Free The Broken Land by W. Michael Gear

prime target.
    On the eastern bench, Tila’s frail hand lifted, and all eyes turned to her. As she leaned forward, short white hair, cut in mourning, fell around her deeply sunken cheeks. “How long will it take to prepare War Chief Hiyawento?”
    Atotarho shrugged. “A day. No more. We need to carefully word our message, and make sure he can repeat it exactly.”
    Tila’s neck trembled as she nodded. “We will discuss the issue with our clans, and return with our decision as soon as everyone’s voice has been heard.”
    Such negotiations often took days, perhaps even moons. Hiyawento felt slightly ill. Atotarho’s action had obligated him to remain close at hand until the matrons returned with their decision. And if they approved sending him to Bur Oak Village, Hiyawento would have no choice but to go. Sky Messenger, forgive me, old friend … .
    “Thank you, High Matron.” To the assembled warriors, Atotarho said, “This council meeting is dismissed until the matrons call a new meeting.”
    No one said a word as the old women rose and filed out of the house. They walked unsteadily, their white heads tottering above their capes. Tila was last in line. She used a walking stick to slowly make her way toward the leather door hanging. Once the matrons were gone, hostile voices rose, and the gazes that locked on Hiyawento were like lance thrusts. Knots of warriors began to form near the stacked weapons.
    Kallen said, “I don’t think you will be leaving on your journey to search for your friend today, War Chief.”
    “No.”
    Kallen’s eyes slitted as she looked around. Men had started shifting their weight to the balls of their feet, moving like warriors on a blood trail. “Perhaps it would be best if we go home before this gets out of hand?”
    He rose to his feet. “The sooner the better.”

Eight
    Sky Messenger
     
     
    I jerk upright and try to force air into my starving lungs. The musty fragrance of fallen leaves carries on the night breeze. All around me the autumn forest is still and quiet, wrapped in a cool cloak of darkness. The campfires of the dead blaze through the swaying maple branches. I rub my hands over my face and fight to shove away the Dream images.
    Gitchi whimpers. When I turn, I find the old wolf staring at me with luminous eyes.
    “I’m all right.” I reach out to gently stroke his side. His bushy tail wags.
    After several deep soothing breaths, I heave a sigh and drag myself to my feet. Gitchi expectantly lifts his big head. The wolf has seen twelve summers pass. Though the thick fur on his lean body is still dark gray, his face has gone almost totally white. He gazes steadily at me, waiting. He has traveled the war trail with me since he was a puppy and I was a child. He knows my strange ways. This isn’t the first time the Dream has awakened both of us like a clap of thunder.
    Through a long, difficult exhalation, I whisper, “We have to go home, old friend. I have to tell them what I’ve seen.”
    Gitchi stretches, groans softly, and walks to my side. I know he will follow me anywhere, no matter the danger or disgrace. And there is no doubt in my heart that when I reach home my clan will heap mountains of humiliation upon me. I don’t even wish to imagine the expression on Mother’s face. Though she is now the Speaker for the Women of Yellowtail Village, a village of the Standing Stone People, she spent ten summers of her life as a war chief. Regaining her respect, and the respect of my clan, may well take the rest of my life.
    “If it is even possible.” The words echo through the dark trees, coming back sounding more desperate and forlorn than I imagined.
    A deputy war chief who betrays his people after a particularly brutal battle and vanishes into the wilderness is a marked man. I pray I can make them understand why I did it, but I will probably be chased from the village as a traitor. I dare not imagine what my warriors, or my war chief, have said about me in my absence.