Ktwala walked back to the Wheel Clan, bowed. “Great King,” she said, “we’re happy when others speak our tongue, even if they speak it badly.”
“Only our studiers fully understand your language,” the king said. “The wrong word, the wrong gesture, can cause true meaning to be missed.”
“I would not have the King of the Wheel Clan misunderstand my heart’s meaning.”
Annoyed with her mother, Maharai approached the pale one. “Are you a boy or a girl? Or are you this clan’s guardian spirit? Why are you so white?”
“You ask too many questions,” the honey-skinned boy shouted at her. “It’s rude.”
She retorted, “And why do you smell like that? Like old men. Like herbs and pharma. Are you sick?”
A blush covered the face of the honey-skinned studier; the large loose curls cascading over his forehead could not hide the shamed eyes.
I have hurt his heart, Maharai thought. I should not have. Not knowing how to retract her question, she turned to Nahas: “Where are your women? Why aren’t they here? Old Jion says a Wheel Clan chief can have many wives. Is that why you’re here? To steal our women. We won’t let you, you know! These sons of yours? Why don’t they look like you, or like each other?”
“My children are peace children, Girlie,” the king said. “Born from marriage alliances. Different tribes, different mothers, different alliances.”
Her mother pushed her aside. “Great King, be assured, we will touch nothing in your orchards or fenced fields.”
“All that I have is yours,” the king replied. “I have ordered my stewards to help you.”
“How can I repay the kindness of the great King Nahas?” Ktwala asked.
“Noble Ktwala,” the king answered, “your presence in our longhouse is payment enough. Even now, our women prepare a feast for you. Til then, your women may glean in our orchards and your warriors may hunt in our forests.”
“We may be night-tossed,” Ktwala answered, “but we’re a hardy people and have much food. Let us repay you for your kindness. Let us prepare a feast for you, and let us not intrude upon the burial of your noble dead.”
“We will not take what little you have.” The king took Ktwala’s hand in his, kissed her fingertips, then said, “After our stewards and warriors have burned our dead, they will find some respite in hunting with your noble clan. But now, I must speak to my captains. Wait here until I return. Then you and I will go to the meadow and talk.”
Maharai watched as he and some of his warriors walked to a nearby hill while the younger Wheel Clan boys remained and played with the Iden children.
“Their chief wants to lie with you in the meadow,” she said. “And that ghost boy wishes to lie with Gidea. I know that look. Remember when we lost Corrie to that warrior from the Preying Bird Clan? Aren’t you worried he’ll try to steal you away?”
“I would not mind him stealing me away.” Ktwala giggled. “And stop being so mouthy. Am I not allowed some joy in my life? Your father is dead, and I am still alive. And look, they are a noble and kind people. They may give us some of their tower science.”
“And those two over there!” Maharai nodded in the direction of two young warriors who stood nearby, one dark-haired and slender, the other pale-haired and slightly stockier. “Their eyes are eating up our poor Tolika.”
“Tolika’s eyes are eating them up as well.”
“I don’t like these Wheel Clan men.”
“Better a Wheel Clan husband.” She laughed. “Or husbands. Than the harsh men of our clan.”
Maharai only knew the harshness of Gidea’s son. “Are Peacock Clan men all harsh, Mother?”
“Have you not seen? You’re only fifteen now, but soon you’ll understand such things. All men do not treat their wives as disdainfully as our men do. How lucky you have been not to meet any Peacock Clan men these past two years! They surely would have taken you from me.”
Maharai walked toward the two warriors. Smiling, bowing, she told them her objections to their lustful gazes, told them all her heart because she doubted they understood her. The pale-haired warrior gestured that he did not understand. The dark-haired warrior said nothing. When she finished speaking, she began walking away but the dark-haired warrior called out to her.
“My name is Lan, not ‘stupid pale-skinned luster’ and I understood all you said just now.”
She swallowed hard. “Did you?”
He shrugged. “I did.”
CHAPTER 9
THE WAR COUNCIL ON THE NEARBY HILL
Atop the nearby hill, Psal waited for his father to speak.
“I like this woman Ktwala and her clan,” the king said to Gaal and his captains. “No doubt some of you have also noticed the beauty of these Iden women.”
“That we have,” Seagen answered. “They’re all lovely.”
“Well,” Lebo said, “not all. But the lovely ones are lovely.”
The king laughed. “In the days of my Father, we stole such women. As many as we desired. In the past, I forbade it. But now…Tsbosso’s treachery, the edict of the neutral clans, and these years of war—well, we can hardly put down our weapons and go about seeking wives, can we? And the lack of women in our longhouses has caused turmoil.”
“But earlier.…” Psal tried to push away his growing fear. “You spoke of an alliance?”
“I cannot afford to leave their brothers alive.”
Psal looked down the hill at the Iden children playing with the Wheel Clan boys near a fire. The small boys in loincloths, their buttocks bare; the girls in hemp or buckskin skirts and beaded necklaces. His heart went out to them. “This is a small, small, small people, Nahas.”
“Not small enough.” Nahas looked down at Ktwala who stood speaking with Ephan.
“Put away your frowning, Chief Studier,” Orian said. “I’ll admit, I feared the consequences of your birth. Many thought Nahas had gone mad when he allowed you to live. Later, when word of your petulance was sung among our towers and we understood that we had a mad prince on our hands, we feared your weakness would influence our good king. And now you are Chief Studier for all our clan. Nevertheless I trust our king’s strength. When you rescued us from our longhouse, I saw a young man who seemed to have a good head on his shoulders, not the pitiful boy I had feared, but—”
“I care little for your fears, Orian.” Psal turned to Nahas. “I challenge the king because I see no logic in his decision. Why make unwanted enemies? Why not create new allies? Why must we murder innocents to take women?”
“With the arrival of Orian’s men, the number in our longhouse has increased,” the king answered. “Many died when Orian’s longhouse was burned. Wives, comfort women, daughters. Women are a necessity.”
“But,” Psal stammered. “You promised an alliance.”
“Strays and unallied they may be,” Seagen said, “But do you think a Peacock sub-clan will keep a covenant with us in time of war? Even a marriage alliance?”
“If we taught them how to keen…just a little, they would not betray us,” Psal said. “Their women would be living with us. Why would they betray the alliance? Remember, also, that in the old times, kidnapped women would put bitterness aside because they knew their men remained alive. But if we kill the Iden men, these women.…”
“Father,” Netophah said, and all eyes turned