The word of Kopporu’s own clan members would inevitably be suspect in the tribal assembly which would judge Kopporu’s conduct. The word of the old members of Kopporu’s personal guard—Aktako and her close friends—would be even more suspect.
The young warriors who made up almost all that was left of the Kiktu would be torn and confused. On the one hand, their esteem for Kopporu’s prowess in battle—once again dramatically confirmed—would draw them toward her. On the other hand, they would be horrified at Kopporu’s actions.
Confusion and uncertainty would be the inevitable result. Chaos would develop, and grow. Different bands of warriors would advance alternate and conflicting proposals—with all the vigor and hot-headed impetuosity of youth. Who was to guide the deliberations, and maintain order? Kopporu? Impossible—she was the issue at hand. Gortoku? Or one of the other battle leaders? Possibly. But it was unlikely that members of other battle groups would accept the authority of any of the battle leaders. The battle leaders were all young themselves. Tried in battle, to be sure, but not in custom and law.
These were the thoughts that filled Guo’s brain, as she made her way that morning along the path. The guide, she noted absently, was still leading them northward.
After a time, she became aware of Woddulakotat’s presence. His little mantle, she saw with surprise, was suffused with azure irritation.
“Are you really so ignorant?” demanded the eumale.
“What do you mean?” She was too surprised by the question to be angered by its impudence. (She would learn, very quickly, that the subservient timidity of males was less fact than fiction; and, over time, would grow thankful for it.)
The azure was suddenly—for just a fleeting moment—replaced by green affection.
“Truly, you are a battlemother. Have you spent any time in the yurts of the mothers?”
“Very little. As little as possible, in fact. I was bored.”
“You can no longer afford to be bored, Guo. The responsibility for the tribe is now in your arms.”
Guo’s own mantle flooded azure. “I know that! What do you think I’ve been thinking about, ever since we started off this morning?”
Woddulakotat made the gesture of reproof.
“Then why aren’t you talking to us?” At that moment, Yurra appeared alongside him.
Guo was dumbfounded. “Why would I talk to you?”
Both males were now positively glowing azure—no, more! Bright blue.
“Idiot,” said Yurra. “We are your closest advisers. You will have others, of course. But, always, a mother’s closest advisers are her husbands.”
Guo was too interested in the information to take offense at the truemale’s outrageous conduct.
“Really?”
The two males stared at her in silence. Slowly, the blue faded from their mantles.
“As I said, truly a battlemother.” Woddulakotat whistled humorously. “Guo, the one group of advisers you can always trust are your husbands. You do not need to take our advice, of course. Males are not always wise.”
“Neither are females,” interjected Yurra forcefully.
“But whether our advice is wise or not, you need never fear that it contains hidden motives. We are your husbands. Not yet, of course—but we will be.”
“Did the Great Mother—”
“Always,” replied Woddulakotat.
“Every night,” added Yurra. Another whistle. “Well, not every night. Even in her old age, the Great Mother was a lusty—”
“Yurra!” Guo was shocked.
But, despite her prudish innocence, Guo was not really a timid youngster. She had been assured and assertive even before the battle. Now, with the battle behind her, she was rapidly growing in self-confidence. It was strange, to her, this idea that one would discuss important matters with—males. But…
And so, as the day wore on, she began slowly opening her thoughts to her preconsorts. Tentatively, at first; then with increasing frankness.
Not long after she began her discussion with them, Yurra and Woddulakotat brought another of their malebond forward. Iyopa, his name was. Guo discovered that every malebond had at least one member who specialized in learning the tribe’s traditions and laws.
“The mother needs her own memory,” explained Iyopa. The gesture of suspicion. “You can’t always trust a clan leader’s memory, no matter how old they are. Especially when the matter involves relations between the clans. It’s amazing how every old clan leader suddenly remembers the law differently—always, of course, to the benefit of her own clan.”