“There can be brotherhood in diversity. Brothers can respect each other’s differences, even honor them.”
Father lets out a low disdainful laugh. “You’re a dreamer, Koracoo. We’d never be able to cooperate long enough to discover each other’s differences, let alone—”
“We must try, Gonda. It’s our only hope.”
Father looks unconvinced. He scowls at the fire. “I will tell you one thing for certain, my wife. I will never take food from my own children’s mouths to give to my enemy—not even if our elders order me to do it. I want the Hills, Flint, Landing, and especially the Mountain People to starve. And so does everyone else in this village.”
Sadness lines Mother’s face. She bows her head. Her gaze is faraway, as though she is seeing a peaceful world where everyone has enough to eat, and she knows it can never be. “It’s people like you who make our future precarious, Gonda.”
He snaps, “And people like you who make today precarious. Forget about the future! Start thinking about who we have to kill to keep our People alive for another moon!”
Mother pulls the laces on her belt pouch tight, then slips it around her waist and ties it. “I’m going to take three hundred warriors. We’ll be home by dusk. I’ll leave you the other three hundred. That should be enough warriors to allow you to hold off any attack Yenda can muster.”
Father doesn’t answer.
Mother says, “Keep every warrior inside the palisade until I return. Do you understand?”
Father turns to glare at her. “What makes you think I would disobey one of your orders? Have I ever disobeyed you?”
“No, but your tone of voice tells me that this morning you’d like to, just to spite me.”
Father opens his mouth to say something hostile, and I rise up in my hides and croak, “Mother? I—I’m scared. Are we going to be attacked?”
Father’s mouth purses. He gives me a glance that makes me long to run away and hide. He says I’m always scared, and that I’ll never be of any use as a warrior.
Mother comes over, sits down, and gathers me into her arms. After she kisses my forehead, she says, “Don’t be scared, Odion. Here, let’s play a game. I want you to try and imagine a world where all of our Peoples are united and there is peace. Can you imagine such a world?”
I lean against her and close my eyes, trying hard. On the fabric of my souls I see people moving about villages, smiling. Dogs and children running happily across plazas. “I want to,” I answer. “I don’t like being afraid.” I cast a glance at Father, who is shaking his head.
Mother strokes my black hair gently. “Someday there will be peace. I promise.”
A profound sense of relief washes through me, as if something has opened in my chest and all the fear has drained away. I believe her. Perhaps her way is better? All of the agony, the indecision, the premonitions of disaster fade—vanishing amid the wave of peaceful firelight that now seems to fill the longhouse. The bark walls glitter as sparks float upward toward the smoke holes in the roof. People’s faces shine, and now I hear laughter and loving voices as people begin to wake.
All I want is to stay here forever in the warm circle of Mother’s arms, dreaming about a time when all the Peoples will be one, and no one will ever be hungry again.
“How do we make peace, Mother?” I whisper so that Father doesn’t hear, and look up into her dark eyes.
Mother smiles down at me and whispers back, “We hold our tongues and listen. We open our eyes to the tears of others. We act out of stillness, not out of anger or—”
In a low hiss, Father says, “War Chief Koracoo, the blessed Peacemaker.”
There is such loathing in the word that I freeze as though I’ve suddenly seen a snake.
Mother lifts her head to look at Father. They glower at each other.
I want to run away again. Instead, I bury my face in the folds of leather over Mother’s shoulder and just breathe. If I dream hard enough, I’m sure my soul will find a way to walk to that peaceful world Mother longs for.
When I close my eyes I can almost …
Mother pats my back, says, “I love you, Odion. I’ll be home for supper.”
I swallow hard. “Be careful, Mother.”
“I will.” She kisses my cheek, releases me, and rises to her feet.
As she goes over and slips on her red cape, Father says, “If I’m engaged in the middle of a pitched battle when you return, perhaps you should just trot up to Yenda and tell him you want to make peace? I’m sure he’ll be happy to sit right down and negotiate like a good boy.”