The Broken Land(65)

He blushed as humiliation coursed through him, and prepared to say something, to tell her that his family was his nation, and it was none of her … But he stopped himself. Koracoo had told him to speak as little as necessary. He held his tongue and stared straight across the fire at her with no emotion whatsoever on his face. At least, he hoped the dim firelight hid his flush.

Matron Dehot softly said, “We sent Sedge Marsh Village baskets of freshly picked ears of corn. We didn’t even shuck them first, though we could have used the husks for our own purposes, to make sacred masks, to weave into mats, to burn in our fires. You should tell the Ruling Council that the charity of the Standing Stone nation is not reserved strictly for our own people. If the hungry come to us, as both Sedge Marsh Village and White Dog Village recently did, we will feed them, no matter their nation. No matter our own needs. The Standing Stone People, especially Yellowtail Village, has fed more than a few of your war parties returning from attacks on the Flint People.”

Hiyawento said, “And we are grateful, Matron. That is one of the reasons we have a sort of undeclared truce between us. Our warriors do not wish to attack you.”

“Well, isn’t that gracious of them?” Matron Kittle said in a mocking voice. “We can all sleep easier knowing that when they come to kill us, as their Ruling Council threatens, at least the Hills warriors will feel badly about cutting up our children and feeding them to their dogs.”

Kittle’s tone was like salt rubbed into an open wound. Hiyawento slowly asked, “Will you stop trying to make alliances with Hills villages?”

Kittle looked as if she was enjoying herself, and when she spoke there was odious ring to her voice. “No. We will not.”

Matron Sihata’s white head tottered on her neck. “This council has, many times, discussed the possible ramifications of feeding our enemies. It is our sovereign right to make alliances whenever and with whomever we please. Would the Hills Ruling Council wish us to tell them how to conduct their political affairs?”

Hiyawento didn’t respond. They all knew the answer was a hearty no, and he was getting the feeling that his hold on life was becoming more tenuous with every breath. He just nodded and picked up his white arrow. “Then if the council has no more use for me—”

“Apparently, no one has any use for you,” Kittle said with suave brutality. “Get out of our country as fast as you can.”

He rose to his feet, bowed deeply, and ducked beneath the door curtain. Koracoo stood a few paces away, speaking with four warriors. Beyond them, light snow fell upon the roofs of the hastily constructed refugee houses—little more than lean-tos cramped against the palisade.

“Speaker?” Hiyawento called.

Koracoo turned and, instantly, she and the guards marched forward, closed ranks around him, and escorted him across the dark plaza.

In a confidential voice, she said, “The balance is precarious now. Tomorrow we will start preparing for a great battle with your people. I pray cooler tempers prevail and no one suggests that we take the fight to the Hills People first, before you can invade our country.”

“Someone will, Speaker. Someone always does.”

Koracoo swung CorpseEye up to rest on her shoulder. “Go home. Tell Tila she is courting disaster.”

“I will.”

She dismissed the guards and walked through the gates at Hiyawento’s side. When they stood beneath the sheltering chestnut branches, she said, “I regret that we will not have a chance to speak more. Tutelo was very much looking forward to that.”

“I was, too. I was hoping to see Tutelo’s children and meet her husband. And I was especially looking forward to hearing about Sky Messenger’s—”

“War Chief, if Sky Messenger were here, the first thing he would tell you is that this war must end. If it doesn’t, he has foreseen catastrophe. So … in the future, we will either have a chance for many long discussions. Or we will all be dead.”

Hiyawento absorbed her grim expression before he replied, “If it’s the latter, I pray we have those long discussions in the Land of the Dead.”

Koracoo tilted her head uncertainly. “We are warriors. That is unlikely.”

“I will still hope, Speaker.”

Hiyawento lifted a hand and trotted away. When he turned to look back, he saw Koracoo still standing there, her face faintly lavender in the deepening twilight. She watched him until he crested the ridge and plunged down the trail, heading home to Hills country.





Twenty-seven

Koracoo walked back through the first two gates, listening as each was locked behind her. When she passed through the last gate, she saw the large assembly of people who stood waiting for her. Most were curious refugees in tattered clothing. Their children wore starved, vaguely feral expressions.