The Broken Land(70)

Taya calls, “You are so odd.”

As I open my mouth to respond …

“Odion?”

The Voice calls.

Blood freezes in my veins. Where is he? I turn, trying to find him.

He kneels in the meadow in the distance, his black hood blowing around dark emptiness. My senses become heightened, as always when he appears, and I smell old blood on the breeze. It infects his clothing like a foul miasma.

I stride straight through the ruins, headed north along the riverbank with Gitchi trotting at my heels.

In a childish whine, Taya says, “You never answer me!”

I’ve forgotten her question.

As I stride toward Shago-niyoh, the tangy smell of the river drifts up, displacing the taint of corruption. Bright autumn leaves pile along the shores, creating moldering borders that mingle with the fragrances of dead grass and moss. Birdsong fills the trees.

Taya trots through the meadow behind me, shouting, “What’s wrong? Did I do something again?”

By the time she reaches my side, I am standing two paces from Shago-niyoh. He is not looking at me. His head is bent, and he seems to be studying something on the ground, something hidden in the colorful blanket of leaves.

I whisper to him, “There’s one part … I don’t … I can’t remember. Do you know what happened to me?”

Taya stands breathing hard, staring at the place my eyes focus. Clearly she sees nothing. A thread of alarm enters her voice. “Who are you talking to? Are you talking to me?”

Shago-niyoh looks toward the eastern horizon, where a honeyed glow arches into the sky. “What is the first thing you recall about this place?”

“The black blizzard. Swirling. Covering the trees and the ground.”

“A black blizzard?” Taya asks. After several heartbeats without an answer, she turns to look back at the destroyed village. “You mean, from the burning village? Was ash falling?”

I prop my hands on my hips and turn to her. I do owe her answers. She is not here voluntarily. Of course, neither am I. But we are in this together. “Yes, we arrived just after the attack.”

“We? Who else was with you?”

Their faces appear just behind my eyes. And my anxiety lessens. I can breathe again. They’re here with me. “Tutelo, Wrass, and others. My only friends.” I don’t wish to name the other children. They are from “enemy” peoples, and I don’t wish to endure another lecture about my treasonous inclinations.

I gaze out at the wide river, where water burbles over rocks. Dark green spruces and pines dot the brilliant scarlet maples on the opposite bank. “I don’t know why I can’t remember everything. The images should be burned into my souls. Every other moment is.”

“Maybe you were you struck in the head?” Taya suggests.

“Maybe. I recall beatings … and my flight through the forest with my Spirit Helper is perfectly clear.”

Shago-niyoh shifts, but does not look up. His black cape waffles in the wind.

I add, “As is the instant when Mother and Father, and the two Hills warriors, Sindak and Towa, burst from the trees with their war clubs and killed the Outcast warriors who held us captive.”

I realize my lapse too late.

Surprised, Taya says, “There were two Hills warriors with the party that rescued you? Two enemy warriors? Your mother allied herself with our enemies? How is it possible that I’ve never heard this part of the story?”

I lift a shoulder. I’m waiting for Shago-niyoh to speak to me. He called me here for a reason.

Taya says, “How did you make it home?”

Gitchi walks to my side and looks up at me with adoring yellow eyes. I stroke his warm throat. “My friends. They were just children, but they risked their lives to make sure we escaped.” I gesture. “Three or four hundred warriors were camped here. The smell of roasting dogs and clams filled the night. There were hundreds of campfires. Sometimes, in my Dreams, I return here, and I … I hear that voice. The man’s voice. That’s where the gap is in my memory.”

Shago-niyoh whispers, “Gaps are thresholds. Step over.”

Taya tucks windblown long hair behind her ears. She’s so young. I keep forgetting. “Who is he?”

For an instant, I’m confused about whom she means; then I rub my hands on my cape, cleaning them of the filth. Filth that has not existed, except in my souls, in a long time. “He was a war chief.”

Taya’s dark beautiful eyes seem larger. “What was his name?”

“He’s dead. I cannot speak his name.”

Taya flaps her arms against her sides. “Sky Messenger, think about this. You obviously have a ghost sickness and need to see a good Healer, not someone like old Bahna. In Bur Oak Village, Genonsgwa is the best. She says …”