She closed her eyes and sought sleep. She had endured the deaths of so many loved ones, but somehow the loss of her precious great-granddaughters was unbearable. Perhaps it was just that she was dying and that made life all the more dear, but she also had the eerie sensation that their deaths presaged disaster. Perhaps the darkness foreseen by Sky Messenger truly was coming. She could sense it right over the next hill, rolling down upon them like a massive boulder loosed by an earthquake, and she had the feeling there was nothing anyone could do to stop it, least of all her. Which felt … peculiar.
For most of her life she had been the power behind the Ruling Council of the People of the Hills. No matter the threat, she’d always been able to do something to protect her people. But in her current condition, she was powerless. She could barely prop herself up and stay there without crumpling. Dying was such a disgrace.
And that, perhaps, hurt most of all.
One hand of time later, Atotarho stood beneath the porch of the Bear Clan longhouse, waiting for Matron Kelek to dress. In the ochre firelight streaming around the door curtain, frost glinted, outlining the undulations in the bark walls and glimmering down the shaft of his walking stick. He was frustrated and freezing, and his patience was wearing thin. He’d ordered his guards to stand twenty paces away, so that no one could overhear the conversation he was about to have.
He knew now that his lifelong alliance with the Wolf Clan was over. He had to make other …
Kelek stepped through the leather curtain with her chin elevated, regarding him as if he were a beggar. Her white hair and deeply wrinkled face appeared pale and drawn. She’d pulled a tattered bear hide over her shoulders to stave off the cold. “It’s the middle of the night. What is it?”
He leaned on his walking stick. “I have a proposition I think you will appreciate.”
Forty-five
“Will the Flint People join us?” Kittle asked.
As the Cloud People sailed southward, alternating splashes of darkness and brilliant sunlight covered Bur Oak Village, accentuating the worried expressions of the hundreds of people who had gathered to hear the news brought back by Matron Jigonsaseh. Jigonsaseh stood calmly beside Kittle, her hands held out to the warmth of the flames. She was so tall and slender, she looked statuesque. The long reddish hairs on her woven foxhide cape glistened. She remained still for so long that the silver threads in her short black hair caught the light and her head seemed to be covered with sunlit cobwebs.
In a strong voice, Jigonsaseh answered, “They did not say no. The matrons are consulting with their clans and will send a runner when they’ve made a decision.”
A hum went through the crowd as people relayed her words to those farther in back who couldn’t hear.
Kittle paced before the central plaza fire with her blue-painted cape flaring around her legs. Her shell rings and bracelets clicked with her impatient movements. Two of her spies had returned at dawn and told her they’d seen thousands of warriors at Atotarho Village. Worse, their capes and weapons indicated they’d come from all the surrounding Hills villages.
The news had left Kittle anxious and filled with dread. Of course Tila expected a response after the destruction of White Dog Village, but this could only mean one thing: The Hills People were preparing for a monumental attack. There was no going back. She had the uneasy sensation that the entire Standing Stone nation was little more than an autumn leaf balanced on Wind Mother’s breath above a bloodbath. The instant she turned her head, they would be submerged, and she wasn’t sure they could fight their way out—not without help.
“And what did your instincts tell you?” Kittle pressed. “Are the Flint People likely to agree to an alliance?”
Jigonsaseh quietly exhaled, and it trailed away in a thin white streamer. “I don’t know. The Wolf Clan matron, Gahela, did not seem inclined to agree. Which means the other matrons will be hard-put to gain a consensus.”
“Then you are saying your instincts tell you they will not join us?”
Jigonsaseh tilted her head uncertainly. “My guess, High Matron—and a guess is all it is—is no, they won’t. I think we’re on our own.”
Another low hum, this one like a swarm of angry bees, rose. Facial expressions changed, going from worry to despair. Many people started to wander away, heading back to the warmth of their longhouses, perhaps to hug their children and stuff a few more belongings into hide bags. Already villagers had begun burying precious belongings in the forest, praying they survived and could return to dig them up after the Standing Stone nation had been wiped from the face of Great Grandmother Earth. As she looked around at the remaining people, the hopelessness seemed to congeal into a deadly creature of enormous proportions—a creature just as likely to kill them as the Hills nation.