“I—I believe you.”
But she wondered if he had any real authority to stop them.
From within the chamber, she heard laughter, the rustle of hides, and the clacking of wooden tea cups.
She looked down at her soiled doehide cape. The white moons painted around the bottom had grown dim from soot and dirt. She was meeting the Nightland Clan Elders, and she looked like a slave. Using her fingers, she combed her long hair and tucked it behind her ears. It was the best she could do.
Ti-Bish led her into the chamber, and the voices stopped.
The Four Old Men sat around a stone bowl of warming coals with tea cups in their hands. The tea bag hung from a tripod at the edge of the bowl. Two were bald; two had white hair that hung down their backs in long braids. Each was dressed regally. Their capes had been smoked a beautiful golden hue, then covered with elk ivories, circlets of mammoth tusk, and painted with their clan symbols. She recognized each Elder by those symbols: Elder Nashat from the Night Clan, Elder Satah from the Wolverine Clan, Elder Ta’Hona of the Loon Clan, and Elder Khepa of the Ash Clan.
The hem of Nashat’s cape was decorated with white fox tails that almost dragged the floor. He seemed to be the youngest of the Elders. Though he had a long white braid, his face bore few deep lines. The other Elders resembled shriveled winter-killed carcasses.
Just the sight of Nashat’s face brought back that terrible night in the pen. She swallowed hard, willing her hands not to tremble. And from somewhere, perhaps the very blackness she had feared, courage came.
Skimmer’s gaze was drawn upward to the high ceiling, which arched five body lengths over her head. Firelight fluttered over the dome. Truly, the Nightland Caves were staggeringly beautiful.
“Forgive us for being late,” Ti-Bish said, and bowed to the elders. “A servant caught me just before I started down and—”
Nashat asked, “Was it that ugly little girl, Pipe? I haven’t seen her for a while. I thought maybe you’d murdered her and I was finally rid of her.”
Ti-Bish stood as if frozen. He didn’t even blink.
Nashat turned to Skimmer and scowled as though he’d scraped her off his moccasins just that morning. “Please, step forward so that the Elders may see this ‘Skimmer from the Nine Pipes band.’”
“It’s all right,” Ti-Bish whispered nervously, and gestured for Skimmer to walk forward. “They wish to speak with you.”
Skimmer managed to keep from quaking as she stepped closer to the seated Elders. They whispered darkly to each other as she stopped before them.
Clenching her fists, she asked, “What do you want?”
Nashat strolled toward her, the fox tails on his exquisite cape swaying, the fur glinting wildly in the filtered daylight. His white hair had been freshly washed and braided. It shone.
“Did you organize your people to kill our Blessed Guide?” Nashat circled her like an eagle ready to dive for an unsuspecting rabbit.
She glanced at Ti-Bish, who stood near the entry with his shoulders hunched and his head down. He reminded her of a puppy beaten so often it always expected to be struck at any moment.
“I did,” she answered.
The Elders hissed to each other and looked at her through narrowed hateful eyes.
Elder Ta’Hona turned his scarred face to look up at her, and the spotted loon painted on the front of his cape folded in the middle. He cradled a withered right arm in his left. “You wanted to kill our Guide. Why?”
“Because you’re trying to steal our lands and have ordered the destruction of my people. Your warriors are murdering women, children, and elders. People who never wished the Nightland or their Guide ill until you butchered their relatives.” She glared at them, feeling her hatred. “Can you think of a better reason for murder?”
Nashat grinned, and she fought the urge to spit on him.
Ti-Bish spread his feet, and his shoulders hunched more, as though he were trying to hide in plain sight.
Elder Khepa waved a trembling hand. “If you don’t want to die, move. Then we won’t have to kill you.”
“Yes.” Elder Satah turned white eyes on her. “We have far more people to feed than you do. We need your nut forests and hunting grounds. You can go somewhere else. Move farther south.”
“I thought you were following the Guide to the Long Dark. Or are you just using him for an excuse?”
“Oh,” Nashat responded, “we take the Guide very seriously.”
A potent brew of anger and desperation seared her veins. “Why can’t you go around us? You should move farther south, not us. The Sunpath People have lived in the nut forests since Wolf Dreamer first led us up through the hole in the ice. Our Ancestors lived and died on that land.”