Star Path--People of Cahokia

by W. Michael Gear

  She watched his head disappear back into the rain fly’s shadows, heard him sigh as he resettled himself.

  She couldn’t hold such a thing against a man who was Dreaming about his wife. Assuming she could really believe that’s who he was Dreaming of. Winder being Winder and all.

  A weary smile crossed her lips.

  She shook the misty rain from her hair. Walked over to her packs. She was surprised to see that a couple of coals still glowed in the firepit despite the rain. Several of the porters’ pack dogs were watching her where they lay curled by their masters.

  She took only her personal pack, shaking the water from it before removing her slender-handled copper-bitted ax.

  Mindful of Piasa’s words, she dipped it in the spring, thought she saw the copper take on a blue glow, and stared at it in the darkness.

  “Lord, you expect me to die?”

  The feeling of loneliness and abandonment enveloped her. At the same time, she found it liberating.

  If she was killed in the process of destroying Walking Smoke, Fire Cat would be truly free. He would have the rest of his life to find a good woman who would bear his children, have his farmstead, and perhaps die an old man, his head full of memories of Night Shadow Star, the lady he had loved, and Cahokia, and the accolades that had been showered upon his head.

  “As if you’d know the first pus-rotted thing about love,” she told the Spirit Beast.

  As she took to the trail, the last thing she heard was Piasa’s hollow laughter.

  Seventy-eight

  Tonka’tzi Wind sat in her great room, atop her litter where it perched on her dais, and studied her visitors through slitted eyes. Spotted Wrist had a look of triumphant joy. He wore a scarlet cloak over his shoulders, a striking white apron embroidered in black that fell to a point between his knees, and a gleaming copper headpiece, worthy of the Morning Star.

  Rising Flame had a painted bunting–feather cape over her shoulders, shell necklaces around her neck that hung down between her full round breasts, and a calf elk–skin skirt, finely tanned and scraped, that clung to her hips. Her hair was up in a matron’s bun, pinned with eagle feathers.

  How did this happen?

  Looking back, she couldn’t think of a more ironic way to wake up. Over the years, she had awakened to tragedy, to every type of bad news imaginable, to the loss of friends and family, to news of defeat, even catastrophe.

  She had never awakened to the reality of being a hostage in her own palace and that her enemies had not only dared to invade her sanctuary but had done so with impunity. The action had been so well handled that she had slept right through her own downfall, and only found out when she’d rolled out of bed, called for her head of household, and saw Spotted Wrist himself come striding through her door, saying, “Ah, up at last, I see. Good. I thought you needed a good night’s sleep.”

  “Where is Wild Rose? What are you doing here?”

  “Your head of household has the rest of your people preparing breakfast for me and a select few of my warriors. Oh, and don’t bother calling for your guard. They’re currently huddled down on the avenue, trying to figure out what to do with themselves.”

  So she’d dressed, surprised that they’d let her mount her dais and adopt the trappings of her office.

  Now she sat, the remains of the breakfast she’d forced herself to eat like a stone in her stomach as she considered Spotted Wrist and Rising Flame. She found it ominous that they were the only two allowed in the room.

  The Keeper was saying, “… nothing changes. This afternoon, escorted by my warriors, you will be transported to the Council House to conduct the city’s business with the Pacaha, Tunica, and Quigualtam embassies. There are also messengers who have arrived from several of the colonies. I suspect you’ll get an update from the Cofitachequi expedition, perhaps even word on the progress of your niece.” He paused. “If you hear anything about Squadron First Blood Talon and my warriors, please alert me first thing.

  “Other than that,” he continued, stepping close to fix her with his hard stare, “be careful. You do understand careful, don’t you? It means that for the moment you are useful. I need you here, doing what you do. It’s called creating the illusion of stability and continuity.”

  Rising Flame had stood with her arms crossed, one slim leg forward. Periodically she cast emotionless glances at Spotted Wrist, and then at Wind. Whatever was going on behind her expressionless face, Wind couldn’t tell.

  Spotted Wrist added, “Actually, the transition should come as a relief. Your life just got a whole lot easier. You can sleep late, don’t have to worry yourself sick about House or Clan politics. All you need to do is show up when asked and do as you are told. Simple, really.”

  He paused. “So simple that if you fail to do as I’m requesting, if I discover that you’re unable to follow instructions, or are working against me, you will be replaced. No matter how inconvenient it would be for me. You see, Green Chunkey, down at Horned Serpent Town, is hoping that you fail. If you do, if you give me the slightest reason, he’s the next tonka’tzi.”

  So that was what you promised him? But then, it would have had to have been something good to overcome the bitterness between the two Houses after the near bloodshed they’d teetered on late last fall.

  “That should just about cover it.” Spotted Wrist turned to go, hesitated, and looked back. “Oh, and one more thing. My people detained one of those pesky Red Wing women last night. The ones your sister took in. She showed up at a most unimaginable time. Middle of the night. I thought about hanging her in a square, but I’m offering her to you. Consider it a peace offering of sorts.”

  “I’ll take her.”

  “Odd how your lineage has this predilection for heretics. I’ll have the section first in charge of your palace send her in to you.”

  Purposefully, he strode across the large room and out into the day.

  “I find myself moderately surprised that I woke up alive this morning,” Wind told Rising Flame. “Is the Hero of the North slipping?”

  “He let you live at my request,” Rising Flame told her, face still emotionless. “I made the point that when Blue Heron and Columella brought their grievances to you, you could have condemned him, sided entirely with your sister. Instead, despite family, you ordered each side to settle it. I emphasized that despite family ties, you were acting for the good of the city.” The first flicker of emotion crossed her brow. “Please don’t prove me wrong.”

  “What’s happening out there? I’m cut off. Essentially a prisoner. My recorders, messengers, household staff, everyone’s missing.”

  “For a couple of days now, Spotted Wrist has been assembling his squadrons. I was informed late yesterday. He moved on River House last night. By this morning, if all went according to plan, Three Fingers is sitting on the high chief’s chair at the River Mounds City palace. I haven’t a clue what they decided to do about War Duck, Round Pot, and their children.

  “Another of his squadrons marched all night to take positions around the Great Plaza; some, as you know, control your palace. Others are occupying the Council House and courtyard, which controls access to Morning Star’s palace. They also took control of the Four Winds Clan House, the Men’s House, and the Recorders’ Society.”

  “What about Morning Star?”

  “They’re leaving him alone for the time being. Spotted Wrist isn’t sure what Morning Star’s relationship is with Five Fists. Until he knows for certain, he’s not going to move on the war leader. He is, however, monitoring who goes up and down from Morning Star’s palace. Ensuring that orders aren’t given to the Morning Star squadron that would end in an unfortunate effusion of blood.”

  “I see.”

  “The bulk of Spotted Wrist’s forces, however, are headed to River Mounds to control the canoe landing and to build strength before moving on Evening Star House.”

  Wind closed her eyes, struggled for breath. “You heard Columella. She’ll make a fight
of it. Is that what you want?”

  Rising Flame’s full mouth narrowed to a distasteful pucker. “Cahokia needs new blood. The old Houses were in a constant state of chaos. The Keeper says he can bring harmony.”

  “He took the city!”

  “Why are you surprised? He worked out exactly how to do it at Red Wing Town.”

  “And you just let him?”

  “Life was a great deal simpler back when you were clan matron. You never had to face the question: What do you do when a charismatic and much too ambitious war leader returns from the field with three fanatically loyal squadrons who will follow his every order? My first concern was to ensure that Serpent Woman House and Horned Serpent House didn’t go to war. Appointing him Keeper, with his warriors to back him up, ensured that.”

  “But you created a monster.”

  Rising Flame shrugged, a calculating look behind her eyes. “I spent most of my youth among the Nations in the south. Those who are unified, who don’t fight among themselves, are great and lasting. When Black Tail founded the Houses, he seeded dry rot into our system. My first challenge as clan matron was stopping a war between the Houses. Spotted Wrist was my tool to do that. I didn’t expect he’d take things nearly this far. Whether it was right or wrong, I’ll just have to see. But for the time being, with the exception of Evening Star House, the Four Winds Clan is at peace. And as for Columella, if I have to turn Spotted Wrist loose to crush her House, I’ll do it.”

  “I’ll be interested to see if you can control this cougar you have on your leash.”

  Rising Flame shrugged. “Time, and perhaps the Morning Star, will tell. In the meantime, I very sincerely suggest that you heed the Keeper’s warning and do as he says. I won’t be able to save you a second time. As it is, there’s been a fire at Blue Heron’s palace. It’s still too hot to see if she was inside or not. When it cools we’ll be able to search for bodies. I wouldn’t get my hopes up, however. If she had made it out, one would think she’d have raised the alarm, be on the avenue, giving orders. But no one reports seeing her.”

  Wind sat stunned as the woman turned on her heel and left. For what seemed an eternity she remained motionless on her litter, her stare vacant as she tried to absorb the enormity of her loss.

  Seventy-nine

  The years of training brought Blood Talon awake, his head clear, alert, as a light nudge to his thigh broke his fragmented Dreams.

  “What?” he asked softly, blinked in the half-light of predawn. Birds were chirping morning song in the trees; the last of the crickets were singing and the croaking of a tree frog was somewhere close.

  The storm had passed; fortunately the ancient chestnut he had slept beneath had shed most of the water. Didn’t matter that it had sent the occasional drop to splatter on his blanket or that the lightning had done its best to shred the sky—he’d slept straight through.

  Fire Cat told him, “We’re close. Let’s go find them. Maybe we can enjoy a cooked breakfast at my lady’s fire.”

  Blood Talon slipped out of his blanket, crouched to roll it. The morning felt cool, the world damp with the heavy dew that followed rain. Streamers of mist were rising. “And if not, we can gobble a couple of handfuls of ground corn and some of those pawpaws as soon as we find water to wash them down.”

  He packed quickly and efficiently, feeling the tight pull of his leg muscles. Despite his bragging, by the time they’d reached the divide last night, he’d been stumbling in fatigue. The only solace was that Fire Cat hadn’t exactly been the image of grace either as they’d panted and sweated their way along the trail.

  Only when it had grown too dark to see, and knowing they’d reached the divide that crossed into Cofitachequi, did they finally surrender to the inevitable.

  Blood Talon stepped to the side, emptied his bladder, and wished for a drink. He and Fire Cat had split what remained of their water last night. The good news about the country they traveled was that water was never scarce.

  Taking the trail, they found it slippery with last night’s mud, and set their steps to the leaf mat beside it.

  Fire Cat allowed them a stop just long enough to fill their bellies with water at the first trickle of a creek. As the light strengthened and they could see better footing, their pace picked up.

  A pileated woodpecker was hammering at one of the hardwoods. The sound brought a smile to Blood Talon’s lips. Woodpecker, the warrior, a Power bird. Among some of the clans, the rapid staccato of sound was considered a call to combat.

  The trail split off from the creek where it disappeared into a tangle of raspberry and briar. The way climbed up a low and rock-studded ridge, topped out onto—

  Fire Cat raised a knotted fist. Stopped short. Blood Talon cocked his head, listening.

  Voices. Sounding angry. Definitely speaking Cahokian.

  On silent feet, Fire Cat led the way down the trail where it snaked into a small cove surrounded by pines, a couple of giant beech trees, oaks, and hickory.

  The small spring at the back dribbled water down moss-covered rocks. A camp had been laid out. Two fires, both smoking.

  Pack dogs were held back by what looked like locals, given their dress. The men sat in a line to the side, arms around their growling and bristling dogs. Five warriors, in Cahokian-style dress, North Star House designs on their aprons, stood in a ring. One was poking through Trade packs.

  “I’m a Trader,” the sixth, a big man, insisted, thumping his chest with a fist. “This is an open trail. Under the Power of Trade, I deserve free passage.”

  “Second?” the warrior picking through the packs called. He straightened, lifting a copper plate. It was molded into the shape of Morning Star with his head adorned with a split-cloud emblem, feathers spreading from his arms as he danced his way into the sky.

  “Where is she?” the second asked, facing the big Trader. “We’re looking for Lady Night Shadow Star.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” the Trader almost growled back. “I’m here on the Power of Trade. You just proved it from the packs.”

  “Second?” The warrior fingering through the packs lifted a beautiful black dress decorated by white chevrons and the Morning Star House insignia atop the Four Winds Clan spirals.

  “A Trader? And I suppose you Traded for that on Morning Star’s mound. Maybe it was a gift from Clan Matron Rising Flame?”

  Fire Cat shifted his pack, slipped his bow and quiver free, handing them to Blood Talon. His copper-bitted war club he kept for himself as he lowered the rest to the ground.

  Then the Red Wing started down the trail. The way he moved reminded Blood Talon of how a panther closed on a herd of unwary deer.

  Stringing the bow, Blood Talon flipped the quiver onto his back and drew a shaft. Good. War arrow with a keen Cahokian point at its tip.

  Blood Talon followed as quickly and silently as he could, took a commanding position at the foot of the trail, nocked, and waited.

  To his amazement, Fire Cat stalked into the middle of the camp, placed himself in front of the amazed Trader, and said to the squadron second, “You will stand down. You will turn around, and you will leave. This man is protected under the Power of Trade.”

  “Who do you think you are?” the second was looking Fire Cat up and down, seeing a sun-blackened muscular man in a simple brown hunting shirt who wore his long hair in a Trader’s braid.

  “I am a bound man, in service—”

  “A bound man? You’re a slave.” The second broke out in laughter. “I guess this isn’t your lucky day. You’re about to change masters. Hope your last one treated you better than Fire Light will. Now, be a good fellow. Hand me your master’s war club. Piss on a rock, the thing’s copper-bitted!”

  The second’s expression changed, hardened. “No bound man would be allowed to touch a thing like that. Why am I starting to think you’re all a bunch of thieves? Copper, Four Winds fabrics? Or are you all in service to Lady Night Shadow Star? And just where is she? Speak.”
>
  “I told you to leave.”

  Blood Talon felt that old familiar tingle as he tested the bow’s pull. He wasn’t familiar with the weapon, not that he could miss at this distance.

  The second stuck out his left hand. “Give it here.”

  “Leave. Last chance.” Fire Cat’s feet were positioned. Didn’t the second see that? But he seemed fixed on Fire Cat’s face.

  “That’s it.” The second flipped his war club back to strike.

  He never got the chance. With a flash of copper, Fire Cat’s keen edge slashed across the second’s throat. Skipping left, Fire Cat’s return stroke caught the next warrior in the ribs. Before the man could bend in response, Fire Cat had leaped at the third. Still surprised, the warrior barely managed to parry the blow. He staggered back, off balance. Fire Cat was on him, hammered past his defense, and caved in the side of his head.

  Ripping the war club free of the man’s skull, Fire Cat skipped back as the fourth warrior charged forward, screaming his rage, and swung with all his might.

  Fire Cat ducked the blow, closed, used the handle of the reversed club to drive into the man’s throat at the base of the tongue.

  The fellow dropped his club, grabbed at his throat, eyes wide. Fire Cat turned on the fifth warrior, the young man so stunned that he still crouched over the pack.

  “Wait! Don’t!” The youth toppled backward on his butt in his desperate scramble to get away.

  The fourth, finally catching a breath, bent over double. Threw up. But as he straightened, he drew a deer-bone stiletto from his waist.

  Blood Talon drew, set the tip of the war arrow on the man’s chest, and released. The hiss-and-hollow thump of a solid hit filled the now- silent air.

  Blood Talon instinctively stripped another arrow from the quiver, nocked it, and made his way into the camp.

  The porters, still holding their growling and snapping dogs, stared with horror-filled eyes. No doubt they’d never seen the like.

  Now, as a group, they rose, barking orders at their dogs, and fled. “Stop them?” Blood Talon asked.