The Broken Land(71)

It’s hard to concentrate on what she’s saying. Shago-niyoh is brushing away leaves, searching the ground. Absently, I murmur, “Healers can’t help me now.”

“There is a way through. A way out. The doorway to freedom is right here. Step through.” Shago-niyoh’s hood tilts to the side, waiting for me to understand.

“A way through?” I don’t understand.

Taya stalks forward and brusquely says, “If we came here to find a dead man, let’s do it! Tell me where to look. I want to get out of here as soon as possible.”

I stare at Shago-niyoh. Is he speaking about the “prison” Old Bahna says I’ve constructed to protect myself? There is a way out … .

“Sky Messenger, talk to me!”

I tear my gaze away from Shago-niyoh to study Taya. Her expression is wild with barely suppressed terror. She gazes at me as though I am not human, but one of the monsters that stalked the primeval world of the creation.

I point to the ground. “He’s here. I think.”

Shago-niyoh rises in a sort of weightless drifting and turns to face me expectantly.

I lower my eyes to the ground, where the leaves are still parted, revealing dark black soil. Gitchi sniffs the grass, and a low growl rumbles his throat.

“What’s the matter with your wolf?” To Taya it looks like dead grass and leaves.

“I think this is where … Her campfire was here. I’m sure of it.”

I turn around in a complete circle, examining the trees, the location of the burned village, and the river. For a long time, I stare at Shago-niyoh, who stands no more than two paces distant, his hood absolutely still in the fierce gust of wind that sweeps the meadow.

“You said ‘her’ camp. But I thought you said the voice belongs to a man?”

“It does.” I turn to her. Taya’s eyes have started to dart about, as though expecting hideous creatures to emerge from the shadows and gobble her whole. “The old woman’s name has been forgotten by our people. I thank the gods that no one will ever speak it again.”

Taya’s brows draw together over her straight nose. “Forgotten? Was she that evil?”

Names are clan property. Immediately after birth, a child is given a name that had belonged to a revered ancestor. After the deaths of evil people, names are retired forever and no one mentions them again.

“She was a witch. Powerful … incredibly Powerful. The things she did …”

Taya lowers her voice to a whisper. “As Powerful as the foul Bluebird Witch? I’ve heard he can kill with a glance or the wave of a hand. Just seeing him out in the forest can be a death sentence.”

I crouch and begin parting the leaves and grass with my fingers, trying to see what Shago-niyoh wished me to. The leaves rustle with my motions.

Taya spreads her feet, as though preparing for a battle of wills. “Hurry, can you? We’re in enemy country, vulnerable every instant.” She pauses and adds, “I have no idea why your Spirit Helper told you to abandon your weapons. If I were you, I’d find a different Spirit Helper.”

I continue searching. “I was called to something greater. That’s all.”

“What did he ask you to do—other than see visions?” The last word comes out sounding like a curse.

“His call is less a summons to do something than an invitation to be something.”

Impatiently, she says, “You mean to be a hermit, to run away from life, as you did after that battle? Grandmother still wants you to return to the war trail, you know.”

This refrain is becoming almost unbearable. She says almost these exact words to me at least once a day. Through gritted teeth, I respond, “I was called into life, Taya, into relationship with the Faces of the Forest, and Cloudland Eagle, even the grains of sand. I’ll never return to my old life. So you might want to stop hoping for that.”

Her mouth purses. “All right. Fine.”

Gitchi moves forward to help me. He claws at the ground, tearing away the grass. Flecks of charcoal emerge. Gitchi sniffs the charcoal, licks his muzzle nervously, and pants.

“Did he find something?” Taya asks.

After I have cleared away more grass, I stare at it. The cries are barely audible at first, then gather strength, seeping up from the ground. Men wail and shout. I’m breathing as hard as Gitchi now.

Taya asks, “What’s the matter? You’re panting like a dog.”

Hoarsely, I say, “Don’t you hear them?”

“What?”

“The men, screaming.”

“You mean men who died in the attack? Are their ghosts still here? You hear ghosts? What do they want?” She spins around searching for ghosts.