Star Path--People of Cahokia

by W. Michael Gear

  Moonrise was still a couple of hands of time away, and the forest above Fire Cat and Blood Talon’s camp was alive with night insects, frogs, and nightjars, though their symphony was partially masked by the roar of the Tenasee where it pounded and surged in the narrow canyon below.

  Camp had been made on a restricted flat where the trail crossed an outcrop of bedrock. That it was often used for such was readily apparent, not just because the ground was beaten down to dirt, but when they’d arrived the firepit had still contained glowing embers from the previous night’s campers.

  All that had been necessary was to climb the steep-walled canyon, find wood, and descend back to the level spot to rekindle the flames.

  Blood Talon sat with his back to a beech tree, the bark polished from hundreds of previous backs that had taken repose there. Across the fire, Fire Cat sat cross-legged, a frown marring his face as he used a chert flake to peel bark from a willow stem. He had cut a number of them in anticipation of the chance to make more arrows.

  “I really appreciate that you didn’t leave me in White Chief Town,” Blood Talon told the man. Then he winced, shifting his position slightly to ease the burns on his left side. He had grown tired of the pain. Warrior he might have been, tough, inured. Didn’t mean he wasn’t on the point of tears for most of his waking hours. Not that sleep came easily, as he was limited to flat on his back to avoid irritating the burns.

  Fire Cat glanced up from his arrow, eyes thoughtful. “I must be getting soft. That or so homesick I couldn’t stand the thought of not hearing the occasional word in my own language. Besides, you were almost to the point of dropping to your knees and begging.”

  “Not to my knees. It would have hurt too much.” Blood Talon glanced away. “I’ve hanged men in squares before. Led the festivities with the torch and knife. Laughed as they screamed. Pitied them as weak and cowardly when they pleaded for death. Always figured that if I was ever in their position, I’d bite my tongue off before I cried out. That down deep inside, at the core of my souls, I could take it.”

  “I didn’t notice you screaming.”

  “No.” Blood Talon glanced down at his hands, grimy from the trail and with dirt under the nails. “They’d just gotten started. Hadn’t been at it for more than a finger of time, I suppose. It was just my sides and underarms. It wasn’t like when a flaming brand is raised up under a man’s shaft and stones, when he smells his hair down there burning. Or when they pry his mouth open, shovel in hardwood coals, and cook his tongue in his mouth.”

  Firelight was dancing in Fire Cat’s eyes as he shot Blood Talon an evaluative look from across the flames.

  The squadron first said, “I suspect I would have screamed. I would have pleaded for a quick and easy death.”

  “I prayed that myself the night my lady came and cut me down. Thought she was First Woman come for my souls.”

  Blood Talon flexed his hand, watching the fingers move, oddly touched at the complexity of the bones, tendons, and joints. “Why am I telling you this?”

  “Because for the first time in your life, you don’t know who you are.”

  “I’m Blood Talon, squadron first, of the Snapping Turtle Clan, and … and…”

  “And you’re in a distant land where no one gives a pebble for any of that. You saw the looks you were getting back there in White Chief Town. They saw a half-naked man dressed in a ragged breechcloth who they knew had been freshly tortured, his burns still peeling, weeping pus, and covered with grease.

  “Worse, it was a man who barely speaks Trade tongue, who knows none of the local languages and nothing of the customs. You were afraid. Afraid of being left there. Alone.” Fire Cat smiled. “And of all the things I could have done to you, leaving you there to face that would have been the cruelest.”

  Blood Talon picked at his dirty fingernails, unable to meet Fire Cat’s eyes. “I’m not a coward.”

  “Everyone has a place, time, or situation that terrifies them. Fortunately for most people, they manage to live their lives through to the end without finding themselves there, in that place or moment. But for Spotted Wrist sending you here, you might have been one of those lucky people.”

  “And you’ve faced that moment of terror?”

  Fire Cat nodded, concentrating on the arrow as long slivers of bark were peeled from the shaft.

  “Was it when we threw you into the canoe and sent you to Cahokia to die?”

  Fire Cat smiled wistfully. “It was in the Sacred Cave, in the darkness. I stood, terrified, before Horned Serpent. Eye to eye with the creature. At the same time the fingers of the Dead kept pulling at my skin, hair, and face.”

  “That was when you and Night Shadow Star went after the living god’s souls.”

  “She shared her courage with me.”

  Blood Talon took a deep breath, feeling his burns pull. “If I survive this, I will never put another human being in a square again.”

  Fire Cat gave him another of those probing glances.

  Blood Talon grinned back humorlessly. “I want to go with you, Red Wing. For the time being anyway. Yes, yes, I was sent to kill you. And looking back, I don’t blame you for what you did on the river. If I’d had the courage, been in your position, I’d have tried to do the same.”

  “So here you are. And the only familiar thing you have to cling to is me. A man whose family and clan you destroyed, and whom you would have murdered. Either here on the river or through treachery back in Cahokia. Not a ringing recommendation for trust, is it?”

  “No, I suppose not.”

  Fire Cat gestured with his partially finished arrow. “There’s a lot of blood and pain between us. My family. My children…”

  Blood Talon pursed his lips, frowned. “I should have died back there with the rest of my friends and companions. Power saved me. Spat me out on the bank to be found by those barbaric weasels back in that village. And here I am. With you.”

  “Like I said, that remains to be seen.”

  “I see the concern in your eyes. You’re almost soul sick with worry about her. You’re not going to stop until you find her.”

  “What business is that of yours, unless you still think you’re going to take her back to Spotted Wrist?”

  “No. The two of you, you’re too Powerful.” Blood Talon looked up. “That’s what we never understood. What they still don’t understand. Spotted Wrist and Rising Flame, they can beat you and Night Shadow Star down, take away all that you think you are, and you just keep coming back, stronger, more Powerful. Night Shadow Star really is protected by the Underwater Panther. You serve her. Are part of her. Part of Power.”

  “I’m just a man who has given her my oath.”

  “The famous Red Wing honor?”

  Fire Cat shrugged dismissively, attention back on his arrow.

  “It’s safer and faster, traveling with two. If you have my help, it will be that much sooner when you finally catch up with this Winder and your lady.”

  “What about your oath? The one you swore to Spotted Wrist?”

  Blood Talon stared blankly at the fire where it crackled and shot another fountain of sparks toward the night sky. “That problem has me confused. Funny, isn’t it? I’ve always followed orders. Served him with my heart and soul. I did it because I was expected to. In all those years I did things because I promised him I would. But it just hit me. I have no oath to serve him, never promised I’d bring Night Shadow Star back to him. He just ordered me to.”

  “So, what does that really mean, Squadron First?”

  Blood Talon squinted into the flames, trying to see the truth of it. “That’s what confuses me. I’m not sure.”

  “Then maybe you’d better be about finding out.”

  Sixty-one

  The words “liquid with fear” meant something to Blue Heron. She was totally immersed in the meaning, feeling it as it ran through her veins, tickled her stomach, and shivered her bones.

  This is taking too long!

  She shi
fted from foot to foot, staring around in the night. They were going to be discovered. She kept expecting some shouted alarm, that warriors were going to come boiling out of Spotted Wrist’s palace and seize them all.

  Morning was just a half a hand of time away over the eastern horizon. Better were this the middle of the winter instead of nearing the summer solstice. Night was just too cursed short to get anything meaningful done.

  An owl hooted from the roof of the Surveyors’ Society building where it overlooked the Avenue of the Sun just east of the Great Plaza.

  This was madness. She could think of a hundred things that might go wrong and get her, Flat Stone Pipe, and who knew who else hanged in squares.

  “You sure this is the right building?” Wooden Doll asked as she strode up beside Blue Heron and squinted at the dark palace.

  “Can’t miss those guardian posts,” Blue Heron told her, pointing to the two tall double-headed eagles atop their high poles on either side of the walkway leading up the low mound. “It’s Sun Wing’s palace. The one right behind it, between us and the Great Plaza? That’s the Recorders’ House. That next one down is the Men’s House. This is some of the most prized ground in Cahokia.”

  “Shhh!” Wooden Doll reached out, dragging Blue Heron into a crouch at the side of the sloping earth.

  From Spotted Wrist’s palace, a man emerged, little more than a shadow in the darkness. He made his way around to the back of the mound, and, standing on the corner, undid his breechcloth.

  The sound of spattering urine could be heard in the still air.

  Blue Heron held her breath as the man retraced his steps to the palace veranda and stepped inside.

  “Bet that has Flat Stone Pipe’s attention.”

  “Hope he’s the kind who can get right back to sleep after he pees.” Wooden Doll rose to her feet again, eyes on the Keeper’s palace. “I hate men like that. Especially the ones with dinky little bladders. Keep me up all night.”

  Movement by the door of Sun Wing’s palace solidified into two young men dressed in breechcloths, their skin gleaming slightly from the grease and mosquito repellent they’d rubbed on their bodies.

  On silent feet they skipped down the short stairway to the ground, and one said, “It’s set, Lady. In fact, listen.”

  Blue Heron turned her right ear, the one that heard the best, toward the doorway. The faint crackle and popping was just audible over the keening of crickets and the slight breeze rustling through the thatch.

  “We don’t have much time.”

  “How did you know that Lady Sun Wing would be staying the night in Rides-the-Lightning’s temple?” Wooden Doll asked as they retreated to where her litter sat in the shadows behind the Recorders’ House.

  “The Earth Clans shaman owes me. Not to mention that he really appreciated the whelk-shell cup I sent him when I asked if he’d invite Sun Wing to bring the Tortoise Bundle up for a pre-solstice Blessing ceremony and a cure.”

  “And Spotted Wrist?”

  “What’s the point of running a spy network if you can’t use it? He’s in Serpent Woman Town. House business. He won’t be back until tomorrow morning.”

  Wooden Doll’s shake of the head was barely visible in the darkness. “Can’t believe that you would burn your niece’s palace. It’s a bit extreme if you ask me.”

  “Not a great loss. The place is a dump. It needs burning. Sun Wing’s not the same these days. Walking Smoke broke something inside her when he tried to sacrifice her. Being the Keeper for the Tortoise Bundle? It’s given her a purpose, but she’s living in the Spirit World where keeping a clean house doesn’t seem to be a priority.”

  Wooden Doll studied her in the darkness. “You know what will happen if this goes wrong tonight?”

  “I was just dwelling on that very fact.”

  “Me? I can just fade away. Spotted Wrist will be coming after you. You’re the most logical one.”

  “I am.”

  “Why? Skull’s a clanless thief. I can understand that he’d be an amusement, a novelty for a woman like you. But to attempt something like this?”

  Blue Heron shot the woman a sidelong glance. “You’ve never really trusted me, have you?”

  “Excuse me, Lady, but my associations with nobility haven’t exactly taught me to believe they’re the most trustworthy of humankind. Just the opposite, in fact.”

  Blue Heron took a deep breath. “Seven Skull Shield and I have a joke that we share. We agree to never let anyone know we’re friends because it would disconcert people who think better of us. Yes, he’s a pain in the ass. Absolutely irreverent, and he refuses to treat me like the high-ranking and exalted personage I am. A fact for which I dearly appreciate him. When I really needed him, Seven Skull Shield was there for me.”

  Wooden Doll turned her eyes to Sun Wing’s palace. “This is it.” She turned to the men crouched in the darkness. “Get ready.”

  Blue Heron fought to settle her pounding heart. “We’d better hope that Flat Stone Pipe has done his part.”

  “If not, here.” Wooden Doll slipped a small jar stoppered with wax into Blue Heron’s hand.

  “What’s this?”

  “Concentrated essence of water hemlock. If we can’t get him out of there, it’s the kindest thing we can do for him.”

  “You think he’d drink poison?”

  “Rather than hang in a square? I thought you said he was your friend, that you knew him?”

  “You’re right.”

  The first flames ate their way through the roof of Sun Wing’s palace.

  Time.

  Blue Heron, nerves jumping like scalded crickets, hurried across the avenue, climbed up the short stairs to Spotted Wrist’s palace, crossed the veranda, and pushed the door open.

  Into the dark room, she shouted, “Fire! Next door! Hurry! If you don’t put it out, this whole section of Cahokia is going to burn! That happens, Spotted Wrist will have your asses cooked and handed to you on a carved wooden platter!”

  It took a couple of heartbeats as the warriors all sat up in their beds, glanced wide-eyed in her direction.

  “Well, did you hear me? Fire!”

  The beds erupted in a flurry as men clawed for their clothing.

  Blue Heron stepped back, clearing the way as the warriors pelted out the door, calling to each other.

  Across the narrow gap, Sun Wing’s palace was now a burning torch in the night.

  It took longer than it should have to peel Seven Skull Shield’s comatose body out of the cage. Despite the bindings cut by Flat Stone Pipe, the cage had been very, very well built.

  Nevertheless, not a finger’s time later, Blue Heron was able to fade into the darkness as Wooden Doll’s litter was borne off to the west, the thief’s unconscious body sprawled in the seat.

  All right, that’s done. Now the fat’s in the fire. Spotted Wrist will be coming, and he’ll know exactly who to blame.

  Sixty-two

  This time the Traders were Chalakee. The four tall, muscular men with long streaming black hair they wore roached and tied with red and white cloth were the first of their nation Night Shadow Star had ever known. The eldest was Slinking Cat, an affable man in his early forties. Blue Wolf was his dry-witted friend. Cuts Hominy came across as sardonic and worldly for his late twenties. The youngest, Thorn, was in his teens, quiet, and still learning the river. The one woman, Pestle, was of medium stature with broad shoulders and had a round and pleasant face. She carried a war club hung from her belt, an accoutrement entirely in contrast to her good-natured and sunny personality.

  In all her years, Night Shadow Star had never known a Chalakee, or Cherokee as they were sometimes called. Seemed that the rest of the world had trouble with the preferred pronunciation.

  Like all good Trade canoes, the one Night Shadow Star now found herself in was thin-hulled, wide of beam, and carefully crafted. To build such a craft took just the right kind of wood: cypress or red cedar was preferred. It needed a straight grain that wouldn�
��t warp as it seasoned, and as few knots as possible since they would loosen and leak. The process of burning out the interior required a master’s skill and patience. The hull couldn’t be too thin, or the wood would crack. Too thick and the craft would be sluggish; every bit of unnecessary wood not only took up space that could be filled with Trade but made the canoe ride lower in the water. All of it extra weight that had to be propelled by the paddlers.

  As the Chalakee drove their canoe along the Tenasee’s flower-speckled bank, Night Shadow Star tried to ignore her splitting headache and carefully probed her swollen and bruised lips. Her jaws ached, and nasty bruises had darkened on the side of her head. She was grateful that her cheek hadn’t shattered under that last ringing blow.

  Spit and blood, she wished she had some red willow bark tea.

  Her shoulder felt as if it had been pulled out of its socket. She winced as she probed the swelling on the side of her head and stared out at the river, its waters taking on a silvered look in the morning light. Mist hung in the emerald-green growth along the banks, rising in thin streamers through the thick band of forest that grew down to the bank.

  The morning smelled of the Tenasee’s earthy musk, the rich odors of leaves and vegetation. Birdcall, in a riotous cacophony, echoed down from the high canopy and mixed with the chirring, whizzing, and clicking of myriad insects. Some sort of hatch was in progress, the air alive with the shimmering of diaphanous wings as insects by the thousands rose from the water and into the sunlight.

  “I think the Casqui and his friends got the worst of it,” Winder remarked from where he paddled behind her. He’d been watching her gentle probing of her wounds.

  “Why did you wait so long?”

  “Needed to have them out beyond anyone’s hearing before I laid into them. Lady, you’ve got to understand, they take the Power of Trade and keeping the peace very seriously at Canyon Town. Doesn’t matter that you were the victim. If you’d made a scene back there, people would have wanted to know why. It’s better all the way around that we just slipped away. Especially if I killed either of the two I smacked in the head.”