Page 77 of Warlords, Witches & Wolves

She stared him down. “That may be so, but I must try something different. If I fail, you can choose to kill more of our men in a revenge attack and keep the circle of death spinning.” She glanced at the others around the table. “I will take a wagon for the bodies. I want the rest of you to prepare for their burial.”

“Do you think that is wise, Shuree?” Erhi asked.

She shook her head. “I know it is not, but we can’t continue to do the same thing and hope for a different outcome.”

“I don’t like it,” Amar said.

“I know, brother. But until Erhi confirms you as new khan, I am in charge. Does anyone else have any suggestions?”

They all shook their heads.

“Then we will go on as planned. Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to talk to our new widows.” She left the yurt. There hadn’t been as much argument as she’d expected. Perhaps she wasn’t the only one who realised things couldn’t continue as they had been.

She exhaled and went into the tent of Altan who had lost her husband and her son to the fighting. Altan sat on the bed, hugging her fourteen-year-old daughter. The yurt was filled with a bitter cleansing smoke so the spirits of the deceased wouldn’t want to return and would instead travel into the sky to meet with Qadan, God of Life.

“I am so very sorry for your loss,” Shuree said.

They turned to her, the daughter a younger version of her mother and both with reddened eyes and tear-stained cheeks. “Tribal Mother, this has to stop,” Altan said. “We keep losing our men.”

“I am going to talk to the Erseg tribe tomorrow. I will get their bodies back so we can have a proper burial.”

“They won’t listen. They’ll kill you, or keep you there.”

“Maybe.” She hugged Altan, who clung to her for a long moment. Altan’s daughter sniffed and threw her arms around them both. Shuree’s heart ached. “I have asked the council to prepare for the burial. The people will dig their graves tomorrow.”

“Thank you, Shuree. May Qadan ride with you.”

“If you need anything before I return, talk to Amar or Nergui.”

She jolted. Her grandmother. She hadn’t seen her yet and she had just lost her son and two grandsons. As a previous Tribal Mother, Nergui would understand Shuree’s commitments, but as soon as Shuree left Altan, she went straight to her grandmother’s yurt.

Her grandmother sat at the table, a mug in front of her, and her eyes red rimmed. “I hear you are going to talk to the Erseg.” The quaver in her voice brought tears to Shuree’s eyes.

She poured herself a drink, her hand shaking, spilling some of the mare’s milk.

“I am.” She sat next to Nergui and leaned into her as her grandmother stroked her arm. Hot tears ran silently down her face.

“I wish you safe travels,” Nergui murmured. “I admire your courage. My son should have never sought revenge.”

It didn’t matter. He had paid the price. Shuree’s body jerked as the tears took over, wrenching the pain from her body. She took deep breaths to control herself. She still had a job to do.

“Let it go, child,” her grandmother said. “We can both grieve here. The others can wait a few more minutes for you.”

Shuree buried her head in her grandmother’s chest and felt her own sobs as they both cried for all they had lost.

After she had cried herself dry, she sat up, wiping her face on her arm sleeve. She sipped her milk and when she was sure she could speak she said, “Should I not return, take care of Amar for me.”

Her grandmother nodded as she used her thumbs to wipe away her own tears. “I will.”

Shuree kissed her grandmother goodbye and continued to visit the bereaved families. In each yurt she heard the same words: things had to change, people were tired of losing their loved ones. Her sisters-in-law were particularly vocal. They had seven children between them. Shuree prayed talking with the Erseg would work.

She hesitated outside Gan’s yurt. She had never liked him, didn’t like the way he influenced Amar and had a lust for violence. But his father had died in the raid, and his mother might need comforting. She called out before entering and found Gan pacing the tent, his mother sobbing on the bed surrounded by her other children. Gan whirled to her.

“What is this goat dung I hear? You want to talk to the Erseg killers? They’re murderers, barbarians.” The hostility in his eyes almost made her step back. Instead she moved towards his mother, keeping an eye on him.

“Thirty-three men have died in the past two days,” she said. “We can’t afford to lose any more.”

Gan spouted vile expletives at her and his mother sat up, wiping her eyes. “You apologise to our Tribal Mother immediately!”

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