“There is one point I do not understand,” High Matron Weyra said. Her white hair, thinning on top, hung limp over her ears, but it was her wrinkled face that held a man’s attention. Shadows darkened the cavernous hollows of her cheeks, and filled in her skeletal eye sockets. Wiry gray eyebrows created bushy tufts above her kind, thoughtful eyes. “You said that just before Elder Brother Sun turns his back on the world, there will be gray shades drifting through the air around you, their voices hushed like those of lost souls. But are they lost souls? Do you know?”
“I was wondering the same thing,” an old man said with a tottering nod. “It sounds to me as though all lost souls will be found. That they are the last congregation.”
Sky Messenger’s eyes tightened. “The shades are the dead who still walk and breathe, elders. More than that, I don’t know.”
The old man said, “But the dead do not walk and breathe, Prophet. They are dead.”
Sky Messenger bowed his head to stare briefly at the flames dancing around the logs in the fire hearth. A thick bed of red coals glowed around the edges. “Are they? I’m not sure, elder. I can’t explain these things.”
When Sky Messenger paused, the council members, six men and six women, shifted silently, waiting for him to continue.
“But I know that the darkness will swallow Great Grandmother Earth.” Sky Messenger looked up to meet their gazes. “I can’t stop it without your help, elders.”
More shifting as soft voices discussed what they’d heard.
“How may we help?” Weyra asked softly.
Sky Messenger seemed to be listening to the voices outside, perhaps to the barking dogs. “I have come to believe that compassion is the highest form of politics, elders. Many of you are much older and wiser than I am. I’m sure you’ve known this truth since long before I was born, but it is new to me. As many of you have heard, I spent most of my life as a warrior. Killing my enemies was the only form of politics I knew. Elders, we must replace blood revenge as a means of justice. It has to end.”
“Replace it with what?” the old man snapped, as though appalled by the notion. His lips puckered over toothless gums. Bear claws decorated the throat of his cape. Bear Clan. “The Law of Retribution gives us the right to—”
“Yes, it does.” Sky Messenger respectfully dipped his head, silently apologizing for interrupting. He hesitated as though preparing himself, then in a deep resonant voice, he said, “When I look across this fire, I see that there have been deaths in many of your families. I grieve with you, elders. If I could, I would wipe away your falling tears and take the sorrow from your hearts, so that you might open your minds and look around peacefully, without hatred. I know this is not an easy thing. The spirits of our bereaved nations are tired. We all starve. We all lash out in fear. There is a better way. A peace alliance between all of our peoples.”
One of the younger elders, a very thin man with black-streaked gray hair and close-set eyes, laughed. “And how many nations have you convinced to join this alliance?” Wolf tracks scattered his white cape. Wolf Clan.
“The alliance is currently composed of the Standing Stone nation, the Flint nation, and three villages of the Hills nation.”
“The same three villages that broke away from Atotarho to fight on your side in the recent battle?” Weyra asked.
Sky Messenger nodded. “Yes, High Matron. Coldspring Village, Riverbank and Canassatego Village have joined us.”
“I suppose at some point you plan to tell us the benefits of this alliance?” the Wolf Clan elder pressed. “Why don’t you get to it? If Tagohsah can be believed, your own people are under attack, and likely to be destroyed in the next few days. Which means the Standing Stone nation will be of no use to us in our current situation.”
Sky Messenger unlaced his fingers and opened his hands to them. “I’m not sure I believe his words, but even if my People are not under attack right now, they will be soon. Just as yours will. It is inevitable. This winter is going to be desperate for every nation. If we don’t join forces to help each other survive, I fear that by springtime we will all be dead.”
Hiyawento watched the expressions. Two elders clearly opposed the alliance. From their cape decorations, Heron Clan and Beaver Clan. Their eyes had turned dark and brooding, and they sat rigid on the benches. The other ten council members, however, watched Sky Messenger with such hope in their eyes, it hurt to look at. They wanted peace more than anything on earth.
“Will you ask the filthy Mountain People to join the alliance?” the frail old woman from the Beaver Clan demanded to know.