“Four days ago.”
Zateri straightened. “Thank you, warrior. When we return home, I will call the Wolf Clan—”
“That won’t be necessary,” the warrior interrupted as though he knew he had to get it out now, or he never would. “The chief says you should not worry about the succession. The former high matron left instructions that she wished Matron Kelek of the Bear Clan to replace her as high matron. She—”
“What!” Kwahseti lunged forward to stare with her fists clenched. The runner looked like he wanted to crawl under a log. “She would never do that! It’s a betrayal of the other Wolf Clan ohwachiras!”
“Nonetheless, Matrons, the chief has already spoken with Matron Kelek. At this very moment, she is—”
“She had better not be making preparations!” Gwinodje’s voice seethed. Her face had gone livid. “Our clan will not give up rulership so easily, and you can tell that to Chief Atotarho!”
“I understand.” The runner bowed again, turned, and jogged away.
Everyone turned to Zateri. Their expressions were outraged. Gwinodje’s thin girlish body was shaking.
Kwahseti waved a hand. “Zateri, why didn’t you say anything? You know your grandmother wished you to replace her. She said as much at the last meeting of the ohwachiras!”
A sudden frightening sensation rose and pervaded everything, stealthily closing in around her. When it settled into her chest like a frozen stone, she shivered. “He’s been clever, hasn’t he?”
Kwahseti frowned. “What do you mean? He just stole your inheritance. You are the rightful—”
“He’s been planning this all along, and I did not guess it. Perhaps I am not fit to lead anyone.”
“You no longer have the luxury of speculating, Zateri,” Kwahseti said. “Will you or won’t you lead the clan?”
Gwinodje was staring at her, waiting. “You must decide, Zateri. Once you accept, we can begin organizing the ohwachiras and pulling the little clan matrons together.”
Zateri stared out at the battlefield. Grandmother had wanted this. In fact, the False Faces had come to her … Zateri looked down at her white cape, and a flood of certainty rushed through her. “Yes! I accept. If the ohwachiras will have me, I will lead them. Now, what do we do about Atotarho’s order?”
Chief Canassatego’s leathery brown face tensed. He glanced down the hill at Atotarho, sitting hunched over on his log bench, then back at those gathered around the fire. “I, for one, refuse to accept this farce. I will not support a chief who moves without the consensus of the Ruling Council. He consulted no one, not about the high matron’s position, nor about the attack on White Dog Village. Does he think he alone rules this nation?”
Gwinodje added, “I agree. Either the chief follows the will of the people, which is guaranteed by the Ruling Council’s efforts to seek the consensus of the people, or our alliance crumbles.”
Kwahseti stood irresolutely for a moment. Then, bracing herself as though for a fistfight, she said, “Well, what are we going to do about it? We’re in the middle of a battle. We’ve just been given orders.”
“Orders we should refuse to obey.” Hiyawento seemed to have come back to himself. His voice sounded strong, confident. His dark eyes flashed. Though he’d said nothing during the exchange, his indignation was palpable. “Matron Zateri, is it your decision that I lead the Coldspring Village warriors into this fight?”
Zateri watched the mist moving through the valley below. The sky was completely overcast now. Elder Brother Sun’s gleam had all but vanished, leaving the land gray and dim. The temperature was also dropping. The fog seemed to be growing thicker, filling the valley like dove-colored smoke.
“I must consult with Chief Coldspring and the other village clan matrons.”
“As we all should,” Kwahseti said.
“Then let us do so immediately,” Gwinodje urged. “We don’t have much time to get organized. You all know, don’t you? If we do this, Atotarho will label us traitors and turn his forces against us. We had better be ready. In fact we had better—”
A sharp cry rose from down the hill near last summer’s cornfields. Zateri spun to look and saw two of her scouts hauling a young woman up the hill. The woman was struggling against them, fighting, and the warriors seemed to be enjoying themselves, hurting an enemy woman.
Hiyawento’s eyes suddenly flared, and he shouted, “Release her, now!”
The warriors dropped her arms as though they’d turned red-hot and stared at their war chief in confusion. As soon as she was free, the young woman lifted her skirts and ran up the hill like a boy, trying to get to Hiyawento.