People of the Black Sun(123)

Gwinodje gripped the palisade. “Is that Yi? Her white cape has red paw prints.”

Short gray hair blew around Kwahseti’s eyes when she turned to look at Gwinodje. Her friend’s heart-shaped face had flushed with excitement. “Yes, that’s Yi.”

Leafless maples and a few towering chestnuts swayed along the path, casting windblown shadows over the delegation’s distinctive capes.

Kwahseti scrutinized the face she saw in the white hood. Yi had seen forty-eight summers. Silver strands glittered in her short black hair. She walked with her back straight, her bearing stately, demanding respect. Deep wrinkles cut around her mouth and across her forehead. Yi had her gaze focused on the catwalk where Kwahseti and Gwinodje stood, already taking command. In clan meetings, Yi traditionally said little, but each careful word had a knifelike quality, cutting to the heart of the matter.

Kwahseti was of Yi’s lineage, but she lifted her chin and stared back at the leader of her ohwachira with defiance. Kwahseti had been instructed by the Ruling Council of the New People of the Hills to give no ground until she knew where the Old Hills nation stood on two issues: the position of the High Matron, and the Peace Alliance.

Kwahseti leaned over the palisade and called, “War Chief Thona, allow only the matrons inside the gates. Their warriors remain outside. No exceptions.”

He craned his neck to look up at her. The web of scars on his face had a white sheen. “But what if they wish to have guards, Matron?”

“As a sign of good faith, we agreed to speak with them, but we owe them nothing. No guards, Thona.”

Thona bowed obediently. “Yes, Matron.”

As Yi approached, her eyes narrowed, and fixed upon Kwahseti. Kwahseti did not bow in respect, as was customary. She kept her back stiff and straight. A slight smile touched Yi’s lips.

Yi called, “Matron Kwahseti, we wish you a pleasant morning.” She extended a hand to the Bear Clan matron standing beside her. “This is Little Matron Adusha.”

Without further delay, Kwahseti said, “A pleasant morning to both of you. Order your warriors to lay down their weapons.”

Yi stared at her with her mouth open. When she finally found her voice, she cried, “That is an outrageous demand. Surely you don’t expect us to leave our war party completely vulner—”

“We do, Matron Yi. Your forces attacked us only a few days ago.” Kwahseti’s hand swept across the vista. “As you can see from our charred palisade and the freshly dug graves to the east of the village, you killed many of our people.”

Yi’s mouth pressed into a hard white line. Indignant, Yi’s face turned ugly. She looked like she might turn around and leave. But after five heartbeats, she called, “War Chief, order your warriors to lay down their weapons.”

A commotion rose across the field, disgruntled warriors crying out in opposition … but they did it. Clattering sounded as bows, quivers, war clubs, and other weapons were all placed on the ground.

Kwahseti said, “War Chief Thona, allow the matrons inside our gates, but only the matrons.”

“What?” Yi cried. “I will not enter this village without guards!”

“You will, Yi, if you wish to address the Ruling Council of the New People of the Hills. Our wounds are still bleeding. We will allow no enemy warriors inside these gates.”

After a staring match where Yi’s eyes blazed like freshly flaked mahogany chert, she said, “Very well. Open the gates.”

Kwahseti nodded to Thona who pulled the gates open just wide enough for them to enter one at a time. After Yi and Adusha slid through, he closed them tight, and the warriors dropped the locking plank into place with a loud thump.

Gwinodje started to hurry down to meet them, but Kwahseti subtly gripped her arm to stop her. “Make them wait for us. They are not our leaders. We are not part of their nation.”

Gwinodje wet her lips nervously. “You’re right.”

Kwahseti and Gwinodje continued to stand on the catwalk, watching as their four hundred warriors completely encircled Yi’s two-hundred-strong escort. As expected the Old Hills warriors called and glared threateningly. The New Hills warriors had been ordered to say nothing to their enemies. They stood in perfect silence with arrows nocked and ready to be loosed at their enemies’ hearts. It was a magnificent sight.

“All right, Gwinodje. You lead the way to the council house—slowly. We are in no hurry. They requested this meeting, we agreed with reluctance. I’ll walk at Yi’s side. Since she has always been the leader of my ohwachira, I owe her that much.”

“I understand.”

They climbed down the ladder to the plaza and walked shoulder-to-shoulder toward the two enemy matrons. Yi, her eyes half-slitted, watched Kwahseti’s every move. Little Matron Adusha had a thin face and sharply pointed nose. Her expression was subdued, even apologetic. Kwahseti didn’t know her well, but she’d always liked her.