“How’s that?” Right Fist asked.
“I’ll lay you a wager: A basket full of polished whelk shell says that Blue Heron is Clan Keeper again by next fall.”
Elder Crawfish lifted a graying eyebrow. “And when you lose, where will you come up with enough Trade to barter for a basket of whelk shell?”
“Watch it, Elder,” Meander cautioned. “This is Seven Skull Shield. He didn’t specify what size basket. And people weave some really small baskets, some barely big enough to cover the tip of a little finger.”
Seven Skull Shield laughed hard enough that Farts looked up from the floor, his one-blue-and-one-brown gaze quizzical. “A basket that size.” He pointed at the olivella basket.
“Which brings me back to my initial question. Where would you get that much wealth?” Elder Crawfish used a knobby finger to emphasize his point.
“I won’t need it, my friends.” Seven Skull Shield grinned. “Blue Heron has a secret weapon.”
“A pot full of water hemlock?” Right Fist wondered. “Those Four Winds Houses like poison when it comes to disposing of a rival.”
“She doesn’t need poison. She has me.”
“You?” Meander asked.
“By the time Spotted Wrist figures out he’s been blindsided, Blue Heron will not only be Keeper again, but all of Cahokia will be begging for her to do so.”
“And you think—”
“Seven Skull Shield!” an angry voice bellowed from somewhere the other side of the hemp warehouse next door. “Where is that lying, thieving, two-footed bit of shit!”
“Sounds angry,” Elder Crawfish mused.
Seven Skull Shield cocked his head. Something about the voice was familiar.
Two Fish leaned his head out the door, peered, and glanced back inside. “Robin Feather. I just saw him pass between the hemp warehouse and the potter’s workshop. He’s got a war club. And by spit, he looks really, really mad.”
“Dear friends,” Seven Skull Shield said, already on his feet. “If you will excuse me, it just hit me that I have some pressing business down in Horned Serpent Town.”
On the way out the door he nudged his oversized and ungainly mongrel of a dog. “Come on, Farts. No sense in lingering when there’s opportunity at hand.”
As Seven Skull Shield slipped carefully around the hemp warehouse to get behind Robin Feather’s fury, he heard the man bellow, “When I find that stinking weasel and that cheating woman, I’m gonna knock their brains out and leave them for the maggots to chew!”
Seven Skull Shield sighed. If Robin Feather was searching for Willow Blossom, she must have managed an escape. He figured he knew where she would have hidden. On his way out of River Mounds he’d have to make a quick stop to be sure that she was safely out of the way. If nothing else, he’d have to broker a deal with Crazy Frog to get her out of the city and someplace beyond Robin Feather’s reach.
“You know, Farts,” he told the dog, “that man simply has no sense of humor.”
Six
“War Leader, I fought one of the hardest fights I’ve ever fought,” Blood Talon declared. Burning with humiliation, he stood in front of the war chief’s fire. Clan Keeper Spotted Wrist sat perched on his litter atop a clay dais on the other side of the flames. The Hero of the North had his chin resting on his palm, his elbow braced on a propped knee.
Spotted Wrist was of Red Night’s lineage, and he was in line for the high chief’s seat up at North Star House in Serpent Woman Town should anything happen to High Chief Wolverine. Spotted Wrist was close to fifty, and his temples had begun to gray; lines now deeply incised his weather-blackened face and obscured his Four Winds tattoos. But nothing through the years had dimmed his hard black eyes or the strength in his angular jaw.
He looked every bit of what he was: a most capable military commander and a force to be reckoned with.
The palace, just east of the Morning Star’s great mound, was new, its walls still pale with fresh plaster, and the ceiling had barely begun to darken with soot. It stood on a low mound that had once belonged to Lady Lace, sister of Night Shadow Star and daughter of Red Warrior Tenkiller. After Lace’s abduction, the old palace had been burned, ritually cleansed, and a layer of earth had been added to cover the whole. Then the new palace had been built, ready just in time for Spotted Wrist to claim it as his just due for the conquest of Red Wing Town.
Blood Talon stared anxiously around the interior, noting the shields, bows, carvings, and other wealth that had been hung from the walls—trophies taken during Spotted Wrist’s glorious career. Present, too, were the occasional skulls, all polished and painted, as well as incised and decorated arm and leg bones from various adversaries Spotted Wrist had defeated in battle.
“What do you think?” Spotted Wrist turned his attention to Nutcracker. The squadron second was tall, in his early thirties, with long black hair and a deeply scarred left cheek.
“Blood Talon fought brilliantly, Keeper.” Nutcracker lifted expressive hands, palms out. “The Red Wing was like a dancer, every move smooth and perfect. Watching that fight, it was a thing of beauty. I wouldn’t have believed that any man alive was better than Blood Talon when it came to single combat with the club.”
“But he bested you!” Spotted Wrist turned his head back toward Blood Talon.
“It had to be some sort of magic, War Leader. Maybe Underworld Power. Something dark that that woman cast on me.”
He could feel Nutcracker’s questioning sidelong glance. In his own defense, he demanded, “How else do you explain it? He shouldn’t have known I was in earnest. We started, each of us pulling our blows, sparring, just like I told him we’d be. When I had him at the right tempo, I used a feint, swung fast and hard for the side of his head. The blow should have caved in his helmet and skull, but somehow he managed to dodge it.
“Thought I had him off balance, so I pressed the attack. Hard. Figured he’d be overwhelmed. He just parried, ducked, and skipped away each time.”
“So, he knew?”
“Of course, War Leader. Nothing else explains it. I tried goading him, told him what we did to his wives and children. Threw it right in his face. You could see it, he wanted to kill me. Hated me from down between his souls. We fought for blood and bone.”
“And yet he didn’t kill you?” Spotted Wrist mused, his eyes now on the fire, as if he were seeking some answer there.
Nutcracker said, “Keeper, the Red Wing laid the blade of his club against Blood Talon’s neck as softly as a songbird would alight on a limb. Like nothing I’d ever seen.”
“We dismissed the stories about him,” Blood Talon said in irritation. “All those impossible tales of his battle against the Itza, that he fought in the Underworld for Morning Star, that he singlehandedly saved Cahokia on the chunkey court. What were we to think? I was with those who captured him that night in his own palace. I carried his weeping body down to the canoes that night. That was not the man I faced today.”
“We caught him by surprise that night,” Nutcracker reminded. “Got him in his bed. Asleep.”
“I think it was magic,” Blood Talon insisted. Down in the heart of his bones, he absolutely burned with rage and shame. It had been such a simple assignment. Kill the Red Wing and make it look like an accident.
Yet here he stood after one of the hardest fights he’d been in since he was a youth in training.
Across the fire, Spotted Wrist’s eyes were hardening, the War Leader lost in thought. In the end, he slapped a hand to his muscular thigh, declaring, “What is it with her? I did everything for her. Took Red Wing Town for her. Covered for her when she got in trouble with those wild-weasel brothers of hers. And now she throws it in my face. She chooses that Red Wing filth over me?”
Blood Talon kept his mouth shut, having learned over the years to let his commander vent. He glanced sidelong at Nutcracker, seeing his old friend’s remarkably blank and empty-eyed expression. Smart man. Never give so much as a hint of amusement or emotion wh
en the war leader was in this mood.
“I could just take her,” Spotted Wrist snapped. “Walk over there with a half dozen men, pick her up, and carry her off to the Four Winds Clan House. Have Rising Flame declare us married. It would all be over. Nice and neat.”
Blood Talon did his best to mimic Nutcracker’s empty expression. He’d already failed once today. Of course, the Red Wing would have no chance against that many warriors. There would be injuries, but they’d surround Fire Cat and take him down before anyone got killed.
“I’d do it in a heartbeat if I thought I could get away with it,” Spotted Wrist growled. “No one would blame me, either. It’s Morning Star. He’s the problem. Him and his missing copper. Who in Piasa’s name are the Koroa anyway? Some bunch of swamp-footed barbarians with mud between their toes. Probably have moss growing in their armpits. As if it’s my problem they can’t keep an eye on their own possessions.”
He shot a hard look at Blood Talon. “Any progress finding that accursed copper?”
“No, War Leader.”
“You will address me as Clan Keeper.”
“Yes, Clan Keeper.”
“And you should have seen old Blue Heron. She mocks me. Looks so rotted smug. I’d love nothing better than to hear that dried-out old skull of hers crack under a solid blow from my club.”
“Maybe you could enlist the dwarf?” Nutcracker asked carefully. “The one who spies for Lady Columella over in Evening Star House.”
“Name’s Flat Stone Pipe. Shares Columella’s bed, too, I’m told,” Blood Talon added, relieved to no longer be the center of attention.
“How do you think that works?” Spotted Wrist asked absently, his attention back on the fire.
“A little bit of this, a little bit of that?” Blood Talon suggested.
“Night Shadow Star has turned me into a mockery.” Spotted Wrist’s gaze was burning as hot as the fire he stared into. “Was she there this morning? Did she seem worried that the Red Wing was in a fight for his life? A woman usually can’t help herself when the man she loves is in danger. Did you see that?”
Blood Talon glanced at Nutcracker, who said, “I think she watched from inside her palace, Keeper. All I saw was a shadow standing back from the doorway.”
“Well, there’s that. At least she’s not giggly-girl-silly-in-love-with-him to the point she’d throw herself in the middle of a fight to save him.”
“Word is that after her possession by Piasa, she’s aged beyond her years,” Blood Talon said.
Spotted Wrist stroked his chin. “She’s not the child I remember, that’s for sure. And all the more beguiling because of it. You see it, don’t you? The reason why I’ve got to have this marriage? No other woman in all of Cahokia, not even the tonka’tzi, is as renowned, respected, or beloved by the people. Everyone knows she stands toe-to-toe with the Morning Star. He treats her as his equal. There is no greater prize in the entire world.”
Blood Talon bit his lip, forcing his face to remain blank, thinking, That is why she can spurn you, old friend. Because in the end, she’s more Powerful, with more authority and prestige than any woman you’ve ever known.
And he was supposed to travel halfway across the world with her after trying to murder her lover?
A cold shiver found its way down Blood Talon’s back. But perhaps there might be a way to bring the entire expedition to a halt. Buy them all time.
“War Lea … Clan Keeper, I have an idea.”
Seven
The canoe landing below River Mounds City was bustling in the cold morning air. It might have been above freezing—but just barely. Night Shadow Star could see her breath frosting before her as she and Fire Cat walked down through the Traders’ camps. At their passing, people stopped, staring, some dropping to their knees. The Cahokians looked at her worshipfully; the foreigners gawked.
Of course they would. Outside of Morning Star himself, she and Fire Cat were probably the most famous people in Cahokia. People looked at her as if she were a breathing legend and Fire Cat as if he were one of the heroes of the Beginning Times walking among them. While she’d been raised with a sense of privilege as a daughter of the highest-ranking family in the city, she still hadn’t grown used to this new worship reflected in the people’s eyes.
She nodded at the hawkers who’d come early to claim the best spots for Trade. This time of year, the traffic was down, the canoe landing handling nothing like the volume of Trade it saw in summer—and especially in fall after the harvest. But for hardy Traders, at this time of the year the best bargains could be had for firewood, corn, and dried meats when larders where almost emptied of winter stores.
Nevertheless the narrow strip of beach bustled with a different kind of activity, driven by the approaching departure of her Cofitachequi expedition. An entire squadron was camped just the other side of the large Trade canoes that had been assembled. Smoke from the warriors’ fires hung in a low pall and added to the day’s haze.
The big canoes, wide enough for people to sit three abreast, had a predatory look where they lay in ranks, high prows carved in effigies. Boxes were already stacked in piles around them.
“That’s a lot of people and supplies just to go kill one man,” Fire Cat granted as he stepped up beside her. “It will be like a moving city.”
“Matron Rising Flame, Tonka’tzi Wind, and Spotted Wrist have handled the organization. Each has his or her own agenda.”
“Trying to transport that many people by canoe? All those nobles? Their staffs and households? Not to mention the squadron of warriors? We’ll be lucky if we make the mouth of the Mother Water within a moon. And that’s normally just a two-day journey. This is a disaster in the making.”
“Too many leaders and too many different ideas about what we’re about. As if any of the subchiefs are going to take orders. My guess, Red Wing? This expedition is going to tear itself apart within a week. We’ll be lucky if the different nobles aren’t fighting among themselves by the time we make the first camp down below The Chains.”
“You and I think a lot alike,” Fire Cat told her. “The notion that Blood Talon is going to follow your orders? After you humiliated Spotted Wrist and I shamed him before his men? I expect him to ignore you starting the moment we shove off from shore.”
She glanced across the lead-gray surface of the Father Water to Evening Star Town. The mound-top buildings dominated the high bluff. Matron Columella’s new palace could just be seen where its wedge-shaped roof rose against the sky. The thatch was only slightly grayed by the winter.
Hard to believe it had been less than a year since the palace had burned, and that just out there, in mid-river, was where she’d capsized the canoe with Walking Smoke.
“So close that day. Only to have the lightning save him,” Piasa whispered in her ear.
“All I saw was the blinding flash,” she answered, remembering the white light that had flared behind her closed eyes. Walking Smoke had been in the process of strangling her. Fool that he was, his clamped hands had kept her from sucking water into her lungs. In trying to kill her, he’d saved her life.
“Lady?” Fire Cat asked, giving her a questioning sidelong glance.
“You were there that day. Paddling after us. You said the lightning hit all around you.”
He instantly understood. “I don’t think I’ve ever been as terrified. Four bolts, all blasting down from the storm. One from each of the directions. I was left stunned.”
“It leaves us with a question.”
“Which is?”
“Were the Thunderbirds trying to save Walking Smoke? Or did they only strike because Piasa had placed himself within their reach?”
“I don’t think we’ll ever know,” Fire Cat told her. “The war between the Sky World and Underworld goes back to the Beginning Times. Of all the Spirit creatures, only Horned Serpent has the Power to fly up from the Underworld into the Sky World like he does in early summer through fall. Piasa, the Tie Snakes, they’re forever l
ocked in the Underworld. A few creatures, like ducks and cormorants, water beetles, and some of the other insects, can travel between the worlds with impunity.”
“We’ll be traveling on the rivers. Vulnerable. Floating on that narrow margin between the sky and the depths.”
Fire Cat turned his attention to where porters were carrying baskets of corn to the warehouse where provisions for the expedition were being stockpiled. It was a low-walled, plastered structure with a thatch roof that stood just slightly down from the cluster of buildings.
In the morning the corn would be poured into large seed jars, their lids sealed with pine sap. The sticky resin served two purposes, keeping out water and discouraging insects and vermin. The jars would in turn be packed into the heavy canoes.
The last of the equipment, baggage, and Trade goods would be loaded, and the day after tomorrow, the great Trade canoes would be launched. It seemed like an eternity, and just a fleeting moment away.
“Makes you wonder.”
“How’s that?” she asked.
“Walking Smoke is evil. He’s a twisted, tortured, bloodthirsty, and murderous soul bent on inflicting suffering and misery on everyone around him. Why would any form of Power align itself with him?”
“I’m not sure that align is the right word.” She frowned, her attention on the scattered guards who watched over the row of heavy canoes. Spotted Wrist’s men. A fact that left her with a bitter taste in her mouth. “Like us, Walking Smoke is serving some purpose.” She chuckled dryly. “Perhaps as the lure to entice this expedition to the east? Maybe to get us in close where Walking Smoke can kill us, thereby depriving the Underwater Panther of two of his most valued tools in this world.”
“You and me?” Fire Cat made a face, tucking his blanket tighter around his shoulders and exhaling a frosty breath. “Lovely thought.”
“Power plays an intricate game. Maybe that’s why Morning Star favors and supports our leaving. Ultimately, he and I are opponents. He is a Sky Being. I serve an Underworld lord. Currently we are uneasy allies. One of these days, events will place us in conflict.”
Star Path--People of Cahokia Page 5
