“Given what I’ve got hanging over Slender Fox? Believe me, she’ll deliver.”
Which was when Blue Heron turned. There, leaning against the back wall, his muscular arms crossed and knotted, Sliding Ice watched. The man’s eyes were slitted, angry, promising mayhem and violence.
Does he know it was me?
Somehow, that seemed a safe bet, and it sent a shiver down her spine.
Thirty-three
The way his warriors avoided his eyes, Blood Talon’s men understood the extent of his foul mood. He hung on the ragged edge of an explosion. He dared not. He was a squadron first, and his warriors took their cues from him. They relied on his sense, intelligence, and composure. Stomping around, kicking things, cursing, and waving his fists wasn’t the kind of behavior that would allow him to keep his command, let alone their respect.
So he bottled his anxiety and fuming frustration as his warriors paddled for the canoe landing at the Cahokian colony at Red Bluff Town.
To get to the colony they had turned up the River of Ducks, a tributary that entered from the eastern highlands. Red Bluff Town stood a short distance back from the confluence, atop the heights, on the tributary’s south side. At that place the limestone bluff extended like a finger above the floodplain, providing a point of vantage above both the Tenasee to the west and the River of Ducks.
A generation ago, an expedition under Red Tooth—one of Black Tail’s famed squadron firsts—had brought colonists here to hack out a settlement on the heights. For the first two years they’d battled with a tribe of forest farmers called the Tasi. At the same time, they ringed the old-growth trees, built their town, and hung on by their fingertips. Reinforced twice with additional warriors and colonists, Red Tooth finally prevailed. The Tasi had been overcome, enslaved, and the survivors had been absorbed by the Cahokians.
From there, additional settlements had been established ever farther up the River of Ducks until the entire valley had been brought under Cahokian control—or at least pacified and converted. Since then, the fertile valley had become a breadbasket exporting canoe-loads of corn, beans, squash, tobacco, and dogbane fiber as tribute to the Morning Star.
For the colonists’ purposes, the town’s location proved ideal. Not only was the location defensible, and with a good view of any approaching body of warriors, but it was well above the occasional flood, cooled by breezes that kept the bugs down, and on well-drained soil.
For Blood Talon, however, it meant he had to leave the main course of the Tenasee, and while the big river might be observed from the Red Bluff heights, it was so far away that his passing quarry would only be visible as a dot on the water. And only if they were passing on the far side where the view of the near shore wasn’t screened by trees.
His solution had been to leave Three Bow and Split Limb at the confluence to keep watch from the bank. If Night Shadow Star happened along, there wasn’t much the two warriors could do but wave as she went by. But at least Blood Talon would know if his quarry had passed, and how long ago they’d done so.
For a whole day, he would have to take the risk. He needed both supplies and help. Not to mention that his warriors were worn out. He could see it in their movements, in their haggard expressions, and more so, in their ever more surly behavior. They might be his most elite, but even the best had their breaking point.
For his arrival at Red Bluff Town, he’d had them dress in their armor, paint their faces, and don their finery. Not only did it serve to remind them who they were—Cahokia’s best—but he wanted to make the right impression on the local chief.
With a final burst of effort, his warriors sent the war canoe flying toward the landing, the bow cutting a groove in the sand as it literally speared the beach.
Then they were out, dragging the craft up on the landing where a line of crude dugouts of various sizes had already been beached. Several small camps of locals, dressed in crudely woven textiles, tanned buckskin, and wearing hair-on capes crafted from raccoon, beaver, bear, and wolf hides, watched from around smoking fires.
Blood Talon stretched his legs, took in the shoreline and the trail that led up to the town. The fact that Red Bluff Town was surrounded by a palisade wasn’t lost on him.
“Form up,” he told his warriors. “Wild Owl, Old Scar, keep an eye on the canoe. Not that I think the locals would cause us any trouble, but there’s no sense in tempting them.”
“Yes, Squadron First!”
Shouldering his quiver, taking up his shield, Blood Talon led the way, his legs finding the climb something of a challenge after days in the canoe.
The trail zigzagged up the grassy slope, around rotting stumps and crumbling limestone outcrops. He was cognizant that a small crowd had gathered above, that the entire climb was subject to observation and a potential rain of arrows from the heights.
At the crest, a small delegation approached at a trot. In the forefront, a young man, early twenties, wearing a blue tunic woven from fine dogbane fiber, carried himself erect, his step almost pompous. His hair had been wound up in a bun, a small copper headpiece topping it. A quick application of white had been dabbed on his cheeks, indicative of peace and welcome. In his hands he held a Four Winds Clan staff of office. The four men and single woman who followed appeared to be household staff, given their dress and manner.
Red Bluff Town centered around the palisade and the buildings within it, but most of the settlement lay outside the walls. Locally designed pole-frame dwellings were intermixed with Cahokian-style trench-wall houses. Each was surrounded by small garden plots. A spacious chunkey court was built just behind the towering World Tree pole. Drying racks, ramadas, what looked like sweat lodges, Council Houses, and a couple of temples gave the place a cluttered yet prosperous appearance. A stickball field lay beyond the houses where it butted up against the distant forest. People were coming from all directions, obviously curious about the newcomers.
“Greetings, warriors,” the young man called. “I am Whistle, of Horned Serpent House, of the Four Winds Clan, and nephew to High Chief Tanned Wolf, who bids you welcome to Red Bluff Town. Had we known of your imminent arrival we would have made the appropriate arrangements to receive you, but you catch us by surprise.”
Blood Talon bowed low, touching his forehead; his men mimicked the gesture. Then he straightened, stating, “I am Blood Talon, squadron first for War Leader and Four Winds Clan Keeper Spotted Wrist. My warriors and I appreciate the kind welcome to Red Bluff Town. We are in need of resupply and a short rest, along with some assistance if it can be had. These things I would discuss with High Chief Tanned Wolf at his soonest convenience.”
“You serve Spotted Wrist? The Hero of the North?”
“The very same.”
Whistle inclined his head, gesturing toward the palisade gate. “If you and your valiant warriors would accompany me, we will make you comfortable. Black drink is being prepared, and I’ve ordered food to be readied. My uncle, unfortunately, is upriver. Every spring he makes a tour of the towns and people under his supervision. In his stead, I will be happy to extend whatever hospitality and courtesy I can.”
With his practiced eye, Blood Talon took in the palisade and its condition. “Looks like you need to replace your fortifications. You’ve got rot eating through the posts.”
“Actually, we’re going to take it down this fall after the harvest comes in. We haven’t had the threat of an attack for years. But I can tell you, in the early days, things around here were different. The name Red Bluff Town? You’ll notice the soil is pale here. From the limestone. It was named for the blood that soaked into this ground during the fight to take this land.”
“Must have been difficult.”
“Let’s just say that no one slept well back then.”
“Looks like most of the activity is outside the fortifications.”
“It is. We keep the central area imposing for ritual purposes. Ceremonies for the visiting chiefs, the needs of state. It serves as a reminder o
f Cahokia’s grandeur and authority, not to mention the miracle of the living god.”
Inside the palisade Blood Talon saw raised granaries atop greased poles, closely packed trench-wall houses, and a palace at the far end of a small courtyard. A temple with a high roof had been erected on a low earthen platform immediately inside the gate. Everything here looked tidy, the thatched roofs in good repair. A World Tree pole—not as large as the one outside—dominated the center of the plaza.
People hustled about, mostly locals. The men and women wore their hair in styles Blood Talon wasn’t familiar with. Their facial tattoos came in patterns and designs he’d never seen before.
Whistle led them into the small plaza, indicating the building standing on the east side. “We offer you the Men’s House for your stay. Make yourselves at home. I have ordered food prepared. When you are ready, I will receive you at the palace.”
Blood Talon looked to his men. “Go, get some rest. When I need you, Nutcracker will sound the horn. Don’t wander too far, not more than a half-finger’s time to assembly.”
To Whistle, he said, “The sooner we talk, the better.”
The young man inclined his head. “Then come with me. If you don’t mind that black drink isn’t prepared, that the food is a half a hand of time away, and that the palace is in disarray, I will hear what you have to say.”
The interior of the palace might not have been outstanding in Cahokian terms, but for the wilds of the lower Tenasee, it was probably more than fine. The walls were decorated with carvings of the Morning Star, with skulls from vanquished foes, the occasional war trophy, and colorful fabrics. The central fire burned, as it would in any Cahokian palace. A rendering of Hunga Ahuito—the two-headed eagle who lived at the top of the Sky World—dominated the wall behind the raised dais where High Chief Tanned Wolf would sit during official state functions. The floor mat, made of woven rushes, though serviceable, wasn’t anything like the ornate examples in Cahokia.
“Have a seat,” Whistle offered, and spoke to a young woman in some local language. She immediately retrieved a long-necked jar and cups. These she filled and offered to Blood Talon and Nutcracker.
“Mint tea,” Whistle told them. He seated himself on the dais behind the fire as if he were high chief. “Now, what can I do for you?”
Blood Talon studied the young man, wondered if he had the authority he claimed. “I am on a mission for the Four Winds Clan, authorized by the clan matron herself, as well as on the orders of the Keeper. I am in pursuit of a criminal. A woman who has betrayed her clan, her people, and her honor. Perhaps betrayed the Morning Star himself. She is a desperate fugitive. I have been tasked to find her and take her back to Cahokia.”
“And what do you need from me?”
“You have people who know the river, the places she can go to ground. You have spies who can send word. I want help finding her, capturing her, and taking her back to Cahokia. Whatever it takes, I will do. Even if it means turning this entire river upside down.”
Thirty-four
The Casquinampo had called it Maygrass Town before they abandoned the location. It once stood on a raised terrace above the Sand River and a tributary called Creek-Where-Raccoons-Play that ran down from the uplands in the west. An old Trader’s trail could still be seen headed up the valley that—according to White Mat—ran across the limestone uplands, across the divide, and joined the headwaters of a creek that flowed west into the Father Water a ten-day journey away.
When the Cahokians had established their colony at the mouth of the Sand River, the Casquinampo had abandoned Maygrass Town, unsure of the Cahokians’ ultimate goals. They had been unwilling to have their people corrupted by the Cahokian priests with their stories of gods come to earth in human bodies, not to mention their insidious game of chunkey. All things that might subvert impressionable Casquinampo youths.
That had been almost a generation ago. The fields had gone back to wild, but still sported stands of the maygrass for which the town had been named. Remains of a rotted-out palisade—most of its posts hauled off over the years—forty or so house depressions, the structures long since collapsed, and a low, square mound that had once supported the chief’s palace, remained. A bowshot to the north stood a conical burial mound—grassed over now, and with saplings furring its slopes. Several prayer sticks—offerings to the dead—were weathering away.
Behind the old town limits, new-growth forest dominated, covering the gentle slopes back from the terrace. The trails that wound through the trees were thick with litter and leaf mat, their only use apparently from the deer who cautiously dared to pass this close to Canebrake Town.
Red Reed was pulled up at the west end of the canoe landing along the Creek-Where-Raccoons-Play and was masked from view by once-tended chokeberry bushes gone wild.
White Mat had set up camp back away from the water, and close to the forest where saplings were already marching through the thick grass and wildflowers that covered the old town. The location was out of sight from anyone passing by on the Sand River.
Made Man and Half Root had erected a shelter for themselves, while the other Traders built lean-tos.
Fire Cat and Night Shadow Star had put their efforts to building a bedding of grass, topped by blankets, and then draped tanned hides over a framework of branches to keep them dry.
Mixed Shell turned his attention to the stew, starting water to boil over the fire, while Shedding Bird sorted through their food stocks.
As soon as they were laid out, Night Shadow Star had crawled into her blankets; she was now sound asleep.
Fire Cat, for his part, strung his bow, collected his quiver, and took the old Traders’ trail that paralleled the creek bottom headed west.
As the day waned, the sum total of his hunt came to three large fox squirrels who’d forgotten just how accurately an arrow could be dispatched.
It was a measure of their exhaustion that the rest of the camp was asleep by dusk.
I should be as exhausted as the rest.
Instead he pasted his exposed skin with insect repellent made from something red called blood root and spruce sap mixed with sassafras extract. Then he walked down to the bank and looked out over the smooth waters of the Sand River. On the opposite shore willows, water oak, and cottonwood surrounded older bald cypress in the swampy low ground. Real bald cypress. He’d marveled at the trees, having never seen them alive and growing before. White Mat had assured him that as they traveled farther south, he’d see some giants. To a man raised in the northern forests, they were magical.
The first frogs were croaking; the night came alive with the sounds of insects. A fish splashed out on the river, its rings quickly devoured by the swelling and sucking water.
He watched as a bat flitted about in search of insects, its shape outlined against the dying light in the sky.
The sound of her steps as she made her way through the grass brought him back to the moment. Night Shadow Star seated herself beside him.
“Thought you’d still be asleep.”
She pulled her hair back, tilting her face to the evening sky. “I would be … but it was get up and find a place to relieve myself or spend the night in soaked blankets.” She glanced at him. “What are you doing out here?”
“Worried about Blood Talon. About getting past him. And once we do, there’s still Walking Smoke waiting for us at the end of the journey.”
She reached out, took his hand, her touch sending a tremor though him. “Wishing we could just run away?”
“Always.”
“The voices get louder when I’m tired. They’re telling me terrible things. Piasa has been flashing at the edges of my vision. I hear him speaking to me, but I can’t quite make out what he’s saying. It’s not good. It’s like he’s furious. That he needs to punish me for failing him.”
“How?”
“I don’t know.”
“I need you to tell me something.”
“What?” She shot him a quizzical l
ook.
“Is Piasa mad about you freeing me? If he is, tell him I serve you and only you. When it comes to you and me, nothing has changed. Bound or free, I remain yours. Whatever it takes, no matter the sacrifice. Make sure he understands.”
She stared at him, her eyes like dark holes in her face. “You should go. Make a life for yourself. Any people, any chief, any woman would be honored to have a man like you.”
“I have a life, an allegiance, a ruler, and a woman all rolled into one. She is outstanding, courageous, and all that I will ever need.”
She sighed, looked self-consciously away. “If I could change things…”
When she couldn’t finish, he gave her hand a reassuring pat. “We’ve had this conversation.”
“When we reach Cofitachequi…” She tightened her grip. “Fire Cat, I don’t know what happens beyond that. Piasa gives me glimpses in my dreams. Something terrible happens there. I can’t quite see it. I just know I am alone and terrified when it happens.”
He took a breath, used his free hand to swipe at the humming mosquitoes that had collected in a wavering column above his head. “If I am not at your side, I am dead. Nothing else would explain why you would be alone. Ever.”
“Do you really care so little for your future? You could live to an old and honored age. Have children…” Her voice faded.
“What? Why did you pause?”
“Piasa is laughing.” She glanced off into the gloom. “Yes, you miserable beast, I know he’s dedicated his life to me. I’m trying to get him to see reason.”
“I had children,” he told her. “Two charming wives. I was a famous war chief and considered a great man. Beloved by my people. It was all taken away from me. The price I paid to come into your service. If I’m to die keeping you alive—even if it be but for a matter of time—I need nothing more.”
Again, she was giving him that intent stare. “Do you really love me that much?”
“And more.”
She let go of his hand, lowered her face into her palms, her hair spilling around her like a mantle. He could hear her taking deep breaths, could see the slight shake of her head. “You are a fool.”
Star Path--People of Cahokia Page 21
