Chapter 39 Council of Many Voices #2
Azaleen felt like she and Camille were in a receiving line as dozens of chiefs—most male, but a good number of female—streamed past, bowing and clasping hands.
Each dressed according to the fashion of their ethnic groups.
It surprised Azaleen how many appeared White, with others of African or Asian descent.
Long hair, short, braids, headbands, cloth, buckskin, cotton, and furs were all represented, embellished with colors and styles too many to remember.
She recalled the phrase, AlgonCree mosaic—many patterns to form one piece of art, separate yet cohesive.
Once the line of chiefs dissipated, a middle-aged, fair-skinned man with trim brown hair and admiral-blue eyes halted at attention before the queen.
Standing taller than the women, he dipped his head, hands clasped behind his back.
“Queen Frost, Ambassador Navarro,” he named in calm, crisp English.
“I am Laurent Kewatin, Steward of Treaties for the AlgonCree government. It is my great pleasure to invite you to an audience with High Chief Batise. Renée, your grandmother wishes you to attend and observe.”
“That’s why I’m here.”
Kewatin frowned. Renée’s smile broadened.
Shooting Renée a hard stare rather than a verbal reprimand, the steward extended an arm. “If you would please come with me.” He ushered the women inside.
Past a lobby and several offices, the lodge widened into a rustic, inviting conference hall where Batise occupied the middle seat at a large, oval cedar table.
The flags of many people groups draped behind her, foremost among them the blue and white wolf banner of AlgonCree.
Steward Kewatin offered Azaleen and Camille seats across from the high chief, while Renée slunk off to the farthest end of the table from his spot.
No love lost there, Azaleen presumed as she took her seat.
She glanced around at the others present, recognizing Steven Batise from their first meeting.
Also present were a broad-shouldered man with a crooked nose, a short, stout woman with a round face, and an olive-skinned man, his long hair streaked with silver.
All other seats at the immense table lay empty.
“Thank you so much for making the time to see us, High Chief Batise,” Camille began in a grateful tone. “Aurora is such a beautiful community; it has welcomed us with open arms. We are honored by your hospitality.”
The old chief smiled, lines crinkling at her bright eyes. “Queen Azaleen is the first head of state to visit us. It is I who am honored. My steward of treaties, Laurent, whom you have met, was most certain you’d never accept our invitation. I consider it a win that you proved him wrong.”
Batise smirked at Kewatin, who opened his palms on the table, lifting a shoulder. “We’ve issued invitations in the past, but everyone deemed such a trip too dangerous.”
“Let me introduce the stewards of my council.” The high chief gestured to her right.
“You’ve met Steven, my son, and beside him is War Chief Joseph Wasaykeesic, whom I’m certain is the man you are most interested in impressing.
” She indicated the muscular man with the crooked nose and weathered brown skin.
A black ponytail trailed down his back over a military-style coat. He nodded to Azaleen.
“And this is Enola Misquah, our steward of spirits.” The old woman motioned to the round-faced woman on her left. She carried the scent of cedar and smoke, radiating with an aura of wisdom beyond her years.
“If I may ask,” Azaleen ventured. “I’m not familiar with the title ‘steward of spirits.’ Are you a religious leader?”
Enola’s knowing eyes shone with good humor.
“In a manner of speaking, but not like you might suppose. We believe humans are but a part of creation, all of which is sacred to Creator. My purview includes forestry, conservation, and spiritual leadership, as it is our responsibility to live in harmony and respect for nature. Forty-five years ago, human mistakes brought the terrible Rain of Fire and Time of Smoke upon all the land. Now we must work with Mother Earth to heal that which was rent, both on the planet and within our souls.”
“Thank you, Steward Misquah,” Azaleen replied. “Yours is truly a worthy calling.”
Enola pressed her lips into a curved line and lowered her gaze in humility.
“And I’m Beno?t Tremblay-Maskwa,” said the last man at the table, his tone both warm and exacting.
“Steward of Wisdom.” He pressed slender fingers to his chest in a slight bow.
He had the well-defined nose, prominent cheekbones, and strong jawline of a man of French descent.
“I oversee the departments of education and justice. A proper education is the strongest deterrent to crime, do you agree?”
“Indeed,” Azaleen replied. “I imagine your equitable distribution of resources plays a prominent role as well.”
Steven Batise nodded. “Quite.”
“High Chief Batise, distinguished stewards, we have come to negotiate in good faith, to offer you a valuable trade deal. I’m certain cotton, which can only grow in warmer climates, is in great demand, and we have plenty to offer.
Not just raw cotton, but finished cloth for smooth, soft sheets, warm-weather clothing, and undergarments that don’t itch or chafe. ”
“Yes, yes.” Batise waved her proposal aside. “We’ll get to those details later. Today, I want to get to know you and you to see me, my son, my granddaughter. You did not bring your family?”
What was this—a negotiation or a social exercise? Would they ever reach the matter of defense? Azaleen bit her tongue. She needed these people’s support and couldn’t risk offending them.
“No, honorable high chief, and I apologize if I appear impatient. My oldest son, Eldrin, wished to come, but I insisted he stay behind. Should anything go wrong on our journey, he is my heir and must be kept safe.”
“And your husband?”
Azaleen swallowed. She didn’t come here to discuss her personal life. “He passed away years ago, as I understand yours did also. It appears neither of us mustered the energy nor inclination to take a second husband.”
“Yes, but I’m old,” she answered in self-deprecating fashion, “while you are still young—younger than Steven, I’d wager.”
She glanced at Steven, who seemed content to remain a spectator in the discussion.
“The burdens of leadership consume most of my time,” Azaleen admitted, “and caring for my children and mother.”
“Then you have no helpmeet, no one to love, to love you?”
Although the grandmotherly chief’s concern felt genuine, the line of questioning made Azaleen uncomfortable. What did any of this have to do with a treaty?
“If I may speak plainly,” Azaleen said.
“Please do,” Batise encouraged. “That is why I ask the question, to see what sort of woman and leader you are. Speak plainly and truthfully, as though we were old friends.”
“I can’t hold power and allow myself to love.
The two stand in direct conflict. I feel that if I don’t devote my full attention to the kingdom, I’ll fail, and I cannot fail.
Millions of lives depend on me, as I know you understand.
I’ve known love, borne children, and now I must put my kingdom first. It is a sacrifice I’m happy to make for the well-being of many. ”
“I see.” The elderly leader folded her hands together before her on the table, her enigmatic gaze fixed on Azaleen’s.
“You speak of power and what you must give up to keep it, but you misunderstand a great truth. There is but one power in all the universe, and that power is love. Indeed, without love, you have no power.”
Batise’s words slammed into Azaleen like a blacksmith’s hammer blow to her chest. Could this be true? All this time, had she been denying herself the one great power she needed most to lead? She must have looked like a deer in headlights, reeling from the revelation.
“Don’t let Kokum mess with your head.” Renée rose from her seat in the corner, sauntering toward the table, her eyes locked on the high chief. “She’s always trying to meddle in my love life too.”
“Little goose,” Batise chided, her face hardening. “Is that any way for a future ambassador to talk to her high chief?”
Rounding her grandmother’s chair, Renée laid her hands on her shoulders and brushed a kiss to each cheek. “It’s true. You’re a meddler—a very well-intentioned one, but nonetheless … All these personal questions have made our guests uncomfortable. And what have you gained?”
Juliette Batise patted Renée’s hands and peered over her shoulder at her granddaughter. “Now I see Queen Frost. Though she has much to learn, she shows respect, and she loves her people more than her own happiness. An excellent place to start.”