Almost too soft to hear, Atotarho said, “I agree. It must be someone they know.”
While the warriors standing along the walls muttered darkly to each other, Hiyawento studied Atotarho. The chief’s deeply wrinkled face had an odd expression. His eyes were downcast, apparently staring at the flames, but in the blue swirls of wood smoke that filled the sunlit air between them, Hiyawento thought he appeared almost triumphant.
Thona said, “Do you have someone in mind?”
Atotarho lifted his eyes, and his gaze fixed on Hiyawento. A faint smile touched his lips.
It took a moment for the realization to sink in, and when it did, the earth seemed to shake beneath Hiyawento. Every gaze stuck to him like boiled pine pitch.
“War Chief Hiyawento was born among the Standing Stone People. He moves as they do.”
“I won’t consider it!” Thona fumed and glowered at Hiyawento. “We can’t trust him. It’s unconscionable.”
Atotarho said, “He’s the best choice.”
“Maybe, but what if they turn him? He may return as a spy. It’s not worth it.”
As a cacophony of dissenting voices erupted, Hiyawento slowly rose to his feet. “May I speak?”
“Go on.”
“I am a man of the Hills People. Though I was not born among you, my wife is the chief’s daughter. Our children are of the Wolf Clan. I will defend this village to my last breath, as I have done for the past eight summers.” He paused to allow people to quiet down. “As all of you are aware, by allowing myself to be adopted into your people I committed treason. Rather than hearing the message I carry, I believe Matron Kittle will have me killed on sight.”
Atotarho’s lips pressed into a tight white line. Is that what the old witch had in mind? He could kill two birds with one arrow? He could threaten High Matron Kittle, and get Hiyawento out of the way? Or perhaps this was about Zateri? With Hiyawento out of the way would she be more inclined to return to Atotarho village?
“I think Hiyawento is far more likely to make it to the gates of Bur Oak Village than anyone born among the Hills People. Whether or not he is allowed inside the gates, I cannot say. But I believe he is still the best choice for this undertaking.”
Kallen, astonished, said, “But, my chief, he will be murdered long before he has a chance to speak!” Kallen seated herself and whispered to Hiyawento, “Matron Zateri will surely vote no in the Women’s Council. She—”
“No,” Hiyawento cut her off. “She will vote to send me. As she should.” He exhaled hard. All eyes were upon him. “Allow me to take back my objections. Chief Atotarho is right. I’m the best man for this mission.”
A faint knowing smile touched Atotarho’s face.
When Coldspring Village joined the Hills alliance eight summers before, every clan matron agreed to support the decisions of the Ruling Council of Matrons. If Zateri refused to accept one of the council’s decisions, she would be breaking that agreement, and thereby separating Coldspring Village from the alliance. They would be on their own, a lone village vulnerable to attack by anyone. Their paltry three hundred warriors would be no match for a heavily armed party of Mountain or Flint warriors. Not only that, once the news reached their enemies, Coldspring Village would become a prime target.
On the eastern bench, Tila’s frail hand lifted, and all eyes turned to her. As she leaned forward, short white hair, cut in mourning, fell around her deeply sunken cheeks. “How long will it take to prepare War Chief Hiyawento?”
Atotarho shrugged. “A day. No more. We need to carefully word our message, and make sure he can repeat it exactly.”
Tila’s neck trembled as she nodded. “We will discuss the issue with our clans, and return with our decision as soon as everyone’s voice has been heard.”
Such negotiations often took days, perhaps even moons. Hiyawento felt slightly ill. Atotarho’s action had obligated him to remain close at hand until the matrons returned with their decision. And if they approved sending him to Bur Oak Village, Hiyawento would have no choice but to go. Sky Messenger, forgive me, old friend … .
“Thank you, High Matron.” To the assembled warriors, Atotarho said, “This council meeting is dismissed until the matrons call a new meeting.”
No one said a word as the old women rose and filed out of the house. They walked unsteadily, their white heads tottering above their capes. Tila was last in line. She used a walking stick to slowly make her way toward the leather door hanging. Once the matrons were gone, hostile voices rose, and the gazes that locked on Hiyawento were like lance thrusts. Knots of warriors began to form near the stacked weapons.