“Get to your question.”
“My Chief, we have less than one-quarter the warriors we did when we attacked yesterday. If we assault their palisades, it will be a long drawn-out struggle. We will lose at least half our current forces, leaving us with perhaps eight hundred. Truly, my Chief, I do not believe it’s worth the blood. Our warriors are tired, they wish to go home. Next Spring we can undertake such a campaign with the full force of our army and—”
“Are your ears filled with pine sap?”
Negano shifted. “How have I offended you?”
“We are not going to assault their palisades.”
“But how will we get hostages if we do not attack?”
“Oh,” he replied in a gloating voice, “they’ll walk right out of their gates and into our arms. You see, we’re going to starve them to death.”
Negano stood perfectly still. The old chief was clenching and unclenching his grotesquely deformed hands, as though ready to twist Negano’s head off.
He glanced at Nesi and the former War Chief’s stern expression gave him no leeway. Negano said, “My Chief, I feel I must make you understand what’s going on in our warriors’ hearts. It’s not just the wounded and dead that concern them. Yesterday was like a blunt beam swung to their bellies. They are stunned. It appeared to them”—and to me—“that Elder Brother Sun obeyed Sky Messenger’s commands. He has become a walking, breathing legend. They’re terrified of him. Not only that, your own War Chief defected to Sky Messenger’s side yesterday.” He spread his arms. “Chief, your own daughter fought on Sky Messenger’s side. Your daughter!” More softly, he continued, “Your warriors are reeling. They need to think about all this. If you insist that they immediately engage in another battle, they may—”
“Insolent fool!” Atotarho roared in rage. “Pray you don’t find yourself staring as your guts come tumbling out of your belly in the middle of the night!”
Negano had no doubt but that his life was in danger. There was more he needed to say, and should say. Instead, he opted to protect his own hide, and bowed deeply. “Forgive me, my Chief. I realize you have not yet finished your plan. When you do, I would appreciate it if you could explain it to me in detail.”
Behind the chief, he saw Nesi roll his eyes and throw up his hands. He thought Negano a coward—which is exactly how he felt.
Atotarho ordered, “Leave me. Find and dispatch the messengers as I instructed. If you’re still alive, I’ll call for you again in the morning.”
“Yes, my Chief.”
Negano turned and, with as much dignity as he could, walked down the hillside, but he could feel Nesi’s stare lancing through the back of his head.
Ten
The high-pitched scream punctured the night, waking Hiyawento from a sound sleep. Instinctively, he leaped to his feet with his war club in his hand. Breathing hard, he frantically tried to identify the threat. An uproar rose as other sleeping warriors threw off their blankets and grabbed for weapons. In less than ten heartbeats dozens of people had gathered around Hiyawento’s fire, murmuring, asking questions. Conversations carried on the frigid night breeze.
It took Hiyawento a few instants to hear Zateri say, “Hush, you’re all right. We’re safe.”
He swung around to see his wife holding Kahn-Tineta against her chest. Their daughter clutched Zateri’s sleeves in sheer terror, and her huge eyes darted over the darkness.
“But Mother, I saw him! He was right there!” She thrust an arm toward the dense sumacs to the north. Their leafless branches had a spiky appearance.
Their camp stretched over the hilltop like a glimmering blanket, dotted with hundreds of campfires. Though camped close together, each village had separated. Coldspring Village occupied the southern portion of the hilltop. Riverbank was to the north, and Canassatego Village stood on the highest point to the west. In the distance, to the east, the Forks River twisted through the bottom country like a silver serpent.
Hiyawento held up a hand and called, “Forgive us, please return to your bedding hides. Everything is well.”
Warriors muttered and eventually drifted back to their own camps, leaving Hiyawento and Zateri alone with their wildly sobbing daughter. All three of them had cut their hair in mourning over the deaths of little Jimer and Catta, his murdered daughters. As well, they were mourning the passing of the High Matron of the People of the Hills, Zateri’s grandmother, Tila.
Virtually no one these days had hair longer than his or her shoulders.
Zateri asked, “Are you better?”
“No!” Kahn-Tineta choked out and buried her face against her mother’s cape. “He’s still out there.”