The People of the Black Sun (26 page)

Twenty-one

As High Matron Kittle stalked in front of her fire in the Deer Clan longhouse, her many shell rings and bracelets clicked musically. Even through the walls and the three rings of palisades, she could hear the enemy calling taunts from the catwalks of Yellowtail Village. All day long both sides had been urinating off the palisades, yelling, shaking their penises at each other, and firing arrows smeared with feces. A combination of terror and indignation tormented her. She'd barely looked at the four women who sat around her fire, drinking cups of rosehip tea. Kittle had been an utter fool. She should have listened to Jigonsaseh. Because she hadn't, innocent people had died.

The Deer Clan longhouse was smaller than the longhouses in other nations, stretching only five hundred hands long. Twenty-five fires burned down the central aisle. People stood around each blaze, their faces firelit, engaged in barely audible conversations that mostly dealt with the probable extinction of the Standing Stone nation. The hum of voices carried the low dire quality of defeat.

Since the attack, people had begun looking longingly at the corn, bean, squash, and sunflower plants that draped from the roof poles. Kittle wondered how long it would be before desperate parents started stealing them to feed their hungry children. She'd ordered all baskets of food and water pots kept in a single storehouse under heavy guard, but had not had time yet to pull down the whole plants from the roof poles. She must attend to that immediately.

Kittle swung around to glare at the other matrons. “Well? The enemy has just stuffed our kirtles down our throats. What are we going to do about it?”

She folded her arms over her knee-length dress, and waited for someone to answer. Instead, the matrons fell into a soft discussion, which Kittle found annoying. At least one of them should have shouted or raged. She wished they would. It would help relieve her tension.

Jigonsaseh of the Bear Clan sat across the fire, her smooth oval face impassive, the silver in her black hair shimmering in the firelight. To Jigonsaseh's left, Matron Dehot of the Wolf Clan hunched. She'd seen forty-five summers and had a gaunt face and black-streaked gray hair. White wolf tracks decorated her blue cape. Beside her, Matron Sihata of the Hawk Clan fiddled with her white hair, twisting it nervously. She'd seen sixty summers. Her deeply wrinkled face resembled a shriveled plum. To Jigonsaseh's right sat Matron Daga, formerly of White Dog Village, now a refugee. Her toothless mouth kept trembling, as though she couldn't keep it still.

Fear glittered in the eyes of each one, except Jigonsaseh's. Her large dark eyes were as calm as obsidian—hard and translucent. Warfare was something she understood better than any of them, and Kittle was heartily glad to have her on the Ruling Council.

Kittle irritably braced her legs. She hadn't eaten all day—as a symbol—and felt light-headed. Her hunger was exacerbated by the sweet scent of cornmeal mush that filled the air. She'd ordered rations cut by half. No one was happy about it. She looked down the length of the house, surveying haunted expressions.

Finally, Dehot leaned forward. “High Matron, I would speak.” Her short black-streaked gray hair fell around her gaunt face.

“Please do.”

Dehot respectfully dipped her head to Sihata, begging forbearance that she'd asked to speak first. If was generally accepted that Sihata's sixty summers gave her that right. Sihata gestured for Dehot to go on.

Dehot straightened her blue cape. “We all have different ideas, High Matron. Personally, I think we should send a messenger to Chief Atotarho telling him we agree to surrender if he will grant us the right to—”

“Surrender, Dehot?” Kittle's fists clenched. “Have you no confidence at all in our warriors?”

“You know I do, Kittle. But I am also a practical person. What good are three hundred trained warriors and a bunch of children with toy bows against perhaps two thousand? Even if we can trust War Chief Sindak, his group only adds another forty-one trained warriors. I do not see the utility in sacrificing our people in a futile cause.”

Kittle started to respond, but Matron Daga said, “You're a coward, Dehot. You always have been. We should fight until our last breaths! When we surrender, Atotarho will murder our warriors anyway, and then he'll take the rest of us as slaves.”

Dehot tartly replied, “He'll take the children and young women. Atotarho makes a point of killing all the warriors and elders of any village he conquers. So—”

In a very quiet voice, Matron Sihata broke in, “May I speak, High Matron?” She was sweating; white hair stuck wetly to her wrinkled cheeks.

“Yes.”

Sihata shifted to face Daga. Both snowy-haired and wrinkled, they would be twins were it not for Sihata's bulbous nose. “I agree with Kittle and Daga that we should fight for as long as we can before we are forced to surrender—though, like Daga, I have no illusions about our victory.”

A particularly fierce gust of wind shivered the longhouse's repaired walls, and ash swirled in the firelight.

“So,” Kittle said in a hard-edged voice, “one of you wishes to surrender now, and two of you wish to surrender after we've been defeated. Is there anyone else here, besides me, who thinks we can win?”

The entire length of the longhouse went silent. Every person strained to hear. Her question must seem pure foolishness, yet she knew each wanted to believe, and belief was often the difference between survival and death.

Jigonsaseh's eyes narrowed.

Kittle stared at her. Jigonsaseh always waited until the elder matrons spoke before she addressed the matrons' council, but tonight she seemed to need time to process every other opinion before opening her mouth.

“Jigonsaseh?” Kittle prompted. “Have you anything to say?”

Jigonsaseh slowly lifted her gaze from the fire and her eyes locked with Kittle's. “I respectfully suggest that we cease focusing on the end, and start at the beginning.”

“What do you mean?” Dehot asked.

Jigonsaseh extended her arm toward the longhouse entry where the curtain swayed in the night wind. “Let me tell you what's going on in the hearts of your warriors on the catwalks. They don't care how much food and water we have, or whether we will surrender or win. Each is concentrated on just one thing. Surviving for the next one hand of time. And that, matrons, is what should concern us.”

“Are you saying we shouldn't plan in case we are defeated?” Dehot asked.

Jigonsaseh raised her voice. “Defeat is
impossible
, Dehot.”

There was a stunned moment where people throughout the longhouse just blinked and shuffled their feet. Somewhere in the middle of the house a dog's tail thumped the floor.

Dehot, incredulous, said, “Why? Because you expect Sky Messenger to save us? I believe his vision, too, but—”

“No, Matron,” Jigonsaseh slowly replied, “because we are going to kill our enemies.”

The power and conviction in Jigonsaseh's voice rang through the longhouse. Jigonsaseh had been one of the great war chiefs of the Standing Stone nation. Though she had not been a war chief in many summers, people still trusted her.

Conversations eddied like waves up and down the length of the house, people repeating her words to elders who couldn't hear very well, questions washing back. A general cacophony rose, people murmuring, “
Jigonsaseh has a plan.… She's in charge of our warriors.… She's never lost a battle in her life!”

Kittle lifted her chin and stared down her straight nose at Jigonsaseh. “Explain.”

Dehot, Sihata, and Daga turned to Jigonsaseh, awaiting her next words. Jigonsaseh looked around the circle, meeting each elder's eyes, then scanned the listeners in the longhouse, and at last looked back at Kittle. When she wanted to, Jigonsaseh's gaze could pierce like an arrow to the heart—as it did now.

“War Chief Deru has informed me that there may be five hundred enemy warriors in Yellowtail Village. They've already started repairing the palisades and longhouses, which means they plan to stay.”

“To use it as a stronghold from which to attack us?”

“Yes. They won't allow us to venture beyond our gates for food or water. While they repair Yellowtail Village, however, they'll probably conserve their arrows. They'll kill anyone who tries to go outside, and entertain themselves by firing a few random shots at our cat-calling warriors. Once they've secured their defenses, though, they'll start launching volleys of arrows into Bur Oak Village, probably flaming arrows into our longhouses. That will force us to use what little water we have to put out the fires. We must kill them before they can do that.”

More murmurs echoed through the house, questioning voices. Speculations were running rampant.

“How?”

Jigonsaseh replied, “We're going to burn down Yellowtail Village with as many of them inside as we can. If we plan it correctly, we can kill all five hun—”

“Burn down Yellowtail Village?” Sihata asked in a frail elderly voice. “How will we accomplish that? They watch our gates like falcons. Any warriors we send out will be killed instantly.”

“Not if we select the right warriors,” Kittle said as her thoughts raced.

Dehot leaned toward Jigonsaseh and placed a clawlike hand upon her arm. “Who? If Sky Messenger were here, perhaps the Faces of the Forest might protect him long enough for him to—”

“Sindak and Gonda have volunteered for the task. They are the right people.”

Kittle unfolded her arms. Like everyone else in the circle, she gaped at Jigonsaseh, who gazed back stoically. Kittle had to admit that she liked Sindak, but trust him? That was quite another thing.

Dehot said, “Gonda, of course, but War Chief Sindak? What makes you think he will fire the village instead of traipsing right over there and spilling every detail of our defenses?”

Kittle suddenly felt shaky. Everything might depend upon this, and Jigonsaseh wanted to send Sindak, rather than a group of their own loyal warriors? She went to the fire and sat down in her usual place, on a fire-warmed deerhide. As she dipped her cup into the teapot sunk into the coals at the edge of the flames, she said, “Let us all think about this for a time.”

“Sindak is here because he was chosen by Power,” Jigonsaseh said.

Dehot laughed. “Is that your opinion? Are you certain enough that you would risk everything—”

“I am,” Jigonsaseh interrupted. She stared unblinking at Dehot, her eyes narrowed.

Kittle took a drink of tea to give herself time to consider the ramifications of what would happen if Sindak betrayed them.

Daga said, “Only two days ago he
apparently
betrayed Atotarho. If he would betray his own people, why wouldn't he betray us even more easily—perhaps for a price?”

Dehot nodded vigorously. “I think he's unreliable. We need—”

“We need Sindak,” Jigonsaseh countered. “He's not here by accident.”

Kittle said, “Please explain why you think he's necessary for the assault.”

The jeering and obscene calls coming from outside were growing louder. Something thumped the wall right behind Kittle. She spun around to see an arrow lodged in the bark wall just above her sleeping bench. The warriors had been exchanging shots all day, but this was the first one that had skewered her bedding hides. She hoped it wasn't one of the arrows smeared with feces.

She turned back and gave Jigonsaseh a “hurry, will you?” look. “Explain, please.”

“First, Sindak knows the weaknesses of every warrior occupying Yellowtail Village. He knows if they tend to aim left or right, if they have vision problems, who their wives and husbands are, the names of their children, what frightens them. More important, Sindak was a greatly beloved war chief. I believe that if he's spotted, his warriors might hesitate for an instant before letting fly, and often that is enough time to kill an opponent.”

Sihata twisted her clawlike hands in her lap. “That makes sense to me. There will certainly be no hesitation if they see one of our warriors.”

“No,” Kittle answered. “There won't. Dehot? Daga? What do you think of Matron Jigonsaseh's explanation?”

Dehot had her head down, thinking, staring at the glowing branches in the fire. “Well, I am not convinced. But perhaps it is an opportunity.”

“An opportunity?”

“Yes. Why not give Atotarho's former war chief the chance to prove he's loyal to us? Frankly, if he does not survive, it will be an insignificant loss.”

“But what if he reveals the details of our defenses?” Daga asked.

Kittle said, “Well, what could he tell them? That we only have three days of water left? They'll know that soon enough anyway.”

“But they don't know we only have three hundred trained warriors. If he tells Ato—”

Jigonsaseh said, “Atotarho doesn't care. We could have one thousand left and it would make no difference. He knows he greatly outnumbers us. He thinks he's invincible. And that's why we're going to kill him.”

Hadui flung aside the door curtain at the opposite end of the house and battered his way through the fires, shoving sparks and smoke in front of him. As it gushed over the matrons' council meeting, the women closed their eyes and turned away. Kittle waited until Hadui had whipped aside the curtain to her left, and sailed outside into the darkness before she drew up her knees and propped her teacup atop them. Steam curled into the warm air before her.

Kittle forced confidence into her voice, though she didn't feel it. “I am satisfied with Matron Jigonsaseh's suggested course of action. Are there any other questions?”

Dehot shook her head. Sihata stared at the hands in her lap, and Daga wiped her nose on her sleeve.

Kittle gave Jigonsaseh a firm nod. “Make your plan. I'll find a way to push it through the Ruling Council.”