The Broken Land by W. Michael Gear Page A

adopted Wrass into the Hills nation and requickened in him the legendary soul of her ancestor, Hiyawento, also known as He-Who-Combs-Away-Evil. She hadn’t cared. Of all men, Hiyawento knew what she’d been through. In his arms, she found shelter and understanding. She longed for nothing more than to spend the rest of her life with him.
    Kahn-Tineta shifted, rolling over, and Zateri looked at her eldest daughter. The girl’s mouth was slightly open, showing her missing front teeth. If all went well, in five or six summers she would be married with her first child on the way. Zateri had already begun thinking about the boys in the village, sorting them, watching the ones who seemed to be brave, honest, loyal.
    Pedeza’s dog, Little Boy, got to his feet, stretched, and peered down the length of the house, as though curious about something he saw. A few instants later, Sindak, the war chief of her father’s village, appeared standing at her fire, warming his hands. His black cape bore a coating of dust, as did his buckskin leggings. He had seen thirty-one difficult summers of almost constant warfare, and the trials had left their mark on his lean face, etching lines around his hooked nose and deeply sunken eyes. He wore his shoulder-length hair pulled back and tied with a cord.
    Very softly, he whispered, “Are you awake?”
    She nodded and eased out of the bedding hides so as not to wake her daughters, then reached for her cape, slipping it on as she walked toward him. “What’s wrong?”
    He gave her a smile, easing her fears. For her ears alone, he said, “I sent two men with him. No one knows. I told your father I’d sent them out to scout the trails.”
    Zateri threw her arms around his neck and hugged him hard. “Thank you, Sindak. Thank you. I was so afraid.”
    “You must tell no one.” He gently shoved away from her, and his sharp gaze scanned the nearby compartments before he whispered, “It’ll mean my head if Atotarho finds out.”
    “I understand.”
    He smiled at her again, but he made no move to leave. Instead, he looked away and frowned.
    “When did you get back?” she whispered. “I heard you were gone.”
    “I was. I returned two hands of time ago. I haven’t even reported to the chief yet.”
    Uneasily, she asked, “Where were you?”
    Little Boy trotted across the floor and stood looking up at Sindak. The war chief absently patted the dog’s head. “I have something more important to discuss with you. Something you probably haven’t thought about in many summers.”
    “What is it?”
    “Do you know what happened to Hehaka?”
    A cold sensation, like ice forming in her veins, went through her. Her brother had disappeared long ago. “I heard rumors, that’s all.”
    “What rumors?”
    Zateri shrugged. She didn’t like remembering; the images were stilettos lodged in her heart. “You … you remember. He ran away from Atotarho Village after only three days. I thought he would find another village. Another home. He’d only seen eleven summers. I convinced myself that someone would want to adopt him. But he was … He …”
    “His soul was loose, Zateri. Out wandering the forest.”
    “Yes.” She pulled her cape more tightly around her shoulders. “One rumor said that he’d found and joined a group of Outcast warriors who were hiding in the forest. Another said he went searching …” She paused to expel a breath.
    How curious that even now as a grown woman with a family, the memories struck terror into her souls. As though the images were stored in every muscle, every sinew in her body, she found herself flinching, tensing to run from a horror that no longer existed in this world. “Apparently, the old woman had many stashes of rare Trade goods, worth a fortune, and he went back to Dawnland country to search for them.”
    It was forbidden to say the name of the evil old woman who’d captured her as a child. After the deaths of evil people, names were retired forever and