People of the Longhouse(90)

The old woman ordered us not to say her name, told us she’d slit our throats if we did. For tonight, she is “Lupan.” A man. I study her bloodstained war shirt and ratty buckskin cape. Her toothless mouth is sunken in over her gums, but she frequently utters throaty laughs—just like the warriors. Her disguise includes a headdress made of long black hair and decorated with bright feathers. If I didn’t know better, I’d be certain she was a man.

Wrass sits beside me, picking at his food. He places a single mussel in his mouth and chews slowly, as though it hurts to move his swollen jaw. His face looks even worse tonight than it did at dawn. The bruises have turned black. In the flickering firelight, his face almost seems to be covered with short-tailed weasel fur.

I say, “Bog Willow Village must have had plenty of food stored for winter.”

He answers, “They won’t need it any longer. Eat as much as you can hold.”

I shove an entire handful of roast venison into my mouth and chew. The meat is rich and tangy. My shrunken belly knots around it.

Tutelo leans her head against my shoulder and sighs as she sucks roast squash from her fingers.

Baji and Zateri have been sitting with their heads together, eating while they whisper. Zateri has removed her bag of Spirit plants and tucked it beneath her leg. She keeps scanning the many cooking pots around the campfires. When she sees me looking at her, she silently picks up the bag and crawls over. “Hehaka is out serving the warriors. Maybe if I can get this bag to him, he can—”

“No,” Wrass whispers. “We can’t trust him. He’s been here too long. He may think some of them are his friends.”

I nod. “Wrass is right. One of us has to do it.”

“Which one? How do we g-get close?” Zateri stutters, and her two front teeth seem to stick out farther.

I look around our small circle. All of us are terrified. No one wants to volunteer. Least of all me.

Wrass puts a hand to his head and closes his eyes as he weakly says, “Whoever does it will probably be killed. All of you need to understand. Tomorrow morning, they will start asking who was close to the pot. They’ll figure it out, and they’ll come looking for the person responsible.”

“But Wrass,” I say, “there are so many warriors here. There must be a thousand blood feuds between them. Why would they suspect us? I don’t—”

“They will, Odion.” Wrass slits his eyes and looks at me. “They will. Just accept it.” He takes a breath and lets it out slowly. “The poison will only be in Gannajero’s pot. They … they’ll come after us first.”

I doubt this, thinking she must have too many enemies to count, but I do not say it—because suddenly, clearly, I understand why Wrass insists the person who does it will die. That is the price. Whoever volunteers must be willing to sacrifice his or her life for the rest of us.

I shrink into myself. My shoulders hunch forward, and I stare at the ground. Not me, gods. Please, not me.

From my left, Tutelo rises. I jerk around to stare at her. She is standing tall, with her chin up and her tiny fists clenched at her sides. Half the copper ornaments are now gone from the sleeves and hem of her tan dress. Frayed threads hang loose. “I’ll do it,” she says. “I’m little. No one will be afraid of me.”

I start to object, but Wrass cuts me off. “Tutelo, you are very brave. But I don’t think—”

“Wrass, I’m just young, I’m not stupid. I can do it. But … but will you promise me something?”

“What, Tutelo?”

A strange glow lights her dark eyes. “I don’t care what happens to me, but I want Odion to be safe. And Baji and Zateri. When the bad men start getting sick, can you get them away?”

“You would give yourself up? For them?” He has one eye closed, and slits the other.

Tears glisten on her lashes. “Yes, if you promise me you’ll get them away. And get yourself away, too.”

Wrass sucks in a deep breath and lets it out slowly. As of tonight, he is our undisputed leader. Whatever he says, we will do. But he is very sick. He can barely hold his head up. “Why would you do that, Tutelo? You have only seen eight summers. Why would you give up the rest of your life for us?”

She squares her thin shoulders. “My mother is a war chief. She would give up her life for any of her warriors. I always wanted to be like her, to be a war chief someday.” She looks around the circle. “I can do it, Wrass. I want to do it.”

My heart aches. But I do not say a word. Fear is gnawing its way through my belly.

Zateri tucks the bag of Spirit plants into her legging, edges forward, and puts a hand on my sister’s arm. “Tutelo is brave, Wrass, but … I’m the one. I know how many Spirit plants to add, and I may be able to poison more than one pot. If I can do that, they won’t automatically suspect us.” She gazes out at the laughing warriors, and a mixture of fear and hatred tense her face. “The more of these men we can kill the better. Maybe some of the new children can escape. And maybe all of you can escape.”