Khaya and Asanda entered together, and they had the grace to keep their heads bowed, though Nomvula had taken offence to their dismissal on their behalf. Asanda, never one for ceremony, entered in her botany robes, dyed white so that no stain from her many dangerous plants went unnoticed. Her temper must have been great if she had needed to retired to her private garden. Khaya had gone through the courtesy of wearing his finest kudu-hide loincloth. His single-string white bead necklace hung down to his round belly.
"Sit," Nomvula said, throwing a subtle sign with her fore and small finger to indicate where.
The nine crones of Fifth Hill eyes them with shifting degrees of indifference and distrust. Such councils rarely had less than fully recognised women unless it was to chastise them for misdeeds. They almost never had men. They never had boys. All the same, they said nothing as Nomvula waited for her children to sit down either side of where she stood, just slightly behind her.
Asanda knew the workings of all the Hundred Hills irrigation systems, the crop reports, the harvesting and storing schedules. She kept stock of all resources better than Nomvula could. Khaya status as a boy had limited where Nomvula could train him, but he had a mind for the art of research and trade, and Nomvula kept the library well stocked. Ndoda knew cattle like a teacher knew children. Compared to them, Nomvula had long decided, all the crones did was eat the food her children grew and enforce the laws they studied and secretly helped Third Hill refine. Had the Elder Council not been so tightly woven into the social fabric of the village, she would have long ago said as much.
Satisfied, the Royal Diviner gave Nomvula the sign to begin the meeting. Rather than charge headlong into it, Nomvula looked out the window at the men in the delegate yard and waiting for someone to break rank.
"Nomvula," Mambhayi said, "you have much to explain. Best you get started."
Nomvula's eyes never left the yard. The men sitting there could only see what was happening inside, but what they saw – what she showed them – was a council where she stood and others sat, and though they could not hear, they knew on whose words the whole room waited.
"Old women," Nomvula began, "you have made it known that you do not approve of the ships I keep on the Wayfarer."
"They are expensive and do nothing for the land," the Royal Diviner said, who was the only other person standing.
"They keep the Elephants away," Nomvula said patiently. "Some of them navigate a trade route from Mapungabwe to the Horn that will pay for the entire fleet in full in the next ten years." Three years if I didn't have to dedicate so many to defence. "Peace is expensive, yes, but the cost of war is irredeemable."
"It was for war that Sonele married you," the Royal Diviner said. "Your ancestors were the Spears, who never lost in open battle. He needed a contingency for when peace failed."
"My ancestors were also the Suns, Wise One, who were learned and patient and prosperous." At praising their name, Nomvula felt their attention turn the tiniest degree towards her again. "I was named for the Great Storm of the East, but though thunder shakes the earth and lightning burns the land, the purpose of every storm is rain to flood the rivers we prosper besides, and enrich the lands we sow. That, Wise One, is why Sonele wanted my ancestors beside his. And it is for peace that I made the decision – as your Queen – to end our fruitless tensions with Ndlovu."
The words that Nomvula allowed out of her mouth were rarely ill-considered. Though it left her tongue foul to say them, though it made her want to throw herself against the walls in disgust, she saw the twitch in the Royal Diviner at fruitless tension. The bait was not in vain.
The Royal Diviner took a step towards Nomvula, her black paint drinking in the fury of her expression, leaving only the hurt and disgust woven into her whispering voice. "Sonele's murder was not the cause of... fruitless tension. Ndlovu caved his skull in."
Nomvula nodded. "In open combat, just as you know Dumani will do to your future king unless we take the steps to rise above these conflicts. Mambhayi, old and compassionate one, it was you who offered me the greatest words when the crones of the Hills came to speak wisdom on my wedding day. You told me that we are the cycles we do not break."
The old woman shifted uncomfortably where she sat, but she did not budge. The Royal Diviner had possessed the ear of the King, but Mambhayi had been one of the many in the village that had raised the boy prince. Nomvula suspected no one harboured a heavier and colder need for vengeance than her, and to part with it, she would need a trade of immeasurable value. But what was more valuable to the old than the years lost to a grudge?
In battle, you could advance, hold, or retreat. In trade, you could offer, steal, or threaten.
Nomvula retreated into her worst fear. "Above all that, my old women, yes, my old women, because it is the possession of your fates that makes my crown heavy. There is a greater danger at play, one that will make us nostalgic of having ever had Ndlovu as a nemesis."
The Royal Diviner clicked her tongue. "Dumani is no threat, not even to Ndoda."
"Dumani is a very big threat – because he is a predator threatened." Nomvula touched the sealed cut on her littlest finger. "The Sunspear is risen."
All the crones exchanged looks. Some of them chuckled openly.
The Royal Diviner looked at Nomvula, the black shards of her eyes searching. Whatever she found, it cut her eyes to slits. "We will discuss the matter of Dumani and Ndlovu later. The Queen and I need to go to the kraal."
Nomvula felt a second weight, like the hand of a large man laid casually on her shoulder. The Spears were listening, which was rarely the omen for good things. "Yes, we do."