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Fox Mask could say what she wanted, but their leader carried himself as do men who are accustomed to admiration. He had poise, a trait Secha respected. Despite knowing he faced an overwhelmingly superior force that could kill him and his warriors easily, he showed no sign of fear without, however, blustering in the manner of warriors such as Cat Mask and Lizard Mask who relied on muscle more than brain to win their skirmishes.
Behind her, flames crackled, eating through the latticework of kindling sticks, and bigger branches were stacked on the fire to let it blaze. Feather Cloak took her place within the aura of light as the council gathered in a ring, facing the light.
“Speak,” said Feather Cloak. “Let me hear your words.”
“Let us take them as an offering and be done with it,” said the blood knives.
“No,” said Feather Cloak. “It is foolish to throw away such a powerful weapon.”
“How can this spell he speaks of be used as a weapon?” asked the blood knives.
“Why fight at all?” asked Eldest Uncle. “If humankind is so weakened, it is best to parley. We can rebuild if we are at peace. We cannot rebuild if we are at war.”
Zuangua smirked, regarding his twin. Old rivalry existed between the siblings, twined together with long affection. “You have forgotten, Brother, that most of our people are those who were caught in shadow, betwixt and between. For us the war is yesterday, not three or four generations ago. For us, there can be no peace!”
“War is better.” Fox Mask’s statement ran like an echo back through those assembled. Only in the trees behind Secha was there silence, where waited her mate and her son and her infant daughters.
“War,” said the others.
“War!” they cried.
She looked toward the fence, feeling that they were being watched. Indeed, the man with sun hair had walked without fear up to the rock wall. He stood there, listening and watching and able, most likely, to understand the meat of the debate without understanding the skin that was its surface of words. Secha admired him for his exotic beauty, but also for a self-possession untroubled by any ripple of uncertainty. It meant a lot to hold firm in the face of the unknown.
For this reason, she knew she must speak, as was her right.
“Listen,” she said. “I have something to say. Why should we trust this golden one? He means to betray his own kind. Why not betray us in turn? He is brave and bold, it is true. Is he brave and bold enough to pretend to be our ally while leading us into death?”
“It’s true that all he claims to want is that woman,” said Feather Cloak. She did not bother to hide her disgust. “It doesn’t seem like much.”
“‘That’ woman is a great deal,” said Eldest Uncle. “She will be hard to defeat, and difficult to capture and hold.”
“But a fine armful to hold, so they say!” said Zuangua with a laugh.
Feather Cloak pulled a mighty grimace. Her indignation made her young uncle laugh again.
“Jealousy is a sharp spear,” Zuangua retorted, and Secha supposed it was so. He was cleverer than he acted, that one.
“I am not jealous!”
“You may not be, if you say so, but the Pale Sun Dog is. He is jealous of your son for having what he wants for himself.”
Feather Cloak seemed ready to burst with anger, so Secha cut in. “What man can help himself when faced with a creature born half of fire? Moths will die in flames. So might men, unable to resist that brilliance.”
“That is true, at least,” said Feather Cloak, mollified, “for I traveled for a time with my son in human lands. There was some head butting as men will do, over that woman. Yet even so, as Secha says, why should we trust this Pale Dog? Even my own son has turned against us and cast his loyalty in with his father’s people.”
“Is it certain your son means to fight us?” asked Secha. “When was this news known? The Bright One did not harm us. She aided our cause.”
“If any can convince him, it would be his wife,” said Eldest Uncle, taking hold of Secha’s line of argument. “She is not against us. She is not our enemy.”
Feather Cloak shook her head decisively. “She is too powerful and must be killed. That judgment was passed on her in exile, was it not? By the one who wore the feathered cloak before me?”
“Since your words are true, there is no answer to them,” said Eldest Uncle. “But we no longer live in exile. Everything has changed. Our strategy must change as well.”
“She walked the spheres!”
“As did you, Daughter! Think of this: the rope that bound us to the aether is severed. No one can ascend that ladder again. She is not our enemy.”
“Who is blinded by brilliance now?” demanded Feather Cloak. “I say, capture her, and give her to the blood knives.”
