The Broken Land(96)
It must have startled him, for he jumped slightly and looked at her. “Thank you,” he said softly. He pulled it forward and tied it beneath his chin.
Taya touched his arm. “I’m sorry. I know you’d like to thrash me for the things I just said.”
“You exaggerate.”
“I’m just trying to figure you out, probably as hard as you’re trying to—”
He threw up a hand to silence her and squinted down the trail. “There he is.”
An ugly little man with five pack dogs trotted toward them. He was humming a tune, watching his feet. When he lifted his head and saw Sky Messenger standing in the middle of the trail, he stopped suddenly. Greasy black hair framed his scarred face. “What are you doing here?”
Sky Messenger called, “I came to find you, Raloga.”
“Me?” The man’s hand flew to his chest. “Why? What did I do? Where’s your war party?” His gaze darted across the forest.
As he walked forward, Sky Messenger pulled something from his belt pouch and handed it to the Trader. “White Dog Village was burned several days ago. There’s no need for you to stop. I will pay you to deliver a message for me, but it must be done quickly.”
The man took the exquisite pearl bracelet, turned it over in his hands, and eyed Sky Messenger suspiciously. “This is valuable. You must want me to do something dangerous. Where would you have me go?”
“To Coldspring Village.”
Raloga glanced at Taya, then looked back at Sky Messenger. “And who am I to see?”
“I want my message delivered exactly, do you understand?”
The Trader nodded.
“Tell War Chief Hiyawento that Odion wants to meet him in the aspen meadow at midnight.”
Taya’s blood went cold. Hiyawento? He was one of the most feared war chiefs among the Hills People. He was Sky Messenger’s old friend? The man who’d saved him? He was a monster!
“Umm,” Raloga said. “Who is Odion?”
“Just tell him. He’ll understand.”
Raloga shrugged and grinned, revealing four yellow teeth in an otherwise toothless mouth. “You are paying me well for such a simple message. Is it risky?”
Sky Messenger’s voice took on a timbre Taya had never heard before, low, threatening. “I’m not paying you to ask questions.”
Raloga’s smile drooped. “Fine. That’s fine. I didn’t mean to anger you. I’ll deliver it exactly as you said.”
“Then you will live a long and happy life, my friend.” Sky Messenger slapped him on the back hard enough to make the Trader stumble.
“Er, yes, well … then, if you don’t mind, I’ll be on my way.” He lifted a hand and quickly trotted away with his dogs surrounding him. He cast two backward glances, apparently to make certain he wasn’t being followed, and vanished up the trail.
Taya walked to stand beside Sky Messenger. Her cape flapped around her legs. “What are you trying to do? Hiyawento is married to Chief Atotarho’s daughter! We can’t go see him. Atotarho is an evil cannibal sorcerer. If he captures us, he’ll cut our hearts out and eat them for breakfast. Do you want to die?”
Sky Messenger’s gaze remained on the point where the Trader had disappeared. “We should be there by midnight. I’ll be able to answer your question then.”
Thirty-six
Raloga scratched his itching armpit. He’d had to run hard to get here in time, and sweat drenched his shirt. It was almost midnight, yet people crowded the plaza of Atotarho Village. Everywhere he looked cook pots boiled near huge bonfires, and the scent of sweet corn cakes baking in ashes rose. Drum beats pounded the air. Arranged in a rough oval around the plaza were four longhouses, four smaller clan houses, and a prisoners’ house. The magnificent longhouses—the biggest ever built—were constructed of pole frames and covered with elm bark. The Wolf Clan longhouse was truly stunning; it stretched over eight hundred hand-lengths long and forty wide. The others were shorter, two or three hundred hands long, but still impressive. The arched roofs soared fifty hands high. Was Hiyawento in council with the matrons? Or the elders? He might have just been meeting with War Chief Sindak, or various war deputies.
“There must be three thousand people here. What’s happening?” His five dogs pricked their ears and looked at him. “Come on, we don’t have much time.”
As he shouldered through the crowd looking for War Chief Hiyawento, he passed people in brilliant capes, wearing elaborate shell, copper and carved wooden jewelry. Sounds of laughter and singing echoed from somewhere ahead.
He tapped a youth of perhaps sixteen summers on the shoulder. “What’s happening?”