The Broken Land(68)

At these words, pain constricted Koracoo’s chest. She whispered, “I love you so much,” and gently placed her mother’s hand on the sleeping bench.

She heard moccasins rapidly coming down the longhouse but did not look up until Tutelo said, “Mother.”

When she turned, Deru stood behind her with his war club in his fi st, his massive shoulders heaving with swift breaths. He must have run to get here.

Koracoo lurched to her feet. “What is it? What’s wrong?”

He clenched his jaw, and it set his caved-in left cheek at an odd angle. “Two scouts came in. We have a flood of refugees coming.”

“What? How many? From where?”

“We won’t know until they get here. Papon said hundreds, but you know how he is; he exaggerates.”

“Did he have any other details? What village? Who attacked them?”

Deru shook his head, and short black hair flapped across his crushed cheek. “As soon as our scouts saw them on the trail in the distance, they climbed down from the sycamore where they were keeping watch and ran—”

Tutelo suddenly sobbed, “Oh, Mother!” She clapped a hand to her mouth to smother her cries. Her gaze fixed on her grandmother.

Koracoo turned. Jigonsaseh’s eyes stared up blankly, peacefully, at the smoke hole in the roof, as though her afterlife soul saw the way out.

Deru said, “Oh, Speaker, I did not realize—”

“No one did. And I needed to hear your message, Deru. Thank you for bringing it swiftly. It gives me time to prepare.”

Tears did not come easily to Koracoo. In her many summers as a warrior and then as war chief, she had seen dozens of friends perish. Sodowego, the harbinger of death, was an old familiar companion. Often, she’d been desperately glad to see him. As she was now. Yesterday had been the longest day of Koracoo’s life, her mother’s rattling lungs and whimpers unbearable. Now, the great matron’s suffering was over, and for that, Koracoo was deeply grateful.

“I’ll leave,” Deru said. “I’m sorry to have disturbed—”

“How far away are the refugees?”

“A good distance. They were moving slowly. Papon suspected they’d make camp for the night, and come in tomorrow morning.”

Koracoo expelled a breath. “Very well. Inform Chief Yellowtail. I’ll inform the matrons.”

“Yes, Speaker.” Deru turned, and his steps pounded away.

Koracoo turned to her grief-stricken daughter. Tears blurred Tutelo’s eyes. “Tutelo, please run to each longhouse and first inform the clan matrons that we have more hungry people coming in, probably tomorrow, but maybe tonight. They’ll need places to sleep, and probably hides to keep them warm.” She paused, then finished, “After all the deaths, they should have enough to share. Then tell them that the great Matron Jigonsaseh will need to travel to the afterlife tomorrow.”

Tutelo dried her eyes on her cape and rose. “I miss her already.”

Koracoo stroked her hair. “Thank you for staying with her.”

“She was never alone, Mother. She always knew someone who loved her was close by. I’ll be back to help you prepare her for the journey.”

“No. Go home.” She kissed Tutelo’s forehead. “Your own daughter is ill. Take care of her. Eat. Spend time with your wonderful husband. Your family needs you. Your cousins will care for our matron.”

Tutelo nodded. As she walked away, she wiped the tears from her cheeks with her hands.

Koracoo gazed down upon her dead mother. From long experience, she knew the pain would come, once the shock wore off. Once her duties and obligations were done. Once she’d tended to the new refugees, and stopped worrying about Hiyawento and the message from the Hills Ruling Council … once she had the luxury.





Twenty-eight

Sky Messenger





The sound of the rushing river fills the cool morning.

I turn to examine the faint lavender halo that swells over the eastern hills. As Elder Brother Sun nears the horizon, the old abandoned village seems to come alive, shadows stretching like dark fists from the overgrown piles of earth. Long ago, Bog Willow Village contained one hundred or more houses. All that remains are hillocks sprinkled with broken potsherds. Occasionally a charred log thrusts up through the leaf mat, saplings, and brush. There are many ghosts here. They roam the ruins as though still hunting for the bodies of lost loved ones.

To the west, dark blue mountains rise. I remember them. I remember everything about our rescue, and our flight from the battlefield. A desperate sense of guilt fills me when I think of that night. Baji, Tutelo, and I ran with all our hearts. We escaped, leaving Wrass and Zateri in the old woman’s clutches. For days, while our party searched for them, I lived their horror in my souls.