The Broken Land(11)
She swiveled her head to gaze at their sleeping daughters, and her long black hair drew across his muscular arm like an ermine blanket. Aged three, five, and eight, the girls slept beneath one large elkhide, their sweet firelit faces in a row, breathing deep. Above their bedding, attached to the longhouse wall, yellow pond lily roots hung like the legs of a gigantic spider. In the flickering light, they seemed to wiggle and jerk. Yellow pond lily was a powerful Spirit plant. It blinded witches. If a witch looked toward this house, they would see only a pond. The roots kept their precious daughters safe. “I’m not sure I wish to lay such a burden upon our eldest daughter. Kahn-Tineta has a gentle soul.”
Hiyawento’s eyes were abruptly drawn to the opposite side of the house. Blessed Spirits, now he understood Pedeza’s attention. If Zateri refused to return to Atotarho Village, then Pedeza’s mother might be in line for the rulership, and after her, Pedeza herself.
He whispered in Zateri’s ear, “Don’t take too long. Pedeza’s mother might decide to take fate into her own hands by getting rid of you.”
Zateri did not laugh. “That possibility has already occurred to me, my war chief. Perhaps you should remain here, close at hand, to protect me.”
“You can take care of yourself. I’ve seen you swing a war club.” When her brow furrowed, he drew her closer and kissed her hair. “Forgive me. I know how serious this is.”
The idea of moving his family to Atotarho Village left him in shock. He’d always hated her father. The high chief of the People of the Hills was a twisted monster. He acted only for his own gain—which was the definition of witchery. No one in the nation dared call him a witch, though, for fear his entire family would disappear mysteriously.
Alarm must have been clear on his lean face, for Zateri whispered, “I am the only daughter of my dead mother, the heir to the rulership of Atotarho Village and the entire nation. I cannot just refuse. Such selfishness and apparent disregard for the well-being of my People might cause them to accuse me of witchcraft.”
He fumbled with a lock of her long hair. “You will be young for that position—twenty-two summers. Will the older women listen to you?”
Zateri wet her lips, and her protruding front teeth flashed with firelight. “They’ll have to. As the leader of the Matrons’ Council, I could directly influence the outcome of decisions. Now I am but one very small voice in the din.”
He hesitated, afraid to ask the question that was making his throat ache. “Then, you’re leaning toward agreeing to the high matron’s request?”
After a long time, she said, “Maybe.”
She turned her face away to stare at their daughters again, and her eyes tightened with the weight of the decision. “When is the War Council tomorrow?”
“Just after dawn.”
“Dawn,” she repeated in a forlorn voice and squeezed her eyes closed. “You’re leaving tomorrow afternoon. No one has seen Sky Messenger in over one-half moon. What makes you think you can find him?”
“If he truly wants to hide, I won’t. I’m just hoping he needs a friend.”
“Well,” she said with authority, “you know he does. The news has been running the trails like wildfire. Every Trader who enters our village says that Matron Kittle has accused him of treason and made him Outcast. Do you think he really helped the Flint captives escape?”
“I do … and you and I both know why. None of us can tolerate taking child captives.”
“Yes, but declaring him Outcast without hearing his side of the story seems extreme to me.”
“He also abandoned his war party, Zateri. That’s not in question. He was deputy. No high matron could condone such a breach.”
“I pray he went back to Baji. Perhaps they married, as they intended, and all is well.”
“Perhaps, but I think such news would have reached us by now. His desertion of the Standing Stone nation would be a great coup for the Flint People. They would be paying every passing Trader to carry the news far and wide.”
She filled her lungs and expelled the words, “If anything happens to him, it will crush my heart, too.”
Hadui thrashed the leather curtain that covered the longhouse entry and blasted his way down the central corridor, throwing ashes high into the smoky air. Dogs leaped up barking, searching for the intruder, while people cursed and rolled over to go back to sleep.
“What if you don’t find him?”
Hiyawento tilted his head and shrugged. “I’ll return home.”
“How long?”
“You mean how long will I give myself to search? One moon. No more.”