People of the River(60)

"Hickory and Quill Dog Mounds have agreed to join us, as have several of the smaller villages," Petaga explained tightly. "We have over nine hundred warriors committed already. If you would join us. Uncle, we'd—"

"Petaga, please, you must understand." Aloda made a weary gesture. "During the Moon-of-Flying-Snow, we had four hundred and thirty-two warriors. Two moons later, we had seventy, and half of our village had been burned to the ground. I have been praying we can survive for just one more cycle."

Aloda inhaled deeply from his giant effigy pipe. The piece had been carved, ground, and polished from solid granite to represent a man kneeling in prayer, his face lifted to the sky. The stone bowl was so heavy that it rested on an ornately carved wooden disk and was spun about to present the stem, a piece of hickory as long as a man's leg, to visitors.

Now Aloda deferentially blew a cloud of smoke toward the ceiling, carrying his prayers to Father Sun. "My people have already begun preparing to separate into their clan groups and leave Spiral Mounds if we can't grow enough com this summer to pay Tharon's tribute and still feed ourselves next winter. Of course," he added bitterly, "Badgertail made that easier. He killed half, half of our people—^and almost all of the men. This is a terrible time for us."

Petaga studied him from under brooding brows. A ring of cane had been placed in a circle around the center post and lit to provide illumination. The newly cut poles gleamed whitely in the light.

"So you refuse to join us? You refuse to help your relatives when they are in need?"

"If we could, we'd—''

"Just conmiit fifty warriors. Uncle. Just fifty!"

"Petaga," Aloda said, "can't you understand? My warriors are at this very instant out working their clan cornfields. We can't spare a single hand. Without everyone here pulling together from sunrise to sunset, we won't be able to meet our obligations when the Moon-of-Flying-Snow comes."

"But, Uncle," Petaga charged angrily, "can't you understand that if we can gather enough warriors to destroy Cahokia, none of us will ever have to worry about 'obligations' to Tharon again?"

Aloda smoked his pipe for a while, pinning Petaga with hard eyes. "Do you know the cost of what you're suggesting? What happens if you win?"

Petaga straightened. A gust of wind penetrated the door, dancing in his headdress and cooling his sweaty face. "Then we're free. Each village can govern itself independently. There'll be enough food. We can live in peace with each other."

Aloda shook his head. "No, my young nephew—though I wish that were true. If it were, I would commit all five hundred men, women, and children who are left at Spiral Mounds. I hate Tharon as much as you do, but if you destroy Cahokia, all of the villages that make up our great chiefdom will collapse."

"What are you talking about? We'll just reorganize."

"Will we?" Aloda shoved himself to a sitting position. "Tell me, why do you think Cahokia became the center of our world?"

Petaga forced himself to respond politely to this irrelevant question. "Why?"

"Look at where it sits." Aloda bent forward to draw a series of wavy lines on the dirt floor.

Petaga recognized the rivers. "You mean because it's at the confluence of the major waterways?'*

"Yes. And what do we do on the waterways?**

"We fish, we war, we trade, we—"

"Stop." Aloda raised a withered hand. "We trade. Yes. Everyone who goes up or down the Father Water has to pass within reach of Cahokia. Our great chiefdom controls the river—and not just the Father Water, but the Mother Water, and even Moon River, and everything that floats down the tributaries that feed them. Just as an example, what's River Mounds' job in the hierarchy?"

Petaga shook his head, irritated. "You know our job, Uncle. We make certain that every trader who passes stops and trades, or else he pays for the privilege of passing us by. With Tharon and his thieves gone. River Mounds will be free to control the river better, because we won't have to answer to Tharon. We can—"

"Ah." Aloda sat back, nodding. "There it is. The beginning of the end. Do you see? Over hundreds of cycles, we have worked out a way of trading that benefits every village in the chiefdom. Cahokia organizes and funds the chief dom's traders. River Mounds and Pretty Mounds ensure that the river traders comply with our laws. Cahokia redistributes the exotic foodstuffs and materials. We trade the exotic items for whatever we want. We pay tribute to Cahokia to keep the entire system working. And in the past, when food grew short in the winter, Cahokia's storage huts of tribute were opened to feed the hungry wherever they happened to be in the chiefdom. Because Mother Earth has turned against us, that sharing has ceased, but ..." Aloda hfted a finger. "But when we chop off the head of our chiefdom, every village will think it can do it better. We'll be at each other's throats in only a few cycles, warring, killing—worse than now. No trader will risk coming up our waterways. We'll be isolated and more desperate than we've ever been. Consider this . . ."