The People of the Black Sun (17 page)

“Who is the man?” Sindak's dark eyes had gone wide and wet.

“The man we cut apart outside Bog Willow Village.”

Sindak's forehead furrowed, then his awed expression dissolved like mist in sunshine, becoming hard and filled with hatred. “What does that piece of filth have to do with the vision?”

Jigonsaseh said, “I don't really understand it, Sindak, though I was there when Old Bahna, our village holy man, explained it to Sky Messenger. He told Sky Messenger that ‘A man who hates has no eyes. He is a prisoner of darkness.' Bahna said the point was forgiveness.”

Sindak made a deep-throated sound of disgust. “Forgiveness? He wants Sky Messenger to forgive that piece of filth? That's a bad idea.”

“I thought so, too,” Gonda remarked.

Jigonsaseh said, “Bahna told Sky Messenger that all of his life he's been hiding from a memory, and that he's been afraid for so long, he doesn't know how to stop. He told Sky Messenger that he lived in a prison that he repaired every day. He added new chinking, new logs, and sealed himself in, over and over. Bahna told Sky Messenger that he had to stop it, to escape, or he'd never be able to truly see the ghosts of grief and desperation that haunt this land. That's why that foul War Chief—”

“That foul War Chief is dead, Matron,” Sindak noted. “How can forgiving him accomplish anything?”

“Bahna says he's not dead. He says that just as a warrior breathes soul into every arrow he creates, a man can breathe soul into a memory. He said Sky Messenger's hatred has kept the War Chief alive.”

“How is Sky Messenger supposed to accomplish this foolish task of forgiveness?”

Logs cracked in the plaza bonfire, belching gouts of black smoke and blue-green flames. People yipped and ran a short distance away, then returned, one at a time, to the stew pots. Sparks whirled upward into the falling snow.

“He already has. Sky Messenger and his betrothed, Taya, returned to Bog Willow Village and collected as many of his bones as they could find, then Sky Messenger prayed the ‘piece of filth's' soul to the afterlife. He says he forgave the man.”

Jigonsaseh turned and leaned her back against the palisade beside Sindak, staring out at the fire-warmed roofs of the longhouses, still mostly free of snow. Smoke escaped from the smokeholes and curled through the air in blue streamers. The workers had used rolls of bark stripped from the Yellowtail Village to repair the roofs. They were a different color, lighter brown, and created a patchwork.

“All right, let's return to my original question. In the vision”—Sindak crossed his arms—“when Elder Brother Sun flees into the black hole, where are Sky Messenger and Hiyawento standing? Where is the meadow? Does Sky Messenger think it's a real place?”

“He does. But he doesn't know where it is. Why?”

Sindak turned sideways and propped his right elbow on the palisade, facing her. “I want to be there, that's why. They're going to need loyal friends.”

After all the summers of war between their peoples she found it a curious statement. Refugees from the White Dog Village battle filled the plaza below: Gonda's village. “And are you a loyal friend, War Chief Sindak?”

He stared at her, apparently unoffended. “During the battle yesterday, both Sky Messenger and Hiyawento were right beside me. I could have killed them a hundred times. I have never, except in self-defense, lifted a weapon against either man.” He paused for two heartbeats. “Everything goes back to those children, Matron. They were chosen by Power. And you and I both know it.”

When she didn't respond, he gruffly shoved away from the palisade, glared at Gonda, and walked to the closest ladder, where he climbed down to the crowded plaza.

Jigonsaseh watched him until he rejoined his warriors, then she turned her attention back to the campfires on the distant hills, wavering through the veils of snow.

She propped her elbows on the palisade and finished the dregs of spruce needle tea in her cup. It had gone stone cold. “How did the Council Meeting go?”

“They're all terrified beyond the capacity for thought. No decisions were made.”

She handed his cup back. When he took it, their fingers briefly overlapped, which she found comforting. Over the long summers since their marriage ended, their enmity had faded and transformed into a deep friendship that she cherished.

“Sindak says Atotarho may have sent half his warriors away to punish the three Hills villages that opposed him.”

Gonda paused as though thinking it over. “Do you believe it?”

“I'm not sure it matters. He's speculating just like we are. We won't know anything until daylight tomorrow.”

 

Fourteen

The sloping hillside in front of Zateri descended to the west, flattening out into a broad gently rolling plain. For the most part, winter-gray oaks and maples covered the plain, but here and there red veins of willows stood out, tracing the paths of creeks and rivers that flowed into Skanodario Lake. In the low places, mist created shimmering white spots.

She glanced back at Kwahseti and Gwinodje. They stood with their war chiefs, surrounded by a few warriors asking questions. They had donned their white ritual capes, and the folds of the painted leather shone in the bright light. The color of the wolf paws painted on their capes defined their lineages. Kwahseti's white cape had red paws for Yi's lineage. Gwinodje's had black paws for Inawa's lineage. Zateri's white cape had blue wolf paws. All of her life they had symbolized Tila's lineage. With the death of her grandmother, however, they now symbolized Zateri's lineage. While the other matrons endeavored to extricate themselves, Zateri gazed out across the vista.

She had ordered them to stop for one hand of time to allow the litter-bearers and the walking wounded time to rest in the warm meadow, and to give her the time to speak with matrons Gwinodje and Kwahseti. They would reach Riverbank Village tomorrow, and had no idea what they would find. If they were lucky, Kwahseti's messenger had reached the village first, and her people had packed up and moved to Canassatego Village. In that case, they would find just an empty village, a place to rest for a time before they themselves continued on to Canassatego Village. But if Kwahseti's messenger had not arrived in time … if Atotarho's warriors had reached Riverbank Village first, they would find it burned to the ground and the slaughtered bodies of their relatives strewn across the forest.

Zateri shivered in the cold breath of wind that swept the hilltop and rustled through the bare-branched maples. Old autumn leaves whirled around her. If Riverbank was gone, it meant her own Coldspring Village was also probably gone. And she had no doubt but that her father had told his warriors to be especially destructive. Since Atotarho knew that cannibalism horrified Zateri, she'd already begun preparing herself for a burned-out husk of a village filled with gigantic piles of half-eaten human bones.

We live in an age of madness.

She looked at Hiyawento. Two paces away, he sat cross-legged in a patch of sunlight, gently rocking their sleeping daughter in his arms. They'd cut Kahn-Tineta's long hair in mourning for her dead sisters. As Hiyawento gazed down at her pretty face, her mouth opened slightly, revealing her missing front teeth. She could tell from Hiyawento's expression that he longed to touch her, to stroke her chopped off hair, but didn't wish to wake her.

Hiyawento's gaze shifted to the beaded belt he'd been stringing just before Kahn-Tineta had crawled into his lap. After the deaths of Catta and Jimer, he'd started gathering fresh water shells, white and purple, grinding them into long cylinder-shaped beads, and stringing them on thread made from twisted elm bark. Almost finished, the belt was completely white except for two tiny human figures near the front ties. They were deep dark purple. As he studied them, silent rage twisted Hiyawento's features.

A chill went through Zateri. No matter what role Ohsinoh had played, ultimately his baby daughters had been taken from him by Atotarho. The need for vengeance was consuming his soul. So far, he had managed to contain it, accepting that they had to get their warriors to Canassatego Village. But when they'd accomplished that, when he knew Zateri and Kahn-Tineta were safe, his inner dam would burst, and he would leave his enemy's world in flames.

Kwahseti and Gwinodje separated from the group of warriors and walked toward Zateri's fire with their heads down in quiet conversation. Their war chiefs, Thona and Waswanosh, trailed a few paces behind them. The war chiefs made a strange duo. While Waswanosh was of medium height and slender, Thona was the tallest and most heavily scarred man in the Hills nation. The scars on his face and burly arms resembled tangles of white cords. He was known for his skill with the war ax. Waswanosh's skill was battle strategy. Together, along with Hiyawento's brilliance at tactics, they made formidable leaders.

As Gwinodje and Kwahseti neared her position, they both gave her worried looks.

Kwahseti apologized, “Forgive us for taking so long. Our warriors are concerned about what we will do tomorrow.”

Zateri didn't have to ask what she meant. The word
if
hung in the air like a granite boulder suspended over their heads. “As am I. That's one of the things I wish to discuss with you.”

As the matrons seated themselves on woven willow mats spread around the fire, Zateri added another branch to the flames. She waited until Kwahseti had dipped two cups of tea from the pot nestled at the edge of the flames and handed one to Gwinodje. “Zateri, shall I dip one for you also?”

“No, I've had my fill, but thank you.”

Zateri waited a few moments longer, giving them time to get settled, then she lifted her voice: “Come. Let us bring order to the world.”

Gwinodje and Kwahseti respectfully bowed their heads, waiting for Zateri to finish the opening, as her Grandmother Tila had done for more than thirty summers. Midday sunlight streamed through the wind-blown branches. Kwahseti, Gwinodje, and Zateri sat in a perfect triangle. Their white ritual capes signified their
ohwachiras,
or maternal lineages. Since the deaths of Zateri's two aunts, she was the only female left in Tila's direct line. It was a daunting position. Their ohwachira, kinship group, could trace its descent for thousands of summers back to a common ancestor. In the case of the Wolf Clan, that descent traced back to the Creation of the World, and a great woman leader named Dancing Fox who had bravely led their clan through a dark underworld and into this world of light.

All of Zateri's life, Grandmother had trained her to understand the role of the Wolf Clan ohwachiras. They had power because of them. Ohwachiras possessed and bestowed chieftainship titles, and held the other great names of their lineages. They bestowed those names by raising up the souls of the dead and Requickening them in the bodies of newly elected chiefs, adoptees, matrons, or others. The ohwachira also had the right to remove a soul, and take back the name from anyone who disgraced it. The nation's sisterhood of ohwachiras also decided when to go to war, and when to make peace.

Zateri finished the opening, “I pray that Great Grandmother Earth hears our voices and guides us in our decisions for the good of all things, great and small. I would speak first, if there are no objections.”

The matrons shook their heads, and glanced at their war chiefs.

Three paces behind Kwahseti, her War Chief, Thona, crouched, waiting to be called upon should the council find it necessary. Three paces behind Gwinodje, her War Chief, Waswanosh, stood with his arms folded tightly across his broad chest. Hiyawento had not moved, but he'd lifted his head to listen.

Zateri smoothed her hands over her white cape and squared her narrow shoulders. “Let me speak straightly, I need to know how you think your lineages view Matron Kelek's ascension to the position of High Matron of our nation.”

Usually, upon a High Matron's death, the oldest female in her direct line underwent the Requickening ceremony, received the dead High Matron's name, and—if the former High Matron had so specified—was installed not only as the new matron of the entire clan, but also as the High Matron of the Hills nation. However, during the last meeting of the Wolf Clan ohwachiras, where Tila had presented the possibility of Zateri following her, there had been objections. Unfortunately, Tila had died without making her final successor known. Regardless of who was selected as High Matron, there should have been no question but that the High Matron would come from one of the Wolf Clan ohwachiras, which meant that Zateri, Inawa, or Yi should have ascended to the position. No one understood yet what Chief Atotarho had done to assure that the Wolf Clan would be replaced by the Bear Clan in Atotarho Village, but he'd obviously made some kind of “arrangement.”

Kwahseti shoved short gray hair away from her eyes. “The leader of my lineage, Yi, must be livid. The Wolf Clan has led the nation well for more than thirty summers. To have the Bear Clan suddenly assume leadership is an outrage.”