Star Path--People of Cahokia

by W. Michael Gear

  The only constant had been the rivers: alive, filled with the Power of the Creation and the Beginning Times. She could believe they were the Spirits of the magical Serpents of the Beginning Times, turned into water to forever flow from the highlands down to the sea.

  Under her breath, she recited the myth to herself as she paddled. “Just after the Creation, Crawfish scooped mud from beneath the primordial waters and brought it to the surface to create the land. Vulture spread the land, contoured it with each beat of his mighty wings, lifting and dropping to shape mountains and valleys. From the heights, the Spirit Serpents crawled down through the lowest places, their bodies becoming the living waters, the rivers and streams.”

  The very waters Red Reed skimmed across with such apparent ease, its bow and stern leaving V-shaped wakes to vanish in the wind-borne waves and swelling and eddying surface.

  Despite living on the Father Water as she did, she’d never really understood the vibrant Power that flowed through the river’s soul. As Red Reed had proceeded, she had watched in wonder as the currents swirled and spun, how the little whirlpools had formed, and upwelling spread across the rippling surface, disrupting the waves.

  Of course the river lived, filled as it was with Serpent Power that flexed beneath the canoe’s keel.

  Bedazzled, she watched as the south wind stroked waves from the water’s surface, experienced the miracle of the waves marching against the current to create the illusion of the river running backward at the same time it bore them ever south. Were she to free her imagination, she might believe she was going in two directions at once.

  “This is my world,” Piasa said from just behind her ear.

  She whirled, expecting to see him crouched there on the canoe’s gunwale, only to find a startled Half Root who asked, “What’s wrong?”

  “Just Piasa. He’s here. Pacing us.”

  None of which had reassured the Traders.

  “You get used to it,” Fire Cat had told the others reasonably.

  The Traders’ wary glances back and forth, not to mention over the sides—as if they were looking for the Underwater Panther—hinted that they did not believe him for a moment.

  The river: realm of the Tie Snakes, stalking ground of Piasa, of Snapping Turtle, and Horned Serpent. Her souls had walked in the Underworld, wrapped in the arms of Sister Datura. Now her body floated on that thin veneer of surface. Such a fragile boundary between worlds. One she could whisk her fingers through. Only Red Reed’s slim hull kept her separate from the Power that surged, eddied, and flowed beneath her.

  That night she walked out from the little village called Fish-on-the-Bank. A couple of families of Illini had built it on the north bank of the Mother Water just above its confluence with the Father Water. Normally some distance from the river, the flooded lowlands now allowed Red Reed to beach where the water was lapping within a body length of the lowest pole-topped structure in the tiny hamlet.

  White Mat had bargained off a small clam-shell bracelet in return for a night under a roof in one of the bent-pole houses. The place wasn’t much. A hovel. But after last night’s cold camp on the beach below The Chains on the Father Water, just having four walls and a roof felt like a luxury.

  Supper had consisted of boiled catfish and the earliest spring greens. Not a feast fit for high chiefs, but filling.

  Night Shadow Star rubbed her sore arms and shoulders, wincing in the night. Something deep within her souls—a realization that she had just begun to recognize—was pleased that she’d picked up a paddle and joined in the work.

  She’d always had a firm grasp of teamwork after her years on the stickball court, but this tight-knit bond she was developing with the Traders was something new.

  Why am I out here wandering in the night? I should be in an exhausted sleep.

  Earlier, Piasa’s whispered voice had awakened Night Shadow Star from a sound sleep. Her thoughts wouldn’t leave her alone. Rising, she had walked out into the quiet village, her presence only noticed by the village dogs who’d approached, tails wagging, looking for some kind of treat.

  Pulling her blanket tight, she took the trail down to the water’s edge beside the tied-off Red Reed and stared up at the night sky. The moon was almost dark, the heavens a mass of stars that reminded her of frost swirled across the blackness.

  They had made good time. To her surprise, White Mat and Shedding Bird had acquiesced when she ordered them to travel late into the night and rise early before dawn to make additional use of the daylight hours.

  “Happy to,” Made Man had told her. “Headed downstream? That’s the easy part. Find the river’s thread—or fastest current—and hold it, keep steerage, and we literally shoot downstream like an arrow.”

  “Hard part,” Half Root rejoined from where she stroked her paddle in the stern, “comes when we reach the Mother Water and head east. That’s upstream, against the current. Then we have to read the river, stay as far from the thread as we can and paddle harder in the backwater and shallows, slip across the current as it twists back and forth. Then every bit of progress we make is paid for by muscle and sweat.”

  “Fire Cat and I will do our share,” she’d told the woman.

  “Don’t push yourself too hard. We don’t expect you to give up being a Cahokian lady the first day,” White Mat had remarked skeptically.

  “And since when can’t a Cahokian lady do a full day’s work?”

  They’d laughed, and truth be told, she hadn’t come close to contributing a full day’s work. Night Shadow Star had thought herself fit, hardened by her dedication to stickball and running. Paddling, however, exercised muscles in her arms and shoulders she hadn’t used in years.

  “It’s all right,” Half Root had told her after a couple of fingers of time. “You’re used up. Take a break. You’re causing us more work missing strokes and dragging your blade than you help.”

  “Ease into it,” White Mat had insisted. “It will take a couple of days to harden your body and hands. Bleeding blisters aren’t worth it in the end, not when you can take the time and grow the calluses slowly.”

  The Trader had been right. Every muscle in Night Shadow Star’s shoulders, arms, and back ached and burned. She massaged them as she strode along the bank. The night, so close to equinox, seemed particularly thick. The feeling was of eyes watching her from out in the flooded forest.

  The Mother Water’s black water pooled around the spring-heavy trees in the floodplain. The smell of mud and damp vegetation hung like a pungent perfume in the night. The water lapping at the bank mixed with the sounds of frogs and the first beetles. A fish splashed out in the dark water, and a night bird called.

  She thought she caught a flicker of movement out in the flooded trees as Piasa slipped through the shadows. She could feel the beast, watching, biding his time, knowing how she chafed at his ever-present interference with her life.

  Worse, she had to sit through the day, her body brushing Fire Cat’s, aware of his presence, catching whiffs of his musky perspiration. Sharing his company, seeing his smile, watching his hands move on the paddle, added to the agony come night when she had to bed down across from him. To listen to his soft breathing, and know that she’d destroy them both if she slipped over to his bed and crawled under his blanket.

  “We have a chance at the end of this journey,” she told the night, knowing that Piasa was listening.

  And, though it tortured her to avoid his touch, at least she could revel in his humor, his strength and honor. Having half of the man she loved was better than having none of him at all.

  “You all right?” Fire Cat asked from the darkness behind her. Figured he’d have noticed her absence.

  “Piasa was whispering into my ear. Words I could barely hear. Besides, I needed to walk. My legs are cramped. Sitting all day, every day. How do they do it?”

  “Traders get used to it. You can stop, you know. Rest. They work for us, after all. We don’t have to push this hard.”

  �
�Yes, you do,” Piasa whispered in her ear.

  “I’ll pay that price.”

  “Why?”

  “Piasa says we have to.”

  She turned, seeing Fire Cat’s night-shadowed form in the trees. “We’re in the middle. Caught between two traps.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “Something coming from behind. Something awaiting us ahead. Both of them terrifying, both bringing pain and trouble.”

  “All right, we know that Walking Smoke is awaiting us in Cofitachequi, but what’s behind us?”

  “Who do you think?”

  “The expedition? That mass of people, canoes, and supplies couldn’t possibly make the kind of time we are. They have to unload, set up camp, build fires, cook food enough for an army.”

  “Spotted Wrist.”

  “You’re sure? Piasa tells you this?”

  “He does. But more, I can feel it.”

  “What does he want? Pay you back for outsmarting him?”

  “He’s not used to losing. At anything. I embarrassed him. Made him look weak. How can he be the Keeper, ferreting out threats to the Four Winds Clan, when he can’t even compel me to marry him after the clan matron herself ordered it? That can’t be allowed to stand.”

  “He can’t leave Cahokia.”

  “It will be a party of his warriors. He won’t rest until I’m in his bed.”

  “Won’t that be a slap to the Morning Star’s face? Chunkey Boy wants you to kill Walking Smoke. Probably hasn’t forgotten how close Walking Smoke’s assassin came to cutting his throat. Keeping you from taking out his rival in Cofitachequi? It’s not healthy to enrage your brother. He holds a grudge.”

  “Spotted Wrist will have a plan, some way to soften the blow. Probably something with Rising Flame’s blessing. After all, she appointed him. His failure makes her look bad as well.”

  “But you said that rushing ahead is just as threatening.”

  “Walking Smoke knows we’re coming.”

  “Yes,” Piasa whispered from somewhere behind her ear.

  “Ominous, indeed.” Fire Cat bent his head back to stare up at the cloud-thick sky.

  “And the jaws will be ready to snap shut around us the moment we are within reach.” She tried to imagine what sort of trap her brother would set. Something intricate to pay her back for her part in ruining his murderous spree in Cahokia.

  Chunkey Boy wasn’t the only brother she had who carried a grudge. Even before the Morning Star’s Spirit had devoured Chunkey Boy’s souls, it had been Walking Smoke who was the most devious, and ultimately, entirely evil.

  Twenty-three

  In Trade pidgin, Blood Talon called, “We’re looking for a Trader’s canoe. We think with seven people. They’re headed upriver with two Cahokians. At least one woman, young. She’s a Cahokian noble, dressed well. Four spirals are tattooed on her cheeks. A warrior travels with her. A scarred man accompanied by armor, weapons, and chunkey gear.”

  Blood Talon perched on the high prow of the sleek war canoe as it was paddled along the edge of the flooded trees; his attention was fixed on the two dugouts proceeding in tandem across the muddy water. Lines attached to a submerged net were being towed by the two craft. Each held three fishermen, all bent to their paddles as they dragged their net through the shallows at the edge of the half-drowned trees.

  “We might,” one of the fishermen called back through an atrocious accent. “Such a party stayed at our village last night. They Traded for house for a lady and her warrior. They head for Tenasee. The canoe is Red Reed. They leave us at dawn.”

  “Was the lady called Night Shadow Star?”

  “How do I know? They only talk to her in Cahokian. But she got those tattoos.”

  “Thank you. The Morning Star’s blessing upon you!”

  The man waved, bending back to his paddle, far more interested in loading his net than talking to passing warriors.

  “Think it’s her?” Nutcracker asked as Blood Talon lowered himself to a seat.

  “Has to be her. How many Cahokian ladies do you know of headed for the Tenasee? If I were her? And I’d just embarrassed the war leader? I’d figure that Spotted Wrist would send someone to drag me back. One thing about Night Shadow Star, she hasn’t proved to be stupid. Not even once.”

  “I never thought it would take us this long to catch her. It’s almost like she knows we’re chasing her.”

  “She knows.”

  “Do you really think she’s that smart? Or are the tales true?”

  “What tales?”

  “That she’s protected by Underworld Power. The stories are that she sends her souls there, you know. That she walks the Underworld with Piasa at her side. That the Spirit Beast whispers in her ear, and that she sees him.”

  “That’s piss in a pot if you ask me.” Blood Talon said it more for the men’s benefit. No sense in spooking them or feeding any of their night fears.

  On those occasions when he’d seen her, he thought her Spirit-possessed. That eerie look she got? The vacancy in her eyes? Well, it made the stories about her soul possession pretty easy to believe.

  Once they caught her, maybe he’d take special precautions. Maybe cover her head with a sack so that she couldn’t cast some sort of spell on his warriors. Keep her trussed up like a cocoon lest she invoke malevolence with her fingers.

  Have to catch her first, though.

  Blood Talon glanced over his shoulders at the warriors resting on their paddles. “She’s a half day ahead of us. She doesn’t know we’re closing on her. I know you’re tired. I know I’ve pushed you hard. But just a little longer. That’s all I ask. We have to make up a half a day. When we have her, we can rest, feast for a day or two, and once we’re refreshed, we can take our time getting her back to Cahokia.”

  The men answered with weary cheers, bending their backs to the paddles. The war canoe cleanly cut the waves. Broad-beamed as it was, it proved a fast vessel, built for moving men three abreast, and he had the toughest and strongest of his hand-chosen warriors to make up the difference.

  Blood Talon smiled. These were his warriors, trained, battle-hardened, and proud of it. If anyone could catch Night Shadow Star, it would be them.

  Twenty-four

  The fact that a couple of warriors were watching Night Shadow Star’s palace really annoyed Seven Skull Shield. And what did they think? That he was some three-fingered fool who’d just go tripping down the stairs and into their arms?

  By Piasa’s hanging balls, no way. He and Farts had waited until after midnight, slipped out the dark doorway, skirted around to the back of the palace, and eased down the mound’s steep slope. In addition to being bundled in a mottled gray, completely unremarkable but very warm blanket, he carried a hemp-cord sack that dangled from a thin rope that secured its top. The contents he had carefully chosen from among the boxes of Night Shadow Star’s wealth as he helped replace the carelessly tossed items left by Blood Talon’s warriors.

  For the time being, the problem of Willow Blossom was taken care of. She’d been awestruck at the notion that she could live in Night Shadow Star’s palace, safe from retribution from her husband, surrounded by wealth.

  This hadn’t been approved of by the rest of the household staff, but they’d heard Night Shadow Star’s order.

  “Look, it’s a simple fix to your problem,” Seven Skull Shield had told Green Stick. “You take care of Willow Blossom, keep her fed, happy, and safe, and I’ll stay gone and out of your hair.”

  “Are you insane? We don’t know who this woman is. Only that her husband is hunting her. Why should we allow a stranger to just live in our lady’s palace?”

  Seven Skull Shield had grinned. “You’re right. She might get lonely. Maybe I should leave Farts here, too. You know, company for Willow Blossom while I go about my business of—”

  “No! You’re right! She’ll be no problem at all.”

  Just thinking back on it had Seven Skull Shield grinning. As he trotted down the
cold Avenue of the Sun, he told Farts, “See, that’s the thing about people. There’s always a lever, a way to manipulate them to your purpose.”

  The big dog glanced up, darkness obscuring his blue-and-brown eyes, the tail lashing like a phantom in the night.

  But that still left the problem: What to do about Spotted Wrist and Rising Flame.

  “Sometimes I wish I could go back and sew my mouth shut,” Seven Skull Shield muttered into the night, his breath clouding around his head. “Pus and blood, who does that arrogant overfed excuse of a Keeper think he is? Sending warriors to kidnap Night Shadow Star? Then trash her palace? Flip through her things, paw around her bed?”

  He made a face, admitting to the dog at his side, “Old Five Fists was right. I’m going to remember embarrassing that weasel-shafted Spotted Wrist for a long time. And there won’t be a person in that room who forgets it either.”

  And that was a problem. It was one thing to embarrass an influential man like Spotted Wrist. More worrisome that he’d also showed up Rising Flame. And even more vexing and dangerous, everyone who’d been in that room had seen him do it. All nobles, Lords of Cahokia. Four Winds and Earth Clans chiefs.

  Depending upon who demanded what, most of Cahokia would be hunting him within the next couple of days.

  As always, he turned his steps toward Crazy Frog’s, finding himself in the gambler’s front yard as Mother Otter stepped out with a pot. The woman gave him a disgusted look as she emptied the contents of the brownware pot into the latrine behind the ramada.

  “I could name a thousand disagreeable ways to begin a morning, like having the cramps or a bloody flux, or maybe a toothache, but no, there’s even worse afoot, and here it stands in my doorway.”

  “Good morning, Mother! Assuming that you’ve come to your senses and want to leave that rather sketchy husband of yours, I’m ready at this very moment to steal away with you. Show you the way to true love.”