Atotarho’s report had humiliated the Wolf Clan. Matrons from all three of its ohwachiras had betrayed the nation! Where just a few days ago, the Wolf Clan had been the most numerous and powerful clan among the People of the Hills, the news had thrown them down to the lowest level of society. People had actually spat upon Yi and Inawa when they’d gone to grovel before High Matron Kelek, begging forgiveness, and promising to do anything necessary to prove their clan’s loyalty to the Hills nation.
And now this …
Yi stopped pacing and looked at the messenger. He’d run hard to get to her. His elkhide cape bore a thick coating of grime and dust, as did his black hair and round face. He looked to have seen perhaps seventeen summers.
“What is your name, warrior?”
“Skanawati, great Matron.”
“Of Riverbank Village, I assume?”
“I am. Matron Kwahseti sent me to you.”
Two little boys raced by, laughing, and ducked through the door curtain out into the cold afternoon air.
The messenger shifted, clearly wishing to be on his way. His gaze appeared fixed on the beautiful False Face masks that decorated the rear wall of Yi’s chamber. They did not have bent noses, as other masks did, rather they had extremely long noses and fanged mouths. Her masks had been handed down from grandmother to grandmother for more than three centuries. The legends of her ohwachira said they came from the great cities of the ancient moundbuilders, from a distant ancestor named Lichen. Sometimes late at night, she heard them whispering to one another.
“Well, Skanawati, your message has left me with many questions. Please, sit. Let us talk for a time.”
The man nodded respectfully, and knelt on the mat on the opposite side of the fire. As he did so, a slave girl rushed to dunk a teacup, made from the skull of a Flint warrior, into the boiling bag that hung on the tripod near the fire, and brought it to him.
“You must be hungry and thirsty. I’ll have food brought.” Yi waved to the girl, who ran to fetch a basket of bread. She set it beside the warrior and dutifully backed away.
“Thank you for your kindness.” Skanawati finished the tea in four gulps, looking like he cherished every swallow. Then he shoved two corncakes, filled with walnuts, into his mouth and seemed to swallow them whole. When he’d finished, he wiped his hands on his leggings, heaved a sigh, and looked up at Yi.
The afternoon gleam that streamed down from the smokehole lanced the thick blue wood smoke. As he lifted a hand to wipe his mouth, the sunlit smoke curled around it. He looked nervous, perhaps even afraid. As well, he should.
It had only been through her good graces that he had not been murdered when he’d appeared at the gates demanding to speak with her. After all, he came from a village that had just betrayed their nation.
Yi ran a hand through her graying black hair. She had seen forty-eight summers pass, but she’d never witnessed a winter like this. The wrinkles that cut around her mouth and across her forehead deepened when she glared at him.
“I need to know every detail of the battle.”
“I’ll be happy to answer any question you have, Matron.”
Yi considered her words, before asking, “At some point matrons Zateri, Kwahseti, and Gwinodje decided to fight against Chief Atotarho. Was it after they’d received news of the former High Matron’s journey to the afterlife?”
He nodded. “Yes. In the middle of the battle, Atotarho dispatched a messenger to Matron Zateri asking her to move her forces into position around Bur Oak and Yellowtail villages to prepare to attack. At the same time, he informed her that her grandmother was walking the Path of Souls, and told her the former High Matron had named Kelek to succeed her.”
Zateri must have known it couldn’t be true. Like every other matron in the Wolf Clan, she would have suspected foul play on Atotarho’s part.
“Were matrons Kwahseti and Gwinodje present when the news came?”
“Yes, Matron.” He nodded and respectfully bowed his head.
Yi resumed her pacing. Gods, how would she have felt if she’d just learned that her entire clan, thousands of people, had been stripped of their rightful place in the nation? A place their mothers, grandmothers, and great-great-great grandmothers had struggled for generations to achieve? The sacrifices their clan had made for the good of the People of the Hills were legendary. She would have been outraged. As, of course, she had been. But she’d been sitting here at home in her warm longhouse, not out on a battlefield watching her kin shed their blood for a nation that had betrayed them.
If it were true that the Wolf Clan’s rightful place in the nation had been stolen through treachery while its warriors were dying on the field of battle … clan members would demand that the Law of Retribution be fulfilled.