by Alan Smale
Marcellinus tugged the Onondaga upright. The warrior looked almost relieved that the talking was over and his ordeal was coming to a close.
Marcellinus wrapped the cord around the man’s throat and yanked it tight. His pugio slashed a deep furrow in the Iroqua’s neck, and the gush of blood warmed his fingers. When he was quite sure the man was dead, he pitched the body forward into the trench.
Even as he did it, Marcellinus felt another wound tear open in his soul. Killing Iroqua in war was one thing. But this, this…
Sweat stung his eyes, and his hands began to shake. He had lied. He had told Tahtay that this meant nothing to him, but it did. It meant something.
Marcellinus tried not to let that show on his face.
“For you,” he said tersely to Tahtay. Handing the cord to Great Sun Man, he stepped down to take his place among the common people of Cahokia.
—
Sintikala landed on the first plateau of the Great Mound. Even watching from the West Plaza, several hundred yards away, Marcellinus could tell she was weary from the way she trotted to a halt. The wind against the tall Hawk wing on her shoulders nearly pushed her over.
She was in the air almost every day, out on scouting runs. Sometimes she was away for days, having failed to make it home before the warmth and the winds gave out, and then she had to sleep rough and walk back to Cahokia or wait on a ridge for the weather to cooperate.
Now Sintikala looked up the mound. From where she stood, she probably could not see the large new Longhouse of the Sun on its crest, on the opposite side of the top plateau from the Longhouse of the Wings, but she obviously had seen it many times from the air. With its copper-lined walls, the Longhouse of the Sun literally shone.
He could sense her reluctance as she began the walk up the final cedar steps to the top of the mound.
That evening after dark as Marcellinus cooked his beans and cornmeal outside his hut, he heard approaching footsteps. His heart leaped, but it was just Kanuna. Marcellinus tried to conceal his disappointment.
Bundled in furs despite the remaining warmth of the day, the elder squatted by the fire. Perhaps one day Marcellinus’s blood would run thin, too. He was not looking forward to being old in this village in the center of Nova Hesperia, where the winters seemed to last forever.
“Some food, Kanuna? Tea?”
“I do not like the new house of Great Sun Man.” Kanuna rubbed his hands together.
Marcellinus raised his eyebrows ironically. “You come to tell me this?”
“The shaman Youtin, and the rest of the shamans, and Iniwa of Ocatan, they have all told Great Sun Man that he must live at the top of the Master Mound, where he will hear Ituha’s voice and be strong.”
“Yes.” Marcellinus peered left. The permanent flame outside the new longhouse blazed in the night.
“Ituha lived up on the mound, you see.”
“I know, I know.” Marcellinus pulled the cooking pot away from the fire and tossed in some purslane, watercress, and sliced wild onions to season it. “Ituha lived up on the mound when he made one Cahokia out of three, but afterward he chose to come down and live with his people.”
“And a little while after that, he lost his power over Cahokia.”
“Because of bad harvests,” Marcellinus said.
“No, because he stopped listening to the voices of the gods,” said Kanuna, and grinned companionably to let Marcellinus know what he really thought.
“Ah, yes, of course.” Marcellinus dipped a spoon into the pot, blew on it, and took a bite. Even after all this time he still missed salt. “Do we know what Huyana thinks of this?”
“Great Sun Man’s wife agrees with the shamans.” Kanuna shook his head.
“But Kanuna the elder, wise and well traveled, does not.”
“Would I be here?”
Marcellinus got few visitors. He smiled at the elder. “Perhaps. I thought we were friends. Sit, Kanuna, and I will make us tea, and you can watch me eat corn and beans, and we will talk.”
Kanuna remained squatting. Perhaps that was just as comfortable for him. “Do the gods live on high? Is Great Sun Man close to Ituha?”
“You ask me? I have not met your gods.”
“But you know your own.”
Marcellinus, about to reply, hesitated. Eventually he said, “I do not hear them. No gods, no ancestors.”
“What does Sintikala say?”
“Sintikala does not speak to me either.” He kept eating.
“Really?” Kanuna sighed. “I had hoped she did. But I suppose Sintikala is not often here. She flies around too much.”
“She is here tonight. She came home in the late sun.” By the way Kanuna turned and stared to the east of the Great Mound, where Sintikala’s house lay, Marcellinus realized the elder had not known this. “Maybe you should go talk to her instead.”
“Me?”
“You are the one with the questions.”
“But you are the one she will not turn away.”
“You are mistaken. I am not of the Hawk clan, and I have an uneasy treaty with its chief. If anyone, I was Great Sun Man’s friend…but that was before.”
“I do not think so. But either way, I think her tea is better than yours.” Kanuna stood. “And I am safer when I can hide behind you. Well? Come.”
Marcellinus grimaced.
“Wanageeska. I am a wise and well-traveled elder, and you are just a man. A boy, perhaps, since you have never been through the Cahokian coming of age and your hair is very short. I think you have to do as I say.”
“A boy?” Marcellinus said in some amusement. “I see how it is, Kanuna.”
Shaking his head, he got to his feet.
—
Over the last moon Marcellinus had not strayed far from the path between his house and Wachiwi’s. Shunned by Great Sun Man and ignored by most of the other Cahokian high class, he had avoided the Master Mound and its environs altogether. The last time he had been in this area, Sintikala’s house had been a smoking ruin, burned to the ground by the liquid flame of the Iroqua.
Her new house was a revelation. Twice as large as the old one, it extended over much of the earthen platform on which it rested. Its clay daub was so fresh that it glowed pale white in the starlight, and its trim palisade looked as stout—if nowhere near as high—as the one that surrounded Cahokia’s central precinct. Great Sun Man was not the only one whose accommodations had taken a turn for the better.
Kanuna called up to Sintikala from the base of her mound, and Marcellinus almost curled up in embarrassment at the realization that she might not be by herself, that Demothi or some other strapping brave of the Hawk clan might be sharing her evening. But she was alone, stepping out to peer down at them over the palisade while still drying her face with a blanket and inadvertently repeating the words of Kanuna, but in a much more tuneful alto voice: “Well, come.”
Inside, the house was less splendid. Built swiftly and hardly lived in since, it contained none of the elegant baskets or fine pots that had adorned the walls of Sintikala’s previous home.
They sat while she built up the fire. Tiredness lined her eyes and she was obviously chilled to the bone, but at Marcellinus’s offer of help she snapped at him to be still. Kanuna gave him a reproachful look for trying to impose on a woman’s hearth, and they waited in silence.
Finally they had tea, which Sintikala slurped down as if she had spent the day sitting out on Mizipi River ice. It must be colder, Marcellinus thought, up high in the air at this time of year.
“Well?”
Kanuna allowed Sintikala to pour him more tea and then explained his concerns: with the Longhouse of the Sun, Great Sun Man was creating a palace for himself high on the Master Mound, like a petty chieftain of a more primitive time; he was growing increasingly distant from his elders and his people, preoccupied with his gods and ancestors.
“Huh,” said Sintikala. “And so now he is a bad war chief?”
“I do not know. The w
arriors—”
“And you want to be Great Sun Man yourself, Kanuna? Or put another man in his place?”
“No! No.”
“Then what?”
“This does not worry you, then?” Marcellinus interjected. “I have known other great chiefs of their people—by which I mean my own people, of course—who considered themselves far above other men. It does not end well.”
Sintikala did not respond, but loosened her braids and untangled her hair with her fingers. It was matted with sweat and twisted into knots by the wind. Marcellinus had never seen her with loose hair. It softened the lines of her face and made her look unexpectedly vulnerable. Once again, Marcellinus wished Kanuna had not brought him there.
She had been silent for many minutes. At last the knots were out of her hair, and she spoke. “Kanuna, Wanageeska. I agree that it may not be a good thing for Great Sun Man to build his new house. It might lead to jealousy and to him not feeling so easily the heart of his people. But hear me: I believe he feels that the defeat…” She paused and stared into the fire. “He feels that the suffering and hurt of Cahokia are his fault and that they arise from his failures as a man and as a chief. I would think that each of you would understand this, just a little…Wanageeska, are you all right?”
Marcellinus had put up both hands to his temples but had forgotten he was holding a cup. Warm goldenrod tea had splashed onto his neck and shoulder. “Yes. Sorry.”
Certainly Marcellinus understood the idea of failing as a chief. He cleared his throat and pulled himself together.
Sintikala poured more tea into his cup without being asked. “It is nearly winter, with many moons until spring. I think that Great Sun Man will prepare us well and that in the spring he will lead Cahokia into battle with the Iroqua as no chief ever has before. I believe we will win a great triumph.”
“You are young,” Kanuna said bluntly. “I hope you are right, but perhaps you are not.”
She grinned at him, not offended.
Marcellinus’s frustration was rising. “That isn’t the point. The point is that Great Sun Man is living up there to better hear the voices of his gods and his ancestors, which is all nonsense. And taking advice only from shamans…Such men are adept at telling you what you want to hear.”
Sintikala shrugged. “Of course. I fly in the sky all day. If being up on the Great Mound helps you hear the voices of the gods, up in the clouds I should be deafened by them. But that is also not the point.”
“Then what is?”
Her lack of concern was alarming. Marcellinus needed her to be as hard and contemptuous with Great Sun Man as she was with him. The Sintikala he had grown used to would have a clear view of the danger.
Ignoring the question, she turned to Kanuna. “I am tired and hungry. Why did you come? Did you want me to speak to Great Sun Man of this? I will. But Great Sun Man is Great Sun Man.”
Kanuna’s brow wrinkled. “In my life I have been far to the south and the east. I, like Gaius, have seen what chiefs can become when they seek fine things for themselves and the small group of men closest to them and do not live among their people. I would not wish that for Cahokia.”
“It will not happen here.”
Marcellinus said, “But when—”
Sintikala turned on him, and the steel was back in her expression, even under her wavy black hair with its echoes of intimacy and sorrow. “It will not happen! Not while I live. Yes?”
From his seated position, Marcellinus bowed.
She pushed her hair away from her face and appeared to relent. “Eat with me,” she said. “Both.”
“I…” Marcellinus thought of his dinner at home, and had already spent too much time in Sintikala’s presence; between her power and the crackle of the fire, there was no breathable air left in the room. But Kanuna placed his hand on Marcellinus’s arm to still him and replied for them both. “Yes. We thank you, daughter of chieftain, and we would be honored.”
—
“Great Sun Man reclaims what is his right. Always before, since Cahokia was made, the greatest chief has lived on the greatest mound. And Great Sun Man sees any clan chief or elder who goes to bring him news or needs his counsel. At least now we always know where he is. He is much easier for us to find than when first you came to Cahokia, Gaius, or any time in the last ten winters.” She looked thoughtful. “And it is easier to safeguard him there from those who might wish him ill.”
Marcellinus spooned fish into his mouth. It was seasoned with a leaf he did not recognize. Sintikala was a better cook than he was, though he doubted she had to catch her own fish or harvest her own herbs.
He said, “How often has Great Sun Man been out of Cahokia?”
Sintikala eyed him. “His place is here.”
“But?”
She took another mouthful of fish and bit at a hazelnut cake. “He has led many war parties deep into Iroqua land, and he has been to smoke a pipe in peace with his brothers in Ocatan and in the river towns to the north and also to the west. And to Woshakee. And many chiefs have come here to visit.”
“No farther?”
Sintikala raised her eyebrows. “It is far that he went, especially to the north. And he has the wisdom of Ojinjintka and Kanuna and others who have traveled. And he has my eyes and the eyes of the other Hawks.”
“I see,” said Marcellinus.
“Perhaps he is ignorant, then,” she said ironically. “With only the three of us to advise him, and all of the other clan chiefs, and the rest of the elders, and Akecheta and Wahchintonka and his men of the Wolf Warriors, and Enopay and Tahtay.”
Marcellinus fell silent.
“I trust Great Sun Man, and I will not make plans against him. If that is what this is.”
“We make no plots and schemes. We merely worry.” Kanuna grinned apologetically. “We are old men. Fretting is our job.” Marcellinus winced at that designation.
“Then talk to the people and not just to each other,” she said. “The people want more strength from Great Sun Man. A war chief who walks among them, who is only a leader when he needs to be, is no Great Sun Man; he is just a man. Kanuna will remember that there was much talk of it when Great Sun Man kept a house with Nipekala, mother of Tahtay, down in the city. Now they see where this common living has brought them. The Iroqua have burned Cahokia and killed Cahokians.”
“That is not Great Sun Man’s fault,” Marcellinus said. “If it is any man’s fault, it is mine.”
She shook her head. “It is not yours. But many think this is a time for a strong leader. They will be surprised to hear that they are wrong.”
“I agree,” Marcellinus said, straight-faced. “Better to sit at home in his big shining copper longhouse. And perhaps you should also stay home here at the top of your mound in your nice new house.”
“All this space.” She shrugged. “It is too big. Too hard to keep warm. But all the clan chiefs have such a house now.”
She had brushed it off, but it was enough for Marcellinus to know that she had understood him. He let it drop. “And where is Kimimela?”
Sintikala smiled at him quickly. “She did not know that I would return home today. She is with Luyu of the Wakinyan clan.”
Marcellinus remembered Luyu. She was the granddaughter of Ojinjintka, a painfully skinny girl who was apprenticing on the Thunderbird flights. “Luyu is almost light enough to blow away into the air without needing a wing.”
The mood lifted, and they gossiped for a while in a much more relaxed vein. But when Sintikala began to yawn, Kanuna immediately got to his feet.
“Thank you for seeing us,” Marcellinus said. “It has been too long.”
She looked at him quizzically.
“I mean too long since we have talked. Not that the evening has lasted too long. Um. Quite the opposite.”
“The opposite of what? I think I am too tired to understand you.”
Marcellinus smiled and stood. “I mean that I enjoyed speaking with you and the food was g
ood.”
He walked to the door with Kanuna.
“Gaius?”
He turned.
“You think that Great Sun Man wants to lead a giant war party against the Haudenosaunee? No. But he must, and Great Sun Man will do as he must until he dies. We must have our vengeance. The humiliation of Cahokia cannot stand. Iroqua blood must flow or they will attack us again. If there was a way to stop this…” She sighed. “There is not. Blood must have blood. He will lead us to victory. But for this he must prepare himself, and for that he cannot always be walking in the city preparing others. It is not so easy to be Great Sun Man.”
“No,” Marcellinus said.
“And you, Gaius? Your worry about Great Sun Man and your anger? I think perhaps you are not happy at being left out.”
That rocked him. Was it true? Did he resent and mistrust the new elite merely because he was not a part of it?
“I will think about that,” he said. “Sleep well, Sisika.”
Sighing, she shook her head.
“I mean Sintikala.”
“Good night, Kanuna, Gaius.”
In the dead of winter, Marcellinus floated a thousand feet above Cahokia.
The Sky Lantern he rode in was tethered to a tall platform mound directly east of the Master Mound. The Raven clan now had the launches down to a straightforward routine.
In a few days everyone would be another year older. Tahtay would become fourteen winters. Kimimela would become eleven winters. Enopay? Marcellinus still didn’t know. Despite his threats he had never asked Kanuna how old the boy was. Enopay’s age was Enopay’s business. His Raven clan chief, Anapetu, was right: Enopay was neither a child nor an adult but a new thing all his own.
And Marcellinus? He would be forty-four winters old, but preferred not to think about that. He was so cold up here, he could easily catch a chill and die before the Midwinter Feast anyway.
This feast would be a muted affair. A celebration would seem out of place after the carnage that had followed the Midsummer Feast. Canceling the feast would be disrespectful to the memory of the dead, but it was clear that no one’s heart would be in it.
