low no one but me can hear it, he says, “I knew nothing of this. Give me a chance.”
Our eyes lock.
Negano runs back, jumps between Hiyawento and his daughter, grabs her, and suspends a stiletto over her heart.
The ragged cry that escapes Hiyawento’s throat could sunder the world. Two of Atotarho’s guards grab him and haul him four paces away from his daughter.