"Fifteen hundred, cousin," Petaga answered in a strong voice. "Badgertail's warriors are tired. They've been raiding all winter. If we hit them soon, before they—"
"How soon?" old Rainbow Woman demanded. She had twisted her white hair into a bun at the base of her skull. When she lifted her chin to glare at everyone in the room, Hailcloud respectfully lowered his eyes. She had been a cunning warrior in her day—and the true power in Hickory Mounds. No one would want to argue with her.
Petaga answered, "Within a moon."
"You think Badgertail will stay put that long?"
"I do. Grandmother. Cahokia has all the food it needs. They've already planted com and squash. I don't believe that Tharon has any intention of going to war again until next winter."
Rainbow Woman rocked back on her heels and puffed the long pipe for what seemed an eternity before cocking her head to glower at Naskap. "I say we do it."
Naskap inhaled haltingly. "You think we can beat Badgertail? With a hastily formed—"
"Yes." She pointed a firm finger. "Somebody has to try. Or would you have us wait until next cycle to defend ourselves? We've barely two hundred warriors left at Hickory Mounds, Naskap. Alone, we're dead. Together, maybe we have a chance of winning."
Naskap raised a hand to the gathering of honored elders. "Who disagrees? Who wants to wait?"
A low rumble coursed through the room. Hailcloud gritted his teeth. Fools! Men and women leaned sideways to chat privately. Some nodded, while others raised fists and shook them with soundless ferocity.
Hailcloud gazed longingly through the largest gap in the western wall. Wisps of cloud drifted through the indigo sky, glowing like polished galena. As Moon Maiden slowly sank in the west, the shadows of the trees shot tendrils of black filigree over the land. He didn't want to fight either; no one with half a soul did. But they had to gut Badgertail's forces before the next Moon-of-Flying-Snow. They couldn't count on the com crop. Already people had begun to comment on the unusual heat and lack of rain. Hailcloud doubted that any of the people would be alive come spring if the com produced poorly again this cycle. We have to act now.
"I would have just one question," Loon said loudly, and the mckus died down. The oldest man in the village, sixty-two summers, he had an overgrown nose and thick, bloodless lips. Forked-eye tattoos and coiled serpents covered his cheeks. "Once we have assembled this army, who will lead it?"
Petaga met each council member's eyes in tum before extending a hand toward the door. "Hailcloud. He's fought beside Badgertail . . . and against him. He knows Badgertail's weaknesses."
The confidence in Petaga's voice made Hailcloud's stomach chum. Did he? He searched his soul, trying to find any evidence to support that claim. Yes, somewhere, probably he did, though he couldn't think of any weaknesses at this moment. But as a roar of approving voices sprang from the gathering, Hailcloud realized that he had better come up with some.
"And what will you do, Hailcloud," old Rainbow Woman challenged him with a hard gleam in her eyes, "to those villages that won't join us? After talking to them, can we trust them to keep their mouths shut about what we're up to?"
Hailcloud looked around the room, his gaze lingering on the charred patches of roof where flaming arrows had landed. "That is not a decision for warriors, Grandmother. I will do whatever my elders tell me to."
But he could see the decision on the stony faces that gazed at him, and it made his breathing go shallow.
As Moon Maiden slowly sank, the shadows of the mounds stalked across the village, snuffing the glimmers of grass and cattail roofs, until they flooded over Locust's house. She tipped her chin—trying not to wake Primrose—to peer out and watch the sky. Their bed of hides and blankets was spread atop a raised platform at the intersection of the wall and roof. Through the gap in the wall she could watch the world grind in its eternal and ponderous motions. Wisps of cloud sailed through the leaden sky, glowing with a pale wash of moonlight.
She had not been able to sleep, though her tired body cried out for rest. Images of the battle-walk kept repeating themselves in her mind. Again she saw Badgertail's anguished face when he first gazed upon his dead brother. The flame had gone out of his eyes—as though a part of his soul had died with Bobcat—and a matching flame had entered Locust's soul, burning, aching for Badgertail. Who would he turn to now? Who would the great Badgertail allow to comfort him? Even though she was probably his best friend, he rarely allowed her to see him hurting. Her, or anyone else. Badgertail could not risk such vulnerability. With Bobcat's death, he would truly be on his own.