The Broken Land(143)

Then it was gone.

Passed over.

In the distance, the blackness continued to uproot whole trees and cast them about like corn-husk dolls, but the deafening roar receded, slowly, until all that possessed the world was blinding sunlight and the silence of the grave.

In the midst of the quiet, quiet world, Sky Messenger still stood, holding Kahn-Tineta in his arms. She had her small face buried against his neck, clutching him like a frightened animal. Sky Messenger took one step toward the east, and his chin tipped up, as though he’d lifted his face to gaze straight into the brilliant eye of Elder Brother Sun.

“Are they all right? Can you see them?” Zateri squirmed beneath his heavy body, trying to turn, to look out across the battlefield.

Hiyawento softly said, “Yes, I see them. They’re all right.”

As he got to his feet, shocked voices erupted throughout the camp. People gasped and pointed. A few ran forward to the edge of the hill to look. Zateri staggered to her feet and grabbed his arm to steady her weak legs.

Sky Messenger set Kahn-Tineta on the ground, then took her hand and slowly started weaving through the dead bodies, now tossed here and there into tangled piles, bringing Kahn-Tineta to Hiyawento and Zateri.

Zateri threw off Hiyawento’s hand and was out of camp, down the hillside, dashing across the battlefield, the fringes of her skirt slashing around her legs, running for them with her arms outstretched.





Sixty-five

Sky Messenger





Light cold rain falls, pattering through the forest, creating a melodic symphony of plops and shishes.

I flip up my buckskin hood and lean one shoulder against a sassafras trunk. Gitchi lies at my feet with his gray head braced on his paws. I have my back turned to the hundreds of campfires where warriors sit discussing what happened today. In the branches that surround me, fire shadows flutter like dark hummingbird wings, beating at the soft awed voices. I concentrate on the sensation of cold. It helps me to block out the emotion. Every voice is saturated with it. They are watching me, and have been since this afternoon when most of Atotarho’s remaining forces trotted over the hills, heading home.

“I tell you, I saw it. I was there. He told Sindak to clear the battlefield, and when Atotarho laughed …” The warrior hesitates, as though reliving the moment. “Sky Messenger opened his hands to Elder Brother Sun, and it was as though thunder was born in the heart of the mist. The sound—the sound was like Great Grandmother Earth being ripped apart.”

“You’re exaggerating, Saponi,” another man accuses.

“No,” Saponi murmurs with deep reverence in his voice. “I saw it. Sky Messenger lifted his hands for help, and Elder Brother Sun answered him. And then, just before the blackness struck, clouds formed on Sky Messenger’s cape. I swear it looked like he was wearing a cape of white clouds and riding the winds of destruction. Just like the old stories say. I’m telling you, he’s the human False Face.”

Everyone around the campfire murmurs.

There is a brief lull; then singing rises. The notes lilt through the darkness.

I feel drained, utterly empty. Like a transparent husk, useless now. I straighten, preparing to go back …

Gitchi lifts his head, and his tail thumps the ground.

Behind me, whispering through the grass, I hear her long legs. The muscular grace of her movements, just the feline placement of her feet, is like a physical blow. I swallow. As she walks closer, I say, “I knew you’d find me.”

Her moccasins shift, as though she has braced her legs. “It wasn’t hard. Every eye in the camp is upon you.”

She has one of those deep female voices that seem to reach inside a man and stroke his heart.

Gitchi trots away, and I turn to see him leap up to place his big paws in the middle of her chest. She hugs him hard. His tail swipes the air as he whimpers his happiness. “I missed you, Gitchi. Are you all right?”

At the sight of her, guilt blends with a love so powerful it is impossible to explain. The air seems to glitter around her, playing in her long black hair, sculpting the muscles of her arms, flowing across her broad shoulders and pooling in the curves of her narrow waist. I know every line of her body, every hollow; even the slightest imperfection of her skin has lived beneath my fingertips. My gaze moves over her beautiful face, comparing it to my memory. Her black eyes shine. It’s a look that trembles the blood in my veins.

Gitchi returns to my side, gazing up at me as though to say, “Look, she’s back. Isn’t it wonderful?”

I step toward her with my fists clenched. “I’ll never be able to thank you enough for what you and Cord did today. When I saw you leading your warriors down the hill and into the fight … Baji … I could feel victory in the very air I was breathing.”