“Well, walk around, think about it. Just hurry.”
Gitchi let out a low growl and froze, his muzzle pointing at a scrubby grove of prickly ash trees. Leafless, they resembled a cluster of spikes.
Sky Messenger followed the wolf’s gaze, and his expression changed completely. He froze like a big cat spotting a mouse. His eyes went wide and alert. Barely above a whisper, he said, “Taya, don’t move. Don’t even breathe.”
“But, why? I don’t—”
He grabbed her wrist in a death grip to silence her.
The six men ghosted through the trees. They were far enough away that she could not tell their nation, just floating glimpses of clothing and glints of arrow points. When they’d passed out of sight, Sky Messenger said, “We have to get out of here now.”
He ducked low and led the way with Gitchi trotting in his footsteps. Taya brought up the rear with her heart in her throat. The mosaic of sunlight, barred with indigo shadows, seemed to stretch across the broken land forever.
Twenty-nine
Sleet pattered on the roof of the longhouse, creating a faint chatter that competed with the crackling fire and the whispers in the Council House at Bur Oak Village. Fires blazed down the length of the house, lighting the faces of the people who’d assembled to hear Gonda’s story.
“Give me just a—a moment.” Gonda, Speaker for the Warriors of White Dog Village, lifted his hands to massage his temples. He was a thin, wiry man with a moonish face and brown eyes. He’d seen thirty-eight summers pass, most of them in Yellowtail Village. Never, in all that time, had he felt this weary. Evil Spirits had been cavorting in his head since the attack two days ago, plunging stilettos behind his eyes as though trying to puncture a way to freedom.
When the pain had eased a little, he lowered his hands and prepared to finish the telling. He stood beside the central fire examining the faces of the Ruling Council of the People of the Standing Stone. Concentric rings of benches encircled the fire. Each person had his or her place. The six clan matrons and High Matron Kittle sat on the innermost ring of benches closest to the fire. Behind them, on the middle ring, sat the village chiefs and village matrons. The outermost ring was crowded with the Speakers. Each of the five villages had four Speakers, elected representatives who conveyed various group decisions and asked questions on the group’s behalf. The Speakers for the Warriors sat on the outermost northern benches, including the War Chief of Bur Oak Village, Skenandoah, and War Chief Deru of Yellowtail Village. The Speakers for the Women sat on the eastern benches. The Speakers for the Men occupied the western benches, and the Speakers for the Shamans filled the southern benches.
Gonda responded, “The sickness began the same day the baskets of corn arrived. Our village was deeply grateful for the food sent by the Ruling Council. Portions were divided for each longhouse. By nightfall most people were so ill they could barely stand. The attack came at dawn the next morning.” As he spoke, the whispers quieted and expressions went somber. “Those who could carry a weapon did so, but we couldn’t defend all three palisades. Our war chief, whose name I cannot speak for he is traveling the Path of Souls, ordered all of our fighters to stand on the outermost palisade. As each palisade was overwhelmed, we moved to the next. We were simply too weak to defend the village. The battle was over in less than two hands of time.”
Matron Kittle stood. Still an extremely handsome woman, the firm contours of her oval face had just begun to sag. He could see it in the slight wrinkles at her throat and the lines at the corners of her deeply set dark eyes. She wore her black hair pulled back and twisted into a knot at the base of her skull and fastened with a tortoiseshell comb. Her beautiful white cape, reserved for council meetings, glimmered with circlets of seashells. “Forgive us for keeping you here, Speaker. We realize you are tired, but we must understand what happened so that we can immediately begin planning a response.”
Gonda nodded. “I understand.”
Kittle continued, “Are you suggesting that it was the baskets of corn that sickened White Dog Village and made them vulnerable to attack?”
“Yes, but we cannot say for certain that the corn was to blame. If we’d had more time, High Matron, we could have verified our suspicions. As it was, we barely had time enough to escape with our lives.”
“High Matron,” a deep voice called from the eastern benches, and a very tall woman rose to her feet.
Gonda’s gaze fixed on her. She’d cut her gray-streaked black hair short in mourning, and it made her small narrow nose and full lips seem all the more beautiful to him. Despite all the unpleasantness that had gone between them over the twelve long summers since she’d divorced him, his heart gladdened. Just the sight of her was like the feel of a war club in his hand; it gave him confidence that he could face anything.