Sihata twisted her clawlike hands in her lap. “That makes sense to me. There will certainly be no hesitation if they see one of our warriors.”
“No,” Kittle answered. “There won’t. Dehot? Daga? What do you think of Matron Jigonsaseh’s explanation?”
Dehot had her head down, thinking, staring at the glowing branches in the fire. “Well, I am not convinced. But perhaps it is an opportunity.”
“An opportunity?”
“Yes. Why not give Atotarho’s former war chief the chance to prove he’s loyal to us? Frankly, if he does not survive, it will be an insignificant loss.”
“But what if he reveals the details of our defenses?” Daga asked.
Kittle said, “Well, what could he tell them? That we only have three days of water left? They’ll know that soon enough anyway.”
“But they don’t know we only have three hundred trained warriors. If he tells Ato—”
Jigonsaseh said, “Atotarho doesn’t care. We could have one thousand left and it would make no difference. He knows he greatly outnumbers us. He thinks he’s invincible. And that’s why we’re going to kill him.”
Hadui flung aside the door curtain at the opposite end of the house and battered his way through the fires, shoving sparks and smoke in front of him. As it gushed over the matrons’ council meeting, the women closed their eyes and turned away. Kittle waited until Hadui had whipped aside the curtain to her left, and sailed outside into the darkness before she drew up her knees and propped her teacup atop them. Steam curled into the warm air before her.
Kittle forced confidence into her voice, though she didn’t feel it. “I am satisfied with Matron Jigonsaseh’s suggested course of action. Are there any other questions?”
Dehot shook her head. Sihata stared at the hands in her lap, and Daga wiped her nose on her sleeve.
Kittle gave Jigonsaseh a firm nod. “Make your plan. I’ll find a way to push it through the Ruling Council.”
Jigonsaseh’s mouth tightened. “I will speak with our warriors.”
“Do it soon. If we don’t get rain or snow, we have three days until our water is gone.”
The people who’d been listening to the meeting began to filter back to their chambers. Without their bodies to block the light of twenty fires, it fluttered unhindered, coating the walls and roof, turning them liquid.
Kittle softly asked, “After the water’s gone … how long?”
Without a shred of emotion, Jigonsaseh said, “Another three days. Probably.”
Kittle swirled the tea in her cup, and took a long drink. “That’s when the riots will start.”
“Then we’d best start killing Atotarho’s warriors.”
Twenty-two
Matron Buckshen slowly ambled across the sunlit plaza of Wild River Village. Feeling her way with her black walnut walking stick, she placed her moccasins with care. She had seen sixty summers pass. Thin gray hair fell around her wrinkled face, framing her white-filmed eyes. Half-blind, she had to stare hard at things to make them out, but over the past five summers she’d discovered that if she just took her time she could do it.
She stopped and used her walking stick to poke at something on the ground.
Five heartbeats later, a little boy rushed up, panting. “I’m sorry, Matron. We’re playing hoop-and-stick and the hoop got away from us.”
Buckshen smiled and reached out to find his head, which she then patted. “Are you winning?”
“Not yet, Matron. Pibbig has a stronger arm than I do.”
“Well, just keep practicing. Someday you’ll be the best lance thrower in Wild River Village.”
The boy laughed, picked up the hoop, and charged back to the game.
Bucksen concentrated and could see what looked like three boys racing across the plaza after the rolling hoop. It made her chuckle.
Propping her walking stick, she took another step and continued across the plaza. The day was cold, but the sunlight felt warm on her face. Many people filled the plaza, most working. The constant thump-thump-thump of women using mallets to pound corn in hollowed-out logs beat the air, and to her right she herd the click-clack of men knapping stone tools with an antler tine. Happy voices carried.
As she neared the Turtle Clan longhouse, she paused to look around. Four longhouses hemmed the plaza of Wild River Village, creating a rough square inside the palisade. Three hundred hands long, each longhouse had white birch bark walls. As the afternoon cooled, heading toward evening, Elder Brother Sun slipped lower in the sky and his light sheathed the longhouses with a rich gleam. Through her filmed eyes, they resembled enormous blurry creatures carved from pure amber.