“You’re a lady in the Morning Star House,” the tonka’tzi growled. “Be one.”
Matron Wind noticed the object of his irritation and lit into the young woman, saying, “Stop acting like a piece of artwork, niece. Pay attention.”
In another time and place the pouting look Sun Wing shot Matron Wind would have earned a slap followed by a tongue lashing. Lace, having caught the entire exchange, couldn’t hide a mocking smile.
Matron Wind ground her teeth and fought to keep from fuming. Red Warrior could only agree. With Night Shadow Star lost in whatever world she’d plummeted to, one of these two would eventually inherit the mantle of clan matron.
Blessed Creator, for the Morning Star’s sake, endow the Matron with long life. He gave Lace’s child-swollen abdomen a speculative glance. And let that child be both a male, and a survivor!
The latest in the long line of individuals seeking audience was a Fox Clan man who’d arrived at River Mound City the night before. He’d appeared, looking exhausted, and bearing a pack full of map-hides as well as a beaded message belt. The map-hides had been carefully drawn of Reed Bottoms town, a colony of about six hundred persons that had been established last year at the bend of the Tenasee River far to the southeast.
Red Warrior returned his attention to one of the map-hides, studying the layout of the temple, the Council House, granaries, and the surrounding palisades that had been built at Reed Bottom town. While he did, the messenger fingered the beaded-shell belt he’d brought. Eyes half closed, he translated the pattern of the beads into words.
“We have twenty-three families planting fields this year,” he said. “Of the one hundred and fifty-three warriors, only seven have been killed in fighting with the local tribes. Depredations have declined since War Chief Kicks Them burned three of their villages this winter and enslaved the head men and their families. A total of sixty were placed in the squares and tortured.”
“And have there been conversions?” Matron Wind asked.
“Yes, High Matron. Most of the women and children captured as slaves are now taking part in the rituals.”
She motioned with her finger, and one of the recorders stepped forward to take the beaded belt, squinting at the different-sized and colored beads. He nodded, then repaired to his place behind her, rolling it up.
“Anything else, Tonka’tzi?”
“No.” He smiled at the messenger, and added, “I shall convey this report straight to the Morning Star.”
Matron Wind added, “Please express our thanks to your chief and his clansmen.” She gestured again, and one of the attendants stepped forward with a smoothly polished chunkey stone. Bowing, the attendant offered it to the messenger. The Fox Clan man received it, hands almost shaking, and promptly bowed his forehead to the matting in obeisance.
Matron Wind explained, “That is a token of the Morning Star’s affection and appreciation for the hard work and deprivation your people are experiencing. It is a gift to your chief and clan, to be passed down from generation to generation.” She gave him just enough time to absorb the enormity of the gift, then added, “May the Sky Beings protect you on your journey home.”
Still shaking, the young man crawled backward, the chunkey stone pressed to his chest. Rising to his feet, he managed a wide-eyed, awe-filled last glance and hurried out past the guards.
Red Warrior handed the map to the recorder. “At least he didn’t come weeping and asking for more warriors.”
“The Tenasee isn’t as dangerous as it was ten winters ago,” the Matron replied. “The colony at Reed Bottom covers a strategic section of river. It’s the eastern colonies that worry me. The ones beyond the great mountains. We’ve heard nothing for two years.”
“And if we don’t by summer solstice, we should send a party to discover their fate,” Red Warrior said pensively. He’d thought the Morning Star half-mad when he ordered the massive expedition to colonize the far side of the eastern mountains. He’d known little about the country, other than it was said by Traders to be a fertile plain drained by great rivers that ran down to swampland and finally the eastern ocean.
“Next,” he called.
The guard admitted a mud-spattered runner. The young man, wearing nothing more than a breechcloth and holding the painted rod of office that allowed him to pass, dropped respectfully on his belly, face down to the matting.
“Rise,” Matron Wind ordered. “What news?”
He never raised his head. “Great Sky, the Red Wing Clan captives will land at River Mound City this afternoon. I am sent to ask what disposition to make of the prisoners.”