The Broken Land(87)
Matron Kiska added, “Without Dekanawida, the man you call Sky Messenger, they would be dead or serving as slaves in enemy nations.”
Matron Buckshen shifted on the bench, and all eyes turned to her. “You see, after hearing their stories, we realized that he had never turned his back on his adopted nation. Instead, he’d been serving our people the entire time.”
Koracoo felt a little bewildered. She wasn’t sure she liked the idea that they believed her son had been acting as a spy in the Standing Stone nation. But if it helped her today …
“It was at that battle,” she said respectfully, “that the Spirits of your relatives came to him.” The matrons went silent, listening intently, and the crackling of the fire seemed louder. “Just before he released the women and children, the Spirits of the dead rose up from the battlefield and encircled him. Hundreds of bobbing soul lights followed him to where the captives were being held, and guarded him while he made sure they got away. After they were safe, Sky Messenger’s Spirit Helper called him into the forest, where he was tormented with Spirit Dreams for many days. Visions of our future.”
Almost breathlessly, Matron Buckshen said, “We have heard the stories the Traders tell, but did not know how much to believe. As you know, Traders are not always reliable. They like to embellish to make the stories more entertaining.”
Koracoo smiled. “Yes. I know.”
Her voice light and disinterested, Matron Gahela asked, “So is the world really going to end?”
A log in the fire split, and green flames erupted from the crack. Jigonsaseh watched them until they faded to amber again. “When Sky Messenger’s Dream begins, he can’t feel his body, just the air cooling as the color drains from the world, leaving it gray and shimmering. A great cloud-sea moves beneath his feet, a restless dark ocean punctured by a great tree with flowers of pure light—”
“The World Tree,” Kiska whispered. Her eyes are bright and alert.
“Hush, Kiska,” Matron Buckshen said. “Let her finish.”
“Oh, forgive me.”
Jigonsaseh waited a few instants before continuing, “ … punctured by a great tree whose roots sink through Great Grandmother Earth and plant themselves upon the back of the Great Tortoise floating in the primeval ocean below. Suddenly, the birds in the trees tuck their beaks beneath their wings, roosting in broad daylight, and butterflies secret themselves in the clouds at his feet. A strange silence descends.”
The matrons shifted. Kiska leaned forward, bracing her elbows on her knees, while Buckshen inhaled a deep breath. Gahela just stared at Koracoo with a sour expression.
“Dimly, Sky Messenger, Dekanawida, becomes aware that he is not alone. Gray shades drift through the air around him, and he knows they are the last congregation, the dead who still walk and breathe. A voice calls his name, and he turns. Beyond the cloud-sea a darkness rises and slithers along the horizon. Strange black curls, like gigantic antlers, spin from the darkness and rake—”
“Horned Serpent?” Kiska hissed, then clapped a hand to her mouth and looked apologetically at Buckshen. “Sorry.”
“Please go on, Matron Jigonsaseh,” Buckshen instructed.
Jigonsaseh focused on the fire. The red coals winked as the flames danced. “The antlers rake the bellies of the Cloud People, and Elder Brother Sun trembles in the sky. There is a brilliant flash, and white feathers sprout from his edges. As he flies away into a black hole in the sky, a crack sounds, and when Sky Messenger looks down, he sees a great pine tree pushing up through Great Grandmother Earth. As it grows, its white roots stretch out to the four directions, and a snowy blanket of thistledown rains upon the world.” She hesitated, not sure she wished to tell them the whole Dream. “Then the Dream bursts, and for a time there is only blinding light. Finally, Sky Messenger sees the flowers of the World Tree fluttering down, down, and he falls through a hole in the cloud-sea, and keeps falling, tumbling through nothingness surrounded by petals of pure light. Wisps of cloud trail behind him.”
When she stopped, she looked up and found Matron Buckshen’s white-filmed eyes on something insubstantial, perhaps living the Dream. The other two matrons contemplatively stared at the fire. Then Matron Kiska closed her eyes with desperate effort, as though to blot out the images. Only Cord was looking at her, and he had a slight frown on his handsome face.
“That is his Dream.”
“And what does Dekanawida make of this Dream?” Buckshen asked.
Jigonsaseh wasn’t accustomed to his Flint name yet. It took her a moment to answer. “He thinks our war is killing Great Grandmother Earth and will cause Elder Brother Sun to turn his back on us. He wants the war to stop.”