The Broken Land(46)
The thing that tied the sisterhood of Wolf Clan ohwachiras together was a distant common female ancestor. In this case, their lines all originated with a long-ago ancestor named Dancing Fox. Dancing Fox’s life story had been lost in the mists of time, though legend said she had bravely led the People through a Long Dark filled with monsters and into Elder Brother Sun’s light.
Tila smoothed white hair away from her wrinkled face and softly called, “Come. Let us bring order to the world.”
As the clan mothers seated themselves, Tila looked across the fire at Inawa. Inawa would be her main opponent today, since her ohwachira was next in line to lead the Wolf Clan, and by extension, the nation. Provided, that is, that the Bear Clan didn’t squash Inawa like a bug after Tila’s death, and take over the leadership.
Zateri shifted where she sat on the bench with the other village matrons, clearly uneasy. In a council house filled with great-grandmothers and grandmothers, she must feel very small and insignificant. As she should. Since the deaths of Tila’s two daughters, Zateri was the only female left in Tila’s direct line. She would lead Tila’s ohwachira in the near future—if she chose to, and if the other mothers of the Wolf Clan did not seriously oppose her. She had disgraced herself eight summers before when she’d established Coldspring Village without the approval of the clan. Only Tila’s political maneuvering, calling in every favor she’d ever earned in her sixty-five summers, had saved Zateri from being declared an Outcast.
Tila lifted one hand and said, “May Great Grandmother Earth hear our voices and guide us in our decisions for the good of all things, great and small. I would speak first, if there are no objections.”
The house went still, waiting. The blue gleam falling through the smoke hole in the roof illuminated Inawa’s and Yi’s elderly faces. Inawa, who had seen fifty summers pass, had plump cheeks and a red nose. Gray-streaked black hair hung limply over her shoulders. Her failing was that she talked too much and had a tendency to veer away from the subject at hand and start relating long disconnected stories. Yi, on the other hand, said little, and each careful word went to the heart of the matter. She had seen forty-eight summers. She sat to Tila’s right, her back straight, her bearing stately, commanding attention. A few silver strands glittered in her short black hair, but deep wrinkles cut around her mouth and across her forehead. Tila heartily wished that Yi’s ohwachira was next in line.
“I have little time left,” Tila began. “Our Healers have done their best for me, but there is no earthly Spirit plant that will cure my illness. They say there is a witch’s charm lodged inside me, but they cannot find it.” She touched her sunken chest and moved her fingers over the swollen lumps. “I have perhaps a few moons. Nothing more.”
A din of whispers began, several heartrending. A pained cry of “no,” rose from the back, but Tila couldn’t identify the speaker. Tila had been a good and fair clan matron. She was, for the most part, greatly loved.
Inawa said, “Then we must work harder to find the witch and force her to remove the charm! And maybe it isn’t a charm, but an ordinary spell. Spells can be killed by killing the witch. It’s a simple matter. I once knew a woman who’d been witched and her blood turned black. By the time anyone realized what was happening one of her feet had rotted and had to be cut off. The next thing—”
“We have the best Healers in the nation, Inawa. I’m sure they’ve correctly assessed my problem.”
Indeed, the Healers had first tried a variety of Spirit Plants, herbs, grasses, and barks; then they’d rubbed her body with ashes to cleanse it. Afterward, they’d attempted to wash away the disease by performing the going-to-water ritual, taking her down to purify in the frigid river while they Sang and shook rattles. It was powerful magic, symbolically submerging her in the river of Great Grandmother Earth’s blood that ran beneath the ground. After each battle, weapons were symbolically cast into that river to cleanse them of the taint of death. It could also cure the taint of witchery. When nothing had worked, her Healers prepared a pot of False Face pudding, burned sacred tobacco, and called upon the Faces of the Forest to aid them. Three of the masks spoke to Healer Towana, telling her a great wind was coming that would flatten the People of the Hills, and all of the Peoples south of Skanodario Lake, but the masks had promised to help the Hills People as much as they could. After relating her Dream, Towana brewed a tea from parched white sunflower seeds and manroot. As the masks had instructed, they’d drunk it together. Which was why the fever had not struck here yet. They were being protected.