She turned to Inawa first, who shook her head, and said, “No.”
Yi said, “I ask that you pass me for the moment. I must consider for a time longer.”
Tila smiled to herself. Yi was being smart, waiting to see how her ohwachira voted before she made her opinion known.
“Very well.” Tila started along the eastern wall. “Little Matron Hooje?”
“No.”
“Matron Wenta?”
“No.”
By the time Tila had made it around the house, giving everyone a chance to speak, the pain in her chest was barely endurable. Her lungs did not want to breathe. More than anything, she longed to return to her soft hides and sleep. Instead, she gripped the head of her walking stick and grunted as she rose to her feet to stand before them. “The council is divided on this matter. I give you my oath that I will take every voice into consideration before making my decision. This council is dismissed.” She lifted her chin to Zateri. “Granddaughter, will you walk with me?”
The vote had left Zateri stunned. Her face had gone snow white, her eyes blazing like crystals. She walked around the fire and took Tila’s elbow, supporting her as she made her way across the council house and out into the dawn. The sky had turned opalescent, like the inside of a pink seashell tipped to reflect the sunlight.
When they were almost back to the Wolf longhouse, Zateri halted. She seemed to be staring at the two massive log pillars, the guardians of the longhouse. Carved with the Faces of the Forest and painted in rich shades of red, blue, black, and pure white, they stood on either side of the curtained entry. Each time they moved the village they dug up and moved the pillars, carrying them to the new location. Not even Tila knew for certain how old they were. They had stood since at least her great-grandmother’s childhood. In a measured and peaceful voice, Zateri said, “I’ve made my decision, Grandmother.”
Tila staggered as she turned to look at her. People moved about them, coming and going from the longhouse. “You should wait. Think about it more.”
“I don’t need to. I don’t wish to lead them any more than they wish me to. My answer is no.”
Tila vented a pained sigh. “Your father will not be pleased.”
“No. I’m sure he won’t.” She gently took Tila’s arm. “Let’s get you into the warmth of the longhouse. I’m sorry I kept you outside any longer than necessary.”
Twenty
High Matron Tila sat alone on the bench in her chamber at the northern end of the Wolf Clan longhouse. She had a cup of bear broth clutched in both hands. It took great effort to get the wooden cup to her lips without sloshing it all over her worn doeskin cape, but the broth was rich with fat and rested easy in her shrunken belly. There wasn’t much she could eat these days that didn’t come right back up, so she especially cherished this tasty treat.
She’d drawn the leather curtain at the front of her chamber closed, sealing out prying eyes so that she could think. She’d been going over and over the council meeting today, wondering, analyzing tones of voice and gestures. Not only that, she found the constant well-meant intentions of her relatives exhausting. With the curtain drawn, they would, perhaps, leave her alone.
Firelight from the longhouse fires outside coated the ceiling like amber resin and gave her chamber a soft yellow hue. The top of the chamber was open to the high roof, where whole cornstalks and sunflower plants hung. They’d been there for a full moon now, and had acquired a fuzzy coating of soot. As the winter deepened, she feared she would start getting requests for food from villages too weak to hunt or fish. In thirty-three summers, Tila had never refused to send food to any Hills village in need … until this summer. The harvests had been so bad, Atotarho Village simply could not spare a single kernel of corn. People had to fend for themselves as best they could. She prayed they all survived the winter. It was not going to be easy.
Tila clutched her cup and slowly, methodically, brought it to her lips. The warmth eased her pain a little. As she lowered the cup, a small amount shook out onto her cape. She just stared at it, too weak to even brush it away. The doeskin was little more than a rag anyway, worn through in too many places to count. What did it matter if it also bore a few stains? Tila heaved a sigh. She’d been fastidious her entire life. Everything had to be clean and polished, and in its proper place. She’d wanted her daughters to learn … Her daughters. All gone now. And her sisters, too.
As the pain in her chest throbbed, she squinted at the fragrant baskets of dried herbs, arranged according to size, nestled on the floor to her left. To her right, pots filled with corn kernels, beans, and squash seeds lined the wall. Heavy rocks served as lids to keep the pesky mice out.