The Broken Land(88)

Matron Gahela’s eyes went strange, almost accusatory. “Are you trying to talk us into another alliance? The last one didn’t work out too well. Many of our people are dead. Ask the survivors of Flatwoods Village. They—”

“Gahela,” Buckshen softly chastised. “We all grieve with you over the loss of your relatives, but—”

“She does not grieve with me.” Gahela’s eyes blazed at Jigonsaseh.

Jigonsaseh calmly returned her gaze. “I was not a member of the Ruling Council at the time, Matron Gahela. If I had been, I assure you I would have voted no. We had no cause to attack Flatwoods Village. It was a bad decision, and I grieve both for your losses and ours.”

That seemed to somewhat mollify Gahela. She lowered her eyes but continued to grind her teeth.

Buckshen said, “What does Dekanawida wish us to do to end the war?”

“He said to tell you that there will come a time in the very near future when we must tie our people together again to fight for peace. He asks that you consider joining us, and if you agree, then you should prepare yourselves. He will send a messenger when he needs you to join the fight.”

“When will that be?”

“I cannot say.” She sat back on the bench and heaved a breath. “When I left Yellowtail Village we were preparing to attack Atotarho Village. I pray that is not the battle my son needs you for. I suspect it will be long and bloody.”

Kiska blinked owlishly. “But what if it is? Atotarho is an evil sorcerer. His witchery has killed many of our children, and his warriors have killed the rest! If we band together to destroy him, will that stop Elder Brother Sun from turning his back on us?”

Matron Gahela snorted disdainfully. “You’re not thinking, Kiska. Dekanawida’s request makes no sense. He says he wants us join the Standing Stone nation to fight for peace. Does that mean he wishes to fight, or not to fight?”

Buckshen said, “That is a good question. Matron Jigonsaseh?”

Koracoo gestured uncertainly. “I’m no Dreamer, Matrons. Just a Dreamer’s messenger. I leave all interpretations up to you. But I suspect, sooner than any of us wish, we will all know the answer to that question.”

Buckshen tilted her head, and the firelight reflected from her white-filmed eyes, turning them into amber mirrors. “The council will need to deliberate on this matter; then we must seek the opinions of our clans.”

“I understand. I will return to my own village and await your decision. I thank you with all my heart for agreeing to hear my son’s Dream.” She stood and bowed deeply to the council members.

Cord stood up. “Matron Jigonsaseh, if it would not delay your journey, I would offer you something to eat and drink. Our village makes an excellent walnut bread.”

She dipped her head in gratitude. “I would very much enjoy that.”

She and Cord walked across the council house to the door curtain.

When they stepped outside, the light had changed. A lavender veil had fallen over the land and with it, a hush. The village was calm, the warriors on the catwalk unconcerned.

“Well,” Jigonsaseh asked. “What do you think?”

“I think they’re worried this is a trick. But I also suspect they believe you.”

She jerked a nod. “I wish Sky … Dekanawida … could have been here to present his vision himself. They would have had no doubts.”

“Maybe.”

There was an awkward moment where neither of them said anything.

Then Cord gestured to the closest longhouse. “I had hoped you could spend an extra hand of time here. My niece has already prepared supper for us, and carried food to your warriors. Will you join me?”

She smiled. “Yes, thank you.”

The warmth in his eyes caught her off guard. How was it possible that the old attraction between them had not died in the past twelve summers of war?

The two of them, enemies, made a strange pair as they walked across the plaza—he dressed in black, she in white, talking like the old friends they were.





Thirty-three

Sky Messenger





Wind Mother rampages through the twilight forest, whipping my black cape so wildly that I can scarcely walk. Taya is having an even tougher time. She has her thin willowy body leaned into the gale, but is still stumbling. I walk back and take her hand, helping steady her steps as we plod toward White Dog Village. I need to see my father, Gonda, to hear the gossip. I especially need to know if War Chief Hiyawento is out on the war trail. If so, I needn’t risk traveling to Coldspring Village.

Taya asks, “Do you smell that?” Despite the wind, she’s been trying very hard to keep her voice low.