A November Sky

Chapter Six

By the next senat, father had developed a whooping cough. It weakened his body, setting his shoulders quaking and his stomach cramping, worse when he tried to speak. He didn't wave me over this time, and I spent the entire meeting standing along the wall, serving the men. My fingers and shoulders ached from holding my heavy jug of cider—Catanya's idea of punishment.

The men ate freely, drinking their way through our winter cider. There was no venison at this senat, only striped bass and squash and corn, dried in the spring and soaked overnight to reopen the kernels. It was the least of our stores, but still I counted the bass and squash and corn as they disappeared, imagining the shelves of the storage house growing bare.

Kocoum ate little, speaking most of the meeting, requesting updates on the hunting ground survey, asking questions about the foliage, the soil conditions, the water sources. I ignored the discussion, narrowing my focus to the jug in my arms; the hunt had always been his area of expertise. I circled the room, peeking over the councilor's shoulders, my arms shaking when I lifted the jug to drizzle cider into the empty cups.

Kocoum tipped back the last of his cider. "My thanks, Ahanu." He motioned me forward with his raised cup. To the rest of the council, he said, "Is there any other truth you would have us discuss?"

I accepted his cup, the clay rough against my palm. I tipped the jug to pour.

One of the younger councilors stood. The mark of the Arrohateck stretched over his right bicep, his hunting arm. The Arrohateck were renowned for their skill with the bow and arrow. "My Powhatan, you have no heir. My daughter, Hurit, is beautiful and bore her first husband three sons. She would be honored to unite with the tribe." The serving woman from the last senat stepped forward.

I sloshed cider onto Kocoum's moccasins. He jerked, cringing when his left thigh pulled tight. He pressed the heel of his palm to the muscles, rubbing up then down, trying to work out the kinks without standing or stretching. I set the cup on the dirt and stepped back, my shoulders pressed to the sapling wall.

The councilors erupted, each speaking over the other, arguing for me, for Hurit, for their own daughters. The Arrohateck stood, his arms moving wildly, and two more councilors followed. "Spring approaches, and there must be no doubt of the strength of the Powhatan line." Someone kicked a clay platter, spraying corn and squash across the dirt.

Kocoum raised a hand for silence, and the council members sat. "The tribe appreciates your generosity. When the grand councilor and I decide to take such action, we will accept your recommendations."

As I stood in the shadows at the back of the longhouse, listening to the men discuss my fate, the handles of the cider jug bore into my palms.

* * *

I escaped the longhouse as soon as the meeting closed. Kocoum followed moments after me, the quickest he'd ever returned to our hut from a senat.

"Tass." The bearskin door flap swung closed behind him. "Be calm."

I rifled through a basket of our clothes, sorting the laundry I had to wash in the icy river the next morning. I tossed a torn shirt onto the furs; I'd have to sew it first so the current didn't rip the hole wider. "Calm." I laughed, some strangled sound that couldn't belong to me. "Why wouldn't I be calm? They're just offering you their daughters."

"Of course they are, because you're never around."

I dropped the clothes into their basket and stood. "I'm always here. Overseeing our winter supplies, washing your clothes, doing everything for my people. I—I'm losing myself, and you don't see it."