The Broken Land(113)
Tila let out a low disdainful laugh. “You can’t ‘make up’ for killing a woman’s daughters, even if it was accidental. Besides, you won’t have the chance. If I were Hiyawento I’d be plotting your murder this instant. He just has to bide his time until the moment is right.” She sucked in an agonized breath. When she let it out, she said, “If I had the strength, I’d save him the trouble.”
Atotarho’s wrinkled face twisted with anger. He’d always hated hearing blunt words. “I tell you I didn’t know the witch would do this. It wasn’t my fault.”
“Well, that doesn’t matter now, does it?”
Stubbornly, he said, “It matters to me. I would never have harmed my own granddaughters! They are my legacy. The future rulership of the Wolf Clan depends upon—”
“You should have thought of that before you gave a witch free rein to take care of ‘your problem’ however he saw fit.”
Atotarho glared at the herb pots lining the wall to Tila’s left. Softly, he answered, “I realize that now.”
Tila sighed and let her chin fall to rest upon the bulky hides that wrapped her like a soft, many-layered cocoon. It was so hard to breathe. Her souls were itching to be released from the sick cage of her body. When all this was over, and she found herself walking the Path of Souls with her laughing daughters surrounding her, perhaps then she would be able to think clearly. But tonight it was almost impossible. Any subtlety she had ever learned in her life was gone.
Brutally, she said, “You are unfit to rule this nation, but the council cannot afford to remove you on the eve of battle.”
He jerked around. “Are you saying the Ruling Council has reached a consensus?”
“Not yet, but it will. Even though the attack on White Dog Village has split this nation down the middle, the council members do not have the heart to wait until we are attacked. The alliance will hold long enough to take the fight to the enemy. After that, I cannot say.” She shook her head. “Old Yana just walked the Path of Souls. Gwinodje is now the village matron in Canassatego Village, and she does not wish this war with the Standing Stone People. Nor, I’ve heard, does Matron Kwahseti.”
“Will they fight?”
“I believe they will. But they will do it under protest.”
His lockjawed expression gnawed at Tila.
In a voice that could make muscles flinch, he said, “Then I will prepare our war chief.”
“Sindak already knows. I told him myself. After all, he spent half the day trying to control his warriors during the council. He had a right to know. But there is something you could do.”
He gave her an askance look. “What is it?”
“When each village has made its decision, they will send warriors to join us. Within days, I expect Atotarho Village to be overrun with hungry men and women eager to do battle. We must ration our food even more conscientiously. I want you to oversee the feeding of the war parties.”
“Of course, High Matron.”
Atotarho repositioned himself, and his polished finger bone bracelets glimmered like frost. He seemed to be trying to decide how to ask her a question.
“Ask,” she ordered.
“I’m just curious about something.”
“Yes?”
“I know you sent runners to each of the village matrons asking them to call a truce to hear Sky Messenger’s vision. Have the runners returned?”
Tila’s eyes narrowed. At this point, it did not matter what he knew, but it irked her. It meant that someone among her trusted few was his spy, and she’d missed it. As she struggled to lift her chin, her head tottered on the slender stem of her neck. “They couldn’t agree. Kwahseti and Gwinodje wished to hear it. The others did not. Without a consensus, there will be no truce. And I …” She forced a breath into her burning lungs. “I must find a way to tell Zateri. It will be another blow to her heart, and it crushes my souls to have to do it.”
Atotarho drew himself up and got that arrogant look on his face that she knew so well—he hated Sky Messenger and was preparing to scold her for sending the runners. Tila said, “What makes you think I care at all what you have to say? Two of my great-granddaughters are dead, and you killed them. Leave me so that I may hurt in private.”
He careened toward the leather curtain, flung it aside, and stepped out to where his guards waited for him.
Tila stared at the swaying door curtain. Atotarho’s reputation for vengeance was legendary. In the old days she wouldn’t have pushed him, but she no longer cared what he might do to her.
Outside, Atotarho’s petulant voice erupted, ordering men around, as he took out his frustration on his personal guards. As they moved away, she leaned her head back against the bark wall. She didn’t have the strength to lie down. If she tried, she would only manage to collapse and perhaps topple off her sleeping bench—which would create a flurry of activity that she couldn’t stand just now.