Finally, Atotarho said, “Let us begin,” and gingerly lowered his body to one of the logs on the south side of the fire. For several heartbeats, he sat with his head down and his eyes closed, as though contemplating the gravity of the issues that faced the council today. He rubbed his knee, and his wrinkled face tensed. His joints must ache from the long walk across the village to get here.
Atotarho lifted his hands. “Council members, the issues before us today are grave. Though united in our war against the other nations south of Skanodario Lake, we have profoundly different notions of how to win this struggle. I urge you to put such differences aside here, and allow every member to speak his heart. Lastly, please excuse the fact that my War Chief, Sindak, is absent. He is away on a crucial mission.”
Kallen whispered, “What mission?”
“I know nothing of it.”
As Atotarho leaned forward to retrieve the cup of plum tea that had been prepared for him, his gorget—a shell pendant that covered half his chest—fell from his cape. Everyone went silent. A sacred artifact of leadership, it was not a thing for ordinary eyes. Twelve summers ago it had been broken, the bottom half lost on a snowy hillside in the distant country of the People Who Separated. Though Atotarho had sent warriors to search for the bottom half, it had never been found, and he’d been forced to hire an artist to replicate the missing piece as best he could. A black line zigzagged through the center of the pendant where it had been glued together with pine pitch.
The pendant was ancient and chronicled the most sacred story of all: the great battle between human beings and Horned Serpent at the dawn of creation. Horned Serpent had crawled out of Skanodario Lake and attacked the People. His poisonous breath, like a black cloud, had swept over the land, killing almost everyone.
In terror, the People had cried out to the Great Spirit, and he had sent Thunder to help them. A vicious battle had ensued, and Thunder had thrown the greatest lightning bolt ever seen. The flash was so bright many of the People were instantly blinded. Then the concussion struck. The mountains shook, and the stars broke loose from the skies.
Legend said that at the time of the cataclysm, two pendants had been carved by the breath of Horned Serpent. One belonged to the chief, the other to the human False Face who would don a cape of white clouds and ride the winds of destruction across the face of the world.
Everyone felt the pendant’s Power, as evidenced by the fact that they could not take their eyes from it. When Atotarho noticed, he tucked it back into his cape, and Hiyawento’s gaze clung to the snake eyes tattooed on the chief’s fingertips. The man wore bracelets of human finger bones.
The tallest, most heavily scarred man, Thona, a war chief renowned for his skill with a war ax, rose to his feet. “If it please the council, I would speak first.”
Atotarho nodded. “War Chief Thona of Riverbank Village, please continue.”
Hiyawento took a deep breath, preparing himself, and as he exhaled his breath hung before him in the cold air like a shimmering creature.
Thona rubbed a hand over his scarred face before he said, “The fever has come to Riverbank Village, brought in the bodies of the captives we took after our last battle with the Flint People.”
The mood of the group changed abruptly. Perhaps all of them, Hiyawento included, had assumed that today’s meeting would be about the destruction of Sedge Marsh Village, and the fearful prospect that the Standing Stone nation would continue to form more alliances with rogue Hills’ villages. That’s what had every clan matron enraged.
Thona propped his hands on his hips, and his cape flared outward, then fell into soft firelit folds around him. “Our Healers have removed many witch pellets from the captives’ bodies, but the things are alive. Once removed they leap into another body, and another. Matron Kwahseti asks that, for the moment, we all forget about Sedge Marsh Village and their treachery, and agree to a new priority.”
“And that is?”
“Our people are dying like leaves in the first heavy frost. We must find the witches and force them to remove their spells or kill them. If we don’t, all of your villages are at risk, too.”
A rumble of voices ran through the council house as people discussed this new development.
Kallen leaned sideways to say, “War Chief, I think we should leave. What if a witch pellet jumped into Thona’s body, or another of his contingent? We could all run home carrying the fever with us. Is it worth the risk to remain? Atotarho will not listen to us anyway.”
Hiyawento turned to her. Kallen had seen twenty-nine summers pass. Short black hair, cut in mourning, framed her triangular face, making her dark eyes appear huge, like polished mahogany moons riding over her thin nose. She shifted, and the soft fur of her cape, made from twisted strips of weasel hide, caught the sunlight falling through the smoke hole.