“The Great Mother chose wisely,” whispered Oroku. “I can think of no better person to become our Great Mother in this darkest of all nights.” A faint, humorous whistle. “A kuopto Great Mother! I almost wish the clan leaders were still alive, so I could watch them tremble in fear. May they rot in the Meat for eternity.”
A brown ripple washed across Oroku’s mantle. “And besides, Guo, I will be spawnless. There are no males left to the tribe, except yours. Even if there were, what malebond would mate with a mother who looked like me?” She gestured at her horribly scarred face.
Long after, looking back, Guo would decide that her love for her husbands was born at that moment.
Yurra did not hesitate.
“I would be honored to serve you, Oroku.” There was not a trace of ochre in his mantle—nothing but an exquisite tracery of every shade of green (with just a hint of white beneath). The little truemale made the gesture of obedience. “With my future mate’s permission, of course.”
“All of our bond will serve you, Oroku,” added Woddulakotat. “I would myself, if I could, and willingly. Scars are a thing of the flesh. The tribe will need your soul.” He also made the gesture of obedience. “With our future mate’s permission, of course.”
Guo was—amused, she thought at first. For all her preconsorts’ formal submissiveness, she had come to know them well enough to be certain that, if she withheld her permission, the cluster would make her life utterly miserable.
She had no intention of withholding permission, of course, and immediately made that clear—to Loapo as well as Oroku. Jealousy was by no means an unknown emotion among the Kiktu (and all gukuy), but it was not closely tied to sexual congress. Not, at least, among mothers.
She realized, suddenly, that her own mantle was flooded with green. Love for her sisters, of course. But there was more; much more. It had never occurred to her before that moment that greatness of spirit might dwell in the little bodies of males. She had a glimpse, then, of the future she would share with her husbands. Of a romance that would itself become a legend, recited by chantresses.
But it was a fleeting glimpse, for at that moment she felt a stirring in the air around her.
As she turned, she heard Oroku say: “We are as one, Guo. And remember the Great Mother’s words: Be ruthless toward all folly.”
Silence was falling over the multitude in the clearing. And it was a multitude, Guo saw. There were far more survivors than she had at first realized. The huge clearing itself held over double-eight eighties of tribespeople—and she estimated that there were at least as many packed into the cycads surrounding the clearing.
Once the silence was complete, Kopporu began to speak. She spoke slowly, for she had to shout loudly enough to be heard by all. Nevertheless, it did not take her long to tell her tale.
The battle leader recounted, in a voice devoid of all emotion, her actions over the past few eightdays. She recounted all of the steps which she had taken, including the murders of Yaua and Doroto. She also explained, very briefly, the reasons for her actions. But she made no effort to justify them, or to advance any argument in her favor. She simply presented the facts, and a description of her motives.
When Kopporu finished, she allowed a moment’s silence to pass before saying:
“Let the trial begin.”
“Now,” whispered Woddalukotat.
Guo moved forward into the clearing, her flankers on either side. The murmur which had begun to sweep the crowd after Kopporu’s last words died away. Every eye was upon Guo.
When she reached the center of the clearing, Guo slowly turned and surveyed the entire crowd in the clearing. Once she was certain that all attention was riveted upon her, she said—in that incredibly loud voice of which only mothers are capable:
“There will be no trial.”
She waited for the surprised hoots to fade away.
“There can be no trial,” she continued, “for there are no clan leaders here.”
A voice spoke from the crowd: “The tribe may act as judge!”