The Broken Land Read Free Page B

the battle, and I am actually one of them, but do not yet realize it?
    The elder’s expression slackens as her hand goes tight around the knife. “Is this some trick?”
    I do not answer, but rise and walk over to the two guards. “Utz, Hannock, you must both be starving. Why don’t you go eat? I’ll take this watch.”
    A grin crosses Utz’s face. His two front teeth rotted out long ago, leaving ugly gaps. As he ties his war club to his belt, his blue knee-length cape sways around his stumpy legs. “It’s about time. I was thinking about fainting to get someone’s attention.”
    Hannock chuckles. “One of these days, your stomach is going to be your doom.”
    Utz replies, “Only if it’s empty, and I strive never to allow that to happen.” He slaps me on the shoulder. “Thank you, Deputy. We’ll return as soon as we can.”
    I wave an unconcerned hand. “Take your time. After you eat, you might want to scavenge the battlefield before anyone else has a chance to make off with the best items.”
    Hannock, a youth of seventeen summers with long black hair, gives me a conspiratorial smile. “We appreciate that. Shall we bring you something?”
    “Only if you happen upon a nice pair of seashell earrings for my little sister.”
    Hannock laughs. “We’ll see what we can find.”
    They head straight for the closest cook pot. As they kneel in the circle of warriors and begin filling wooden bowls, the rich scent of cornmeal mush flavored with dried plums and hickory nuts wafts on the breeze. Utz must have said something amusing; the men throw back their heads and laugh.
    I turn to the woman. She is staring fixedly at me, as though she suddenly thinks she knows me. In a whisper, she asks, “Aren’t you Dekanawida? The man who was to marry Chief Cord’s adopted daughter, Baji?” Perhaps forty summers old, she must be a clan leader. Of course she knows me. All gazes are focused on her, as though awaiting instructions. My Flint name moves through the women.
    “Dekanawida … It’s Dekanawida …”
    I say only, “Be patient.”
    The boy glances between us. The soot that coats his oval face is tear-streaked. All of the children looked starved, their faces gaunt. Several are sick. Coughs puncture the night. The boy leans toward the woman and whispers, “Mother? What’s happening? Who is he?”
    She swiftly saws through her ropes and shifts to work on the boy’s. When he’s free, she gives him the knife and says, “Cut the ropes of the person next to you, then keep passing the knife down the line. No one is to make a sound or move until I say so.” She glares sternly. “Do you understand, my son?”
    The boy swallows hard. “Mother, we can’t run! There are too many of them. They’ll slaughter us!”
    She lifts her eyes to me, and for a long time our gazes hold. Of course she doesn’t trust me. How can she? But I am her only hope, and she knows it. I can see that truth clearly on her face. Perhaps, she is also praying that I still have a sense of loyalty to her people.
    “What will you give to save these children?” I ask.
    “Whatever I have to. Just tell me what to do, Cousin.”
    She has just called in family obligations. As I rise to my feet, the world takes on a gauzy dreamlike appearance. The firelight blurs. Whatever I do in the next few moments will determine my fate forever. I can no longer see her clearly. Her wrinkled face is nothing more than an indistinct splotch in the night. I have experienced this strange blindness and disorientation before, after being struck in the head by a war club. Is that what happened? At this very instant I’m lying on the ground, struggling to wake? “Someone must be sacrificed. Probably two of you. Decide now which of you is willing to die.”
    The elder turns to the woman next to her. She does not have to ask. The woman swallows hard and whispers, “Of course.”
    The elder turns back and gives me a barely discernible nod.

Two
    W ar Chief Deru stalked