The Broken Land(35)
“But Grandmother, you told Speaker Koracoo that you didn’t want to hear his tale of woe. Why? Did you already know the story?”
“Very good.”
Taya hesitated. “From someone in Yellowtail Village?”
“A good high matron has spies everywhere. I need to know what happens in every longhouse in our nation.”
Taya’s chin lifted as though in understanding. “Then you believe his vision is true?”
“As soon as I heard that he’d returned I could have had him killed. I’m the one who placed the death sentence upon his head. It was an offense to our Ruling Council and a challenge to my authority when his clan did not immediately carry out the council’s order. Why do you think I didn’t have him killed?”
Taya’s sharp gaze did not leave Kittle’s face. “Speaker Koracoo?”
Kittle smiled knowingly. “Indeed. The Speaker for the Women may be soft-spoken these days, but she has a warrior’s heart. She is no one’s fool. Even if he is her son, if Koracoo had possessed any proof of treason, she would have killed him herself in a heartbeat. Just to set an example.” Kittle tossed another branch on the fire, and sparks drifted lazily toward the smoke hole in the roof.
“Then, if Koracoo did not carry out the sentence of death, it was because she, too, believes Sky Messenger’s vision?”
“I’m not sure yet. But she must think the fate of our nation may depend upon her son staying alive—and that gives me pause. Of all the women in the world, girl, never, ever underestimate Koracoo.”
As the flames blazed higher, Taya shifted to move away from the heat. The painted finches on her cape swayed as though taking wing. “What is his vision, Grandmother? The bits I have heard sound like nonsense.”
Kittle laughed softly, pleased by her granddaughter. Despite living a protected, privileged life, Taya was at least curious. Of course, she would never rule the nation, not with seven aunts and four older sisters, but it was rewarding to know that the intelligence that marked Kittle’s maternal line had not died with Yosha. She watched morosely as her daughter pawed another chunk of cornbread from the platter and began to chomp it, totally unaware that an important discussion was taking place. Crumbs dropped into her lap and perched there like red insects.
More gently, Kittle said, “Do not say no to this marriage just yet, Taya. In some way I do not yet grasp, this alliance is critical to Yellowtail Village. Our village needs many things. Let us see what they offer first.”
An ugly stubborn expression came over her granddaughter. She pulled her shoulders back and stared dry-eyed at Kittle. “Very well. But I wish you to know that I do not wish this alliance. Dadjo has as much as asked to marry me, and I—”
“Dadjo’s wishes mean nothing to me.”
“But Grandmother! He’s the man I—”
“Stop sniveling. I have a job for you.”
Taya sniffed. “What is it?”
“If you have the chance, I want you to convince Sky Messenger to return to the war trail. We—”
“How am I supposed to do that?” she asked in an aggrieved voice.
“You’re a woman now. Think of something. We need every warrior we can get. Hug me now, and go away.” Kittle opened her arms, and Taya grudgingly rose to hug her. It felt like nothing more than bones were encased in her cape. The harvests had been particularly bad this autumn. Hunger stalked every village, but so long as Kittle had breath in her body, Bur Oak Village would be the last to starve—even if she had to raid every village of the Flint or Mountain People to do it. “Leave us. I need to speak with your dimwitted mother.”
Taya rose and walked to the other end of the longhouse toward her mother’s compartment. Many young women and girls stopped her to ask her questions, but she just shook her head and continued on her way.
Yosha held a half-eaten chunk of bread in her hand. “She wishes to marry Dadjo, you know.”
“I could not care less. At least I didn’t have to beat her for being as ignorant and unconcerned about the welfare of her clan as you are. Give me the rest of that bread.”
“No. It’s mine.” Yosha pulled it away.
Kittle held out her hand. “You’ve had enough food for the day. The rest of that could feed one of the refugee children in the plaza.”
Yosha shoved the bread into her mouth and tried to swallow it whole before Kittle could take it away. She and Yosha had been engaged in a struggle of wills most of their lives. At this late date, Kittle had no intention of letting her daughter win. She reached across the fire and slapped the rest of the cornbread out of Yosha’s mouth. It bounced across the floor mats, cracking into pieces as it cartwheeled. “That was for the ‘whoring’ comment.”