Hiyawento replied softly, “No, but perhaps the matrons will care what we have to say.”
He glanced at the six old women who sat like silent white-haired statues. Their wrinkled faces might have been carved from stone, but their eyes were alert, listening to every word, and he thought he saw fear on Tila’s face. Was she dying? Or was this just a ruse to get Zateri to return to Atotarho Village?
“How many people have the fever?” Atotarho asked.
“When we left Riverbank Village three days ago,” Thona said, and the white scars that crisscrossed his face tensed, “fifty-seven.”
After a brief stunned silence, War Chief Joondoh of Turtleback Village stood to be recognized. Short, muscular, and loud, he said, “The Flint People did this on purpose. The cowards!”
“What are you saying?” Thona asked.
“I mean that when they heard that our warriors were on the trails, they witched their own people. They wanted us to attack and carry the sickness home.”
Hiyawento opened his mouth to reply, but Thona cut him off. “They would not dare to do such a thing. They know we would slaughter them to the last person.”
Atotarho rubbed his right knee and winced before saying, “I think they would dare. They would do anything to kill us.”
“If I may comment?” Hiyawento rose to his feet, and Thona sat down. Eyes turned to Hiyawento—not all of them respectfully, for he was an adopted member of the Hills People. He had been born and raised among the Standing Stone People, and some here believed that’s where his allegiance remained.
“Proceed,” Atotarho said, but his eyes narrowed suspiciously. The other representatives noticed and cast distrustful looks Hiyawento’s way.
“With deference to this assembly, I must say that I doubt the Flint People would witch their own families. It would be too dangerous. The disease might—”
War Chief Joondoh rose to shout, “That is exactly the sort of thing they would do! It would be a devastatingly effective method of killing us. After the battle, they could just have their witches remove the pellets from those who survived. Any who were captured would then become the greatest warriors, carrying the witch pellets into the very hearts of their enemy’s longhouses.”
“If you will allow me to finish, Chief?”
Atotarho stared at Hiyawento for a long moment before saying, “Please.”
“I’m sure many of you have heard a different story from your own Flint captives.” He paused to see heads nodding before cautiously continuing, “Though I’m sure none of us believes it, I think we should consider their side of this issue, for they say that the sickness comes from Chief Atotarho.”
As a few outraged voices rose, Atotarho lifted a hand to silence them. “Go on, War Chief.”
Hiyawento said, “Our captives say Atotarho has hired armies of witches to sicken his enemies, and that it is we who are to blame for the fever. In fact, the few survivors of the Sedge Marsh attack are adamant that their village grew ill and died in less than two days. They say that by the time the warriors from Atotarho Village arrived to punish them for allying with the Standing Stone nation, nearly everyone was already dead. That’s why the chief lost not a single warrior in the fight.” He looked around at the assembly. “It does sound like witchery.”
Several warriors leaped to their feet with murderous expressions on their faces. He suspected they would have carried out those impulses if their weapons had not been stacked along the far wall. Hiyawento calmly sat down.
“That is a disgraceful accusation,” Thona said in a seething voice. “Our chief does not consort with witches.”
“Nonetheless,” Hiyawento replied, “that is what they believe, and that is why they hate us so much. Perhaps if we made some effort to disprove this notion, if we sent some of our Healers to the Flint People, for instance, it might save the lives of many of our own villagers.”
Joondoh roared, “The Flint People accuse our chief to cover their own witchery! It is ridiculous to pander to them.”
Atotarho leaned forward and stared thoughtfully at the fire. Hiyawento scanned the faces of the warriors, assessing the impact of his words. No one looked at him, and whenever they, by chance, happened to meet his eyes, they quickly glanced away. That told him a great deal. Not only had they heard the same rumor from their Flint captives or, perhaps, the Sedge Marsh survivors, they believed them. Even if they wished to agree with him, they could not, at least not publicly, out of fear that their own families might be witched next.
Atotarho finally looked up. He stared straight at Hiyawento. “I, of course, have not heard this rumor. But now that Hiyawento has brought it in front of the council, it makes me wonder if the story is not to our advantage?” Eyes widened. People whispered behind their hands. “I do not object to being greatly feared. If the Sedge Marsh elders had feared me more, perhaps they would not have committed treason by allying themselves with the Standing Stone nation. Isn’t fear the most effective weapon we have?”