Moon Hunt

by Kathleen O'Neal Gear

To Five Fists, I say, “When they are settled and ready, I assume you can have a litter and proper escort to see me to their embassy?”

  He rocks his broken jaw, as if uneasy, and replies, “If the Morning Star so wills, Lady.”

  It is all I can do to keep from shooting Straight Corn a wink and a smile. But that will have to wait. For the moment I dare not risk even that. The slightest mistake could kill us all.

  Twenty-five

  “So is this Two Sticks really one of Blue Heron’s spies, or not?” Tonka’tzi Wind asked as she paced back and forth behind the fire in her large new palace. As with so many of Cahokia’s key palaces, it too had been rebuilt in the wake of Walking Smoke’s rampage. Larger than Red Warrior’s old structure, the new palace was built atop a clean new cap of white clay that covered the old mound. The white color should have imparted wisdom and purity to those who occupied the place.

  For the moment, all she could remember was that the mound had been consecrated by the blood of five Cahokian warriors who had been butchered by the Itza with their macuahuitl war clubs.

  So much for peace and tranquility. That pretty much fit with her foul mood.

  “All I can tell you”—Rising Flame sat in her own litter on the public side of the fire—“is that Smooth Pebble says that Two Sticks has often been at the Keeper’s and has provided information. He was there with the Sky Hand delegation when Whispering Dawn was first presented.”

  “And then what?”

  “No one knows.”

  Wind stopped, raised her hands, and clawed her fingers into fists, as if strangling the very air. “Something happened in the Council House today that we didn’t understand.”

  “What?”

  “I don’t know. And that’s what’s driving me half insane. I can feel it.” She shot a look—cutting as an obsidian blade—at Rising Flame. “And there’s still no word of Blue Heron?”

  “I sent a runner to Evening Star Town. Someone said that they saw her there. That she was with Columella.”

  “So help me, Cousin, if we get through this…” She stared at her knotted fists, the knuckles gone white. “I have never felt so blind and dumb. It is like making decisions in the dark.”

  Rising Flame uttered a half-frustrated cry. “All right! Blue Heron can continue to serve as the Keeper. Of all the dung-licking idiocy, what have you people been thinking? You’ve got all of Cahokia’s prestige and authority wrapped up between you, your sister, and your spooky niece. What happens if another assassin slips in during the night and cuts your throats? Have you thought of that? The whole city will be paralyzed.”

  “And I suppose you have the answer? So far, Cousin, you haven’t exactly pinned my hair back with your outstanding acumen.”

  Rising Flame took a deep breath. “Being matron isn’t quite what I expected.”

  Wind rubbed her eyes, feeling a headache coming on. “Oh? Well, perhaps you can throw another grand reception. Order a feast. Offer up a prize for the winner of a stickball tournament.”

  Wind heard the acid in her voice and winced, aware that her household staff were cowering in the corner. Rot take it, her emotions were getting the better of her.

  Rising Flame, jaws clenched, was glaring through eyes that barely masked rage. The young woman took three tries opening her mouth then biting off the retort, before she finally stood, paced before the fire, and after a deep breath said, “Night Shadow Star was right. I am the clan matron. Her advice, perhaps through that vile Spirit Creature that whispers to her, was that we come to grips with that fact.”

  “Some grips!” Wind said through her own anger. “But it’s not too late. If you can’t—”

  “Blood and pus! I made some mistakes. How did you do when you first stepped into the position? What? Oh … let me guess. You were perfect. Not a bobble, not a fault. Wisdom dripped from your every decision.”

  “Rot take you, no. It wasn’t like that. Your grandmother, Evening Dove, offered counsel when I—”

  “Ah! Yes! There it is. You had help!”

  “You could have, too, if you hadn’t driven Blue Heron away.”

  “If I’m to be matron, I’ve got to have respect. She hates me. Thinks I’m too young, that I’d fall on my back for the first man who walks past. As if she, of all women—given her history with men—has the right to judge.”

  Wind wheeled, pointing a finger. “You want to be a matron, then be a matron. You’re sounding like a spit-licking and pouting child.”

  “At least I’m not an overdressed, arrogant—”

  “Tonka’tzi!” A young man burst in the door, not bothering with the formalities. He barely looked to be out of his teens, was wearing only a breechcloth, his hair in a common bun. Sweat streaked down his face, bare chest, and legs. Clutched in his hand was an Evening Star House messenger’s staff.

  Gasping for air, he fell to the mat, crying out, “Matron Columella … sent me … Tell you … Keeper Blue Heron. She’s vanished!”

  Wind gaped, holding her breath. Felt the room spin. She forced herself to breathe, asking, “Vanished how?”

  “She was to stay at the Four Winds Clan House in Evening Star Town. One moment … she was watching the stickball game. The next, she’d disappeared.”

  Wind fought off eerie fingers of panic. “You’re sure? She didn’t just decide to leave, maybe go somewhere else?”

  “And leave her litter, Tonka’tzi?” The messenger looked up, desperation in his eyes. “My matron is scared, Tonka’tzi. She’s sure something bad has happened. We are turning Evening Star Town upside down looking for her, and Flat Stone Pipe has his people asking questions, but so far there’s nothing.”

  Wind settled bonelessly onto her litter; a feeling of futility robbed her of any coherent thought.

  Twenty-six

  Seven Skull Shield scratched the back of his head, hoping it wasn’t lice that were causing the itch in his scalp. He hated lice—and the little beasts were everywhere in Cahokia. For the most part he could keep clear of them, especially if he was cautious about where he bedded down, and with whom.

  The good thing about Cahokia was that it was essentially the Trading hub of the whole world, which meant insecticides—including puccoon from the southeast, red fir and pine sap from the eastern mountains, essence of high-mountain fir and larkspur mixed with gumweed from the western mountains, and other potions—were available to be rubbed into the hair. Various locally available noxious plants, including poison ivy, could be had to boil one’s clothing in—you just had to stay upwind and not inhale any of the murderous fumes.

  “I have to tell you”—Seven Skull Shield addressed his friend Black Swallow—“I never figured you for a domestic man. Let alone one so happily married.”

  He again glanced up at the fine new house in which he sat. It hadn’t been standing for a whole moon yet, and still had that raw and new look where the vine bindings and split-bark ties held the roof together.

  Black Swallow sat across the fire from him; a rather voluptuous young woman with a round face crouched at his side. She stirred the contents of a corrugated ceramic bowl that had its base planted deep in the coals. The whole house smelled of green wood, smoke, and the delicious odors of hominy, acorns, and hazelnuts, tempered by flakes of stewed turtle.

  “I had to marry,” Black Swallow said, holding up his mangled hands. “Hard to get the little things in life done with fingers like these.”

  Seven Skull Shield winced. “You know how much I regret the series of events that led to that happening. The Keeper didn’t know me back then. Thought we were all a bunch of cutthroats. For all she knew at the time, one of us was the cutthroat, given the way people around her were being murdered right and left.”

  Black Swallow glanced sidelong at his young and nubile wife. Her name—in whatever barbaric language she spoke—was something like A’na’na’ish’i’it’ah’hey. Which is why Black Swallow cleverly called her “wife.”

  She smiled at her husband, eyes alight, and gigg
led. Then said something bubbly and full of stops in the back of her throat. An incomprehensible language Seven Skull Shield thought was spoken somewhere along the far western edge of the plains.

  That was the thing about Cahokia. It had people from everywhere in the world. For a fact he knew that Black Swallow had bought the young woman from one of the Plains Skidi—distant relatives of the Caddo. Whatever the girl had expected—and Seven Skull Shield could certainly guess the grim nature of her past anticipations—she hadn’t dreamed of being showered in beads, given a new house, fine clothing, warm bedding, plenty to eat, and a man who actually cherished her.

  Given his service to the Keeper, Black Swallow had ended up a moderately wealthy man. He intimated that his healthy young wife reciprocated to his largess in her own creative and uninhibited ways. Fully aware of the charms of her body, Seven Skull Shield didn’t need to strain his more than fertile imagination.

  “You’ve done well,” Seven Skull Shield admitted, and took a bowl of the stew “Wife” handed him. Raising it to his lips, he slurped, then pointed a finger at Farts, who was creeping closer on his belly. “Get back in the corner. You’ll get yours later.”

  The big brindle dog yawned, stifling a muted cry, and retreated with a disconsolate look.

  “Actually, I did do well, didn’t I?” Black Swallow smiled his satisfaction. “I have Wife in my bed every night. You have that odiferous dog warming yours. Which, I’ll have to admit, leaves you better off than I’ve ever seen you. But I’ve still got the better of the deal.”

  “So you say. Times get tough? I can always eat the dog.” He smiled at Wife, happy that she had only a rudimentary understanding of Cahokian. “Can’t say but what people would frown if you whacked Wife, here, in the head and threw her in the stew pot.”

  Black Swallow gave him a thin and knowing smile. “Once upon a time, before I really got to know you, I’d have wondered if you were serious.”

  “Oh, I am. A falsehood has never passed these lips.”

  “Sure.” A pause. “Neither has vomit, huh?”

  “Are you being unnaturally thorny tonight? I thought we’d gotten past that bit of unpleasantry with your fingers. Especially after the Itza arrived.”

  “People down here in River Mounds still don’t trust you, you know.” Black Swallow cradled his brownware bowl in his crooked fingers. “If anything gives them pause in their skepticism, it’s because Crazy Frog vouches for you.”

  “And Mother Otter thinks I’m some kind of walking slime.”

  “Which is the other reason people tolerate you. Given that Mother Otter thinks most of us are rabble, and she thinks you’re worse than walking dung, you’ve gotta have something in common with the rest of us.”

  “I should express my appreciation for her kind service next time I see her.”

  “What? And ruin a perfectly good day if she’s having one?”

  Seven Skull Shield shot his friend a conspiratorial smile and took another gulp of the hominy. Wiping his lips, he added, “I don’t get it. There are twenty-some Quiz Quiz warriors running around somewhere. Their big war canoe is still beached and under High Chief War Duck’s watchful eye. Their war leader, Sky Star, is seriously hurting, with a crushed shoulder, numerous burns and cuts, and more dead than alive. It’s not like they can just vanish. So … where are they?”

  “That’s a good question,” Black Swallow agreed. “If it was just you bumbling around looking for them, I’d say they were camped in plain sight out in the middle of the Grand Plaza. But since Crazy Frog’s people are looking for them, too? That means they really are hidden.”

  “I find things just fine, thank you. I caught the Quiz Quiz war leader the first time. Not my fault the stupid surveyors let him get stolen out of their square.”

  Black Swallow turned serious. “It means that whoever is hiding them fully understands the intensity of the hunt. I imagine that your Keeper is running spies in and out of her palace like termites in a hive. She’s probably coordinating with every House in Cahokia, who, in turn, are whipping their Earth Clans chiefs to poke their noses into every basket and jar in the dirt farmer’s communities.”

  “And Crazy Frog’s people will be looking in all the dark and hidden places the Four Winds wouldn’t think of.”

  Black Swallow paused over his hominy. “All of which means that while you’re here eating my food, that Quiz Quiz war chief has been rounded up already and is headed back to hang in his square.”

  “I hope not. Means I won’t have earned a nice warm robe-covered bed in the Keeper’s palace.” Seven Skull Shield gestured with his bowl. “Good as this is, you wouldn’t believe the concoctions that Red Wing woman, Dancing Sky, cooks up. And while I will appreciate your floor tonight, sleeping on buffalo-wool mattresses agrees with my back.”

  Black Swallow blinked his eyes as if at an impossibility. “You poor abused wretch.” Then his expression changed. “And does that excuse for a dog have to drool like that? The puddle building under his jaws is going to melt my floor.”

  Seven Skull Shield fished out another chunk of turtle meat and tossed it to the dog; Farts grabbed it out of the air, a curling streamer of drool spinning in the light.

  “There. That will keep his leaking to a minimum.”

  “The thing looks half bear, if you ask me.” Black Swallow took another swig of his hominy. “So what are you going to do if you find your Quiz Quiz? Pluck the wounded war chief from the midst of his twenty warriors?”

  “Depends.”

  Black Swallow gave him the same skeptical look he’d give a lunatic.

  Seven Skull Shield shrugged it off. “I’ll send a runner for Blue Heron to order War Claw to come post-haste with warriors, and I’ll hang around in the meantime to make sure the Quiz Quiz don’t skip for the south before War Claw arrives.”

  “But if I, or one of my people, should find them first?”

  Seven Skull Shield shrugged. “That’s fine. Send your runner to the Keeper. I don’t mind if you get all the credit.”

  “That makes you a most unusual man.”

  Seven Skull Shield grinned. “All these years and just now you figure that out?”

  “Hey in there!” a voice called from beyond the door. “I’m looking for Seven Skull Shield.”

  Black Swallow arched an eyebrow, as if to ask, “You want to be found?”

  Seven Skull Shield shrugged, laid his bowl to the side, and stood. He used the stepping post to climb up to the door and set it to the side before looking out into the gloomy evening. “Who’s looking for Seven Skull Shield? Maybe I can get a message to him.”

  In the darkness he could just make out a fellow with long black hair hanging in a braid. A simple breechcloth with an apron hung at his waist, a poorly woven cape over his shoulders.

  “I come from Crazy Frog. Tell the thief that the little man wants to see him. Right now. At the Evening Star palace.”

  “Why? What’s wrong?”

  “All I know is that something bad has happened to the Keeper. She’s disappeared.”

  Twenty-seven

  The room was small. Blue Heron figured it was no more than three paces wide by four long. She lay on her right side, arms bound behind her at the elbows by a short rope tethered to the hobbles that confined her ankles. They had at least thrown down a worn blanket to cushion her bones from the dirt.

  Didn’t matter. She hurt. Wasn’t much feeling in her right arm, though she kept trying to shift and ease the circulation.

  When she wasn’t terrified, she was enraged.

  A central hearth now smoldered; tendrils of smoke rose in the lazy air. From the angle of morning light slanting in the doorway, she could tell the building had been oriented toward the lunar maximum moonrise on the northeastern horizon. That fact was augmented by the carefully layered clay floor on which she lay: A compacted yellow silty clay had been carefully laid down. That it capped a layer of black clay could be seen where a wood rat had dug a hole behind one of the altar
support posts on the back wall.

  Moon temple. But which one? The entire city was oriented toward the lunar maximums and minimums. Each lineage, clan, ethnic group, society, collection of farmsteads, and even some families had their own small lunar temples. As a result there were thousands of them around Cahokia. Nor did they get a lot of attention during the nine-year period between the major lunar events. Some—depending upon the local tradition—were even left to the elements and then ritually refurbished and reconsecrated anticipatory to the ceremonies.

  Listening, she could hear birds, the buzzing of flies, and the muted sounds of men talking. Somewhere not so far away, a dog barked and a young child squealed. Beyond that, she could hear only the soft rattle of cottonwood leaves and the breeze whispering in the moldy thatch overhead.

  Sniffing, she smelled smoke, of course, but behind it was the wet odor of swampy low ground.

  Hard to say where she might be, but it wasn’t in a core urban area. This had to be in an outlying farmstead. The sort of place where she wasn’t likely to be “discovered” by accident. Someplace isolated where the neighbors would not be talking about the old woman tied up in the lunar shrine.

  She was considering this as a man darkened the doorway and stepped down into the room. She remembered him. The bigger of the men who’d taken her from the stickball game. One of the river Traders.

  “How are you doing?” he asked, a slight nasal twang to his voice.

  “I have to pee.”

  “Then go,” he told her with a shrug. “I won’t stop you.”

  “I’d like to use a pot, if you don’t mind.”

  “Actually, I do. Our goal is to make you miserable enough that you will finally give in and tell us where the War Medicine is.”

  She blinked. “The what?”

  “Don’t play coy, Keeper. The War Medicine. Once we have that, we’ll be gone.”

  She blinked as if it would clear her foggy thoughts, then smiled at the ludicrous position she was in. “Do you really think I, of all people, could get the War Medicine? The Men’s Society wouldn’t even let the tonka’tzi into the Men’s House, let alone me. And, added to your problems, I’m no longer the Keeper. You kidnapped the wrong woman. Should have snagged up the new clan matron. Not that she could get you the War Medicine either, but she could appoint you a new Keeper to threaten, and you could go on about your business.”