Forty
That night Zateri knelt before the fire in the longhouse, stirring a pot of cornmeal mush filled with strips of venison jerky and pine nuts. The rich scent of the jerky mixed with the sweetness of the corn and scented the air. Hiyawento sat on the mat beside her, staring at the fire as though praying hard the flames would speak to him and tell him what to do next. The council meeting had not gone well. Hiyawento had been openly accused of cowardice and collaborating with the enemy. At the end, it had almost come to blows.
Across the fire, their three daughters played with a corn-husk doll, handing it back and forth, tousling its long corn-silk hair, rattling the beaded fringe on the doll’s leather dress. It was a pretty thing. She wondered where Hiyawento had gotten it.
Barely above a whisper, Hiyawento asked, “What about the other matrons?”
She shook her head. “I don’t know. Grandmother wishes to hear Sky Messenger’s vision. She agreed to send messengers to the others. She’ll inform us if there is a consensus that he should be heard. But this is the worst possible time to be asking such a thing. The turmoil in the nation is growing worse.”
Early that morning she’d run to Grandmother’s chamber in the Wolf longhouse and told her about Sky Messenger’s visit. She’d also begged Grandmother not to tell Father for fear that he’d immediately dispatch a party to hunt down and kill Sky Messenger and Taya. Grandmother, who’d barely been able to lift her head from her bedding hides, had reluctantly agreed.
“What are you thinking about, my husband?”
He stretched out on his side on the mat and propped his head on his hand, watching the girls play. “About the Dream. He said it changes, as though not even the Spirits know the final shape of the story, but he’s certain it has to do with what happened to him that last night in the old woman’s camp. He asked me if I’d seen what happened.”
Her heart twinged. “He doesn’t remember?”
“No.” Hiyawento grimaced at his tea cup. “Which I think is a blessing, but he says he must know.”
“He’s always been touched by Spirits. I wish I’d seen him. I would have so loved that.” They had endured so much together as children. He was almost as much a part of her souls as Hiyawento was. “What did you think of his betrothed?”
“Hmm?” Hiyawento blinked as though just hearing her. “Oh, his wife-to-be? She’s very young, fourteen summers. Pretty. Actually, she looks very much like her grandmother, High Matron Kittle.”
“In that case, she’s not pretty, she’s stunningly beautiful.”
He shrugged and fiddled with his empty tea cup, turning it where it rested upon the mat. She watched him closely. His thoughts seemed far away.
“What else did Sky Messenger say? The thing you haven’t told me. Was it Sky Messenger who asked you to argue against war in the council?”
Hiyawento looked at each person who was close enough to hear them, then he lowered his voice. Barely audible, he said, “Yes, but he’s right.”
“But in a war council?” She felt slightly ill. “Urging peace in a village council meeting is one thing, but in a war council?”
“Zateri, someone has to stand up for peace. You know it as well as I do. I don’t mind being the first.”
She placed the horn spoon upon one of the hearth rocks and sat down beside him to stare into his worried eyes. “Peace, no matter the cause? Even if we are attacked by Mountain warriors?”
“Yes.” He squinted at the flickering flames.
“He can’t be suggesting you refuse to defend our village?”
“If we are attacked, I’m sure he knows I will fight to my last breath to protect our people. Just … I think he wants one war chief out there who always, in every case, counsels against war.”
“He must know, however, that if the Ruling Council approves an attack, you will have no choice but to lead our warriors into the fight. He does understand that, doesn’t he?”
“All he asked was that I vote no in council. He said nothing about what happened when everyone else voted yes.”
She drew up her knees and propped her elbows atop them, trying to imagine how the council had gone. The other members of the war council must have been furious, especially if they’d just lost loved ones in the White Dog Village battle. Hiyawento had told her he’d been accused of both cowardice and treason, but she suspected a few people had also probably threatened his life. If anyone attempted to carry out that threat, it would be catastrophic. Murder was the worst crime. It placed an absolute obligation upon the relatives of the deceased. They had to seek revenge, or retribution. Often grieving family members claimed the life of a member of the murderer’s clan—his mother, grandmother, even the clan matron—as was their right. Blood feuds could and did escalate into civil wars. And the nation was already on the verge of splitting down the middle.