The Mountain Cage Read Online Free PDF Page A

people who might threaten their domain as well as ours would be banished from the shores of this land.
    Yet my doubts had grown, not about our mission, but about what might come afterward. More of our people would cross the ocean, and the Bahadurs who followed us to Yeke Geren might dream of subduing the nations we now called our friends. There could be no peace with those who did not submit to us in the end, and I did not believe the Ganeagaono and the other nations of the Long House would ever swear an oath to our Khan.
    I had dwelled on such thoughts as we sailed north, following the great river that led to Skanechtade. By the time we rowed away from the ship in our longboats, I had made my decision. I would do what I could to aid Yesuntai, but whatever the outcome of our mission, I would not return to Yeke Geren. My place was with the Ganeagaono who had granted me my life.
    “Jirandai,” Yesuntai Noyan said sofdy. He sat in the back of the long house, his back against the wall, his face hidden in shadows; I had thought he was asleep. “What do you think they will do?”
    “A few of the young chiefs want to join us. That I saw when I finished my speech.” Some of our men glanced toward me; most were sleeping on the benches that lined the walls. “We will have a few bands, at least.”
    “A few bands are useless to me,” Yesuntai muttered. “A raid would only provoke our enemies. I must have enough men to destroy them.”
    “I have done what I can,” I replied. “We can only hope my words have moved them.”
    Among the Ganeagaono, those who wanted war had to convince others to follow them. The sachems who ruled their councils had no power to lead in war; I had explained that to Yesuntai. It was up to the chiefs and other warriors seeking glory to assemble war parties, but a sign that a sachem favored our enterprise might persuade many to join us. I had watched the sachems during my speech; my son was among them. His dark eyes had not betrayed any of his thoughts.
    “I saw how you spoke, Jirandai,” Yesuntai said, “and felt the power in your words, even if I did not understand them. I do not believe we will fail.”
    “May it be so, Noyan.” I thought then of the time I had traveled west with my adoptive father along the great trail that runs to the lands of the Nundawaono. There, among the Western Gatekeepers of the Long House nations, I had first heard the tale of the great serpent brought down by the thunderbolts of Heno, spirit of storms and rain. In his death throes, the serpent had torn the land asunder and created the mighty falls into which the rapids of the Neahga River flowed. My foster father had doubts about the story’s ending, although he did not say so to our hosts. He had stood on a cliff near the falls and seen a rainbow arching above the tumultuous waters; he had heard the steady sound of the torrent and felt the force of the wind that never died. He believed that the serpent was not dead, but only sleeping, and might rise to ravage the land again.
    Something in Yesuntai made me think of that serpent. When he was still, his eyes darted restlessly, and when he slept, his body was tense, ready to rouse itself at the slightest disturbance. Something was coiled inside him, sleeping but ready to wake.
    Voices murmured beyond the doorway to my right. Some of the Ganeagaono were still outside. A young man in a deerskin kilt and beaded belt entered, then gestured at me.
    “You,” he said, “he who is called Senadondo.” I lifted my head at the sound of the name his people had given to me. “I ask you to come with me,” he continued in his own tongue.
    I got to my feet and turned to Yesuntai. “It seems someone wishes to speak to me.”
    He waved a hand. “Then you must go.”
    “Perhaps some of the men want to hear more of our plans.”
    “Or perhaps a family you left behind wishes to welcome you home.”
    I narrowed my eyes as I left. The Noyan had heard nothing from me about my wife