Eighty-seven
The fact that she was dressed as a dirt farmer, with her starburst tattoos covered by a thin brown smear of paint, had begun to wear on Blue Heron. All of her years, she had been trained in the reality of politics. This wasn’t the first struggle for political control that she’d ever found herself in. Only the most dangerous and deadly.
She missed her palace, the prestige, good food, and fine clothes. Someone would pay for this.
Spotted Wrist had cunningly taken most of Cahokia without anyone being the wiser. At least not until his squadrons were dispatched and strategically placed. Military messengers were trotting back and forth, providing the Keeper with intelligence on what each of the Houses was doing.
Well, all but Evening Star House. There the central plaza was being fortified, squadrons called up, every precaution being taken prior to Spotted Wrist’s inevitable invasion. That would happen in a matter of days given that two of Spotted Wrist’s squadrons were camped at the canoe landing. All they were waiting for was the requisite number of heavy canoes to be assembled to allow the individual sections to make the crossing in sufficient force to take the town.
With all that hanging in the balance, Blue Heron had come here, to the Recorders’ Society House where it stood atop its mound facing the Great Plaza on the west and overlooking the Avenue of the Sun on the north.
She had been accorded a rather disdainful welcome by a fresh-faced and way-too-young apprentice, forced to sit for a couple of hands of time in the sun, and finally ushered up the steps to the society house. She hadn’t been allowed past the veranda. But, to her surprise, when she requested to see Master Lotus Leaf, the old man himself had appeared, asking, “Yes?”
She handed him the string of beads.
Taking them, Lotus Leaf thoughtfully ran them over his gnarled old fingers. A curious frown crossed his brow. “Where did you get these?”
“Traded them. For firewood from Morning Star House. Had to. We were right under Spotted Wrist’s nose.”
“This is Mallard’s work. He’s Morning Star’s recorder.” Only then did he really look at her, a sudden light coming to his eyes. “You’re supposed to be dead.”
“Good. And you haven’t seen me alive, either. What did Morning Star want me to know?”
“The beads say this: ‘All is not lost. Work from the shadows.’”
Lotus Leaf pointed. “You see this single copper bead? The way it is positioned in the string, it can mean either, ‘The southern copper is the last solution’ or ‘Save the southern copper until the last.’ Mallard wouldn’t have strung them this way if he hadn’t meant both.”
The southern copper? Did he mean the Koroa copper?
“And this final section: ‘You do not fight alone.’”
Blue Heron took a deep breath. For the first time since the fire, she felt a sense of relief.
Turned.
From her position on the Recorder’s veranda, she could just make out someone standing on the southeastern bastion atop Morning Star’s palace wall. Across the distance and elevation, she could see the glint of sunlight on a copper headpiece.
Even her old eyes saw the living god incline his head, and most uncharacteristically, touch his forehead in salute.
“I guess we’ve got a chance after all,” she mused.
“They will kill you if they find you,” Lotus Leaf noted.
She gave him a knowing grin. “They already tried. Time for me to get even.”
“I wish you luck, Keeper.”
She took the string of beads, stood, and said, “Thanks, I’m going to need it.”
And with that she descended the stairs to the Avenue of the Sun and its crowds of Traders, hawkers, pilgrims, and farmers. No one looked twice at her. She was faceless, invisible.
And this was Cahokia.
Where she knew how to wage war in the shadows.
Eighty-eight
The terrible headache had slowly receded as Night Shadow Star’s bound body was borne with haste along the shadowed forest trail. Overhead the interwoven branches had precluded any glimpse of the sky, but she knew her litter was being carried northwest, along Joara Creek, and then up the old Trade and war trail that led to the mountain pass.
As her suffering head healed and blurred vision cleared, the periodic bouts of vertigo and nausea diminished. She was able to finally assess her situation. They kept her carefully bound, two warriors in constant attendance. She was fed three times a day, and to her disgust, “assisted” when she needed to relieve herself.
Fire Light had made it clear that he would take no chances. The man had told her straight: “One way or another, you and your brother are going to see me home to what is rightfully mine.”
Trussed up like a turtle bound for the roasting pit, she nevertheless seemed to be in better condition than Walking Smoke. That underhanded blow she’d delivered to his crotch had him bent double and moaning. Made her wonder at the Power that dip in Piasa’s spring had given to her war club.
They were camped that night at the top of the pass. She’d been taken from her litter, fed, and given tea to drink. Now she was bound to a beech sapling.
Chief Fire Light walked over, his face partly illuminated by the flickering flames of the central fire. He crouched, studied her thoughtfully. “Are you well, Lady?”
“Better than my brother.” She inclined her head in Walking Smoke’s direction. “Given the damage I did to his manhood, I was really wishing I could have hit him in the head.”
“He says that the moment he’s healed enough, he’s going to make you his. Mix your Power and his in some grand ritual mating.”
“Word among your warriors is that he can barely make water, let alone harden his rod.”
“Me, I don’t care. I want to go home.”
“Untie these ropes. Let me have the use of your war club for a couple of heartbeats, and I’ll see you get your palace.”
“I could almost believe you, Lady. But he’s a Powerful witch. The things I’ve seen him do?” The man shivered.
She took a deep breath. “He’s obsessed with incest. Doesn’t that bother you?”
“Everything about the both of you bothers me.”
“Listen, Chief: After the death of my first husband, I sent my souls to the Underworld. Piasa found me, devoured me, and made me his. I came within a whisker, literally, of dragging Walking Smoke down to my master. Then the lightning saved him. Old-Woman-Who-Never-Dies tasked me with the destruction of my second husband, the Itza. And in the end, he hanged himself. When Morning Star’s souls were carried to the Underworld by Humming Moth, I was the one who descended into the depths of the Sacred Cave to bring him back. Now I have pursued Walking Smoke here, to Cofitachequi. But for your interference, I would have killed him. As it is, I just neutered him. So, do you really want to stand against me?”
“But you didn’t kill him.”
She hardened her glare, watched him glance away. “You couldn’t have known what you were doing. Now you do. You have a choice. You can let me loose to finish my task, or I will have to destroy you. Your choice.”
“Destroy me?” An amused smile played on Fire Light’s lips. “Brave words from a young woman tied to a tree.”
“Walking Smoke was going to rape me the moment he had me as his own. How’s that working out for him? He can’t even touch himself without howling, let alone consummate this magical mixing of Power he’s obsessed with.” A pause. “Your choice, Chief. Home in triumph, or left broken in humiliation and defeat?”
She watched Fire Light wrestle with the offer, as if he really wanted to believe her. Then he shook his head. “Sorry. If I let you free, and you tried to kill him … No. He’s too Powerful. As soon as he finished with you, he’d turn on me. I can’t take that chance.”
He stood then, turning away.
“Then you leave me no choice,” she told him. “I’m sorry, cousin. After tonight, I can’t save you.”
“As if you ever could
have in the first place.” He snorted derisively as he stalked off for the warriors’ fire.
How is this going to end? she wondered, eyes searching the star-strewn night sky.
Somewhere, behind her, Fire Cat was already searching for her. Would he know where to follow? Could he figure out this latest twist?
“In the end,” Piasa whispered, “it will just be you and Walking Smoke. Locked in a deadly Dance. Then Power will decide. Yours. And his. Whichever is stronger.”
“Just promise me, Lord. Whatever the cost I must pay, Fire Cat not only survives, but lives happily to a ripe old age. Grant me that, and I’ll do anything you ask.”
From the corner of her eye, she saw a flicker of blue out under the night-shadowed trees.
Followed by Piasa’s mocking laughter.
Pain
It is three days now. What did she do to me?
The pain in my testicles remains debilitating. I can barely walk, can hardly straighten. Truly, the feeling is like she’d caught me with the edge of her blade instead of the blunt back of it.
Fire Light, however, is more than happy to have his men carry my litter as well as Night Shadow Star’s. He is headed home, and nothing is going to stand in his way or slow him down.
Especially given that he has me and Night Shadow Star.
In his Dreams, he is already a lord atop a high palace mound overlooking the Great Plaza.
Our way has been north-northwest, following Joara Creek up into the mountains, then along the narrow canyon where the trail has been rutted into the soil by generations of Traders and war parties.
Fire Light is no fool. After that incompetent dolt, Field Snake, stumbled in out of the night almost shrieking that a Cahokian war party was hot on his heels, Fire Light used every trick in the book to hide his trail. Figured any pursuit would be less likely to tackle this route over the pass and down to one of the tributary headwaters of the Tenasee.
If only it weren’t for the constant burning ache in my testicles, I would be enjoying this: borne like the lord I am through this majestic, breathtaking scenery. I had no idea mountains could be so high, or so beautiful.
But the throbbing ache won’t go away. The mere act of standing is agony. And when I have to drain my water, it hurts like I’m urinating little shards of obsidian, and my piss comes in fits and dribbles. The warriors helping me look away, not daring to so much as make a face, lest I inflict some curse on them.
This isn’t funny.
My soul is aching to take Night Shadow Star, but my shaft and stones refuse.
This night we make camp at the summit of the steep pass; here people have camped for generations. A central fire is built, the warriors’ rations of hominy are being boiled.
The air is cool, the breeze blowing through the high saddle carries the scents of the forest, and overhead a hoary frosting of stars is glowing on the soot black of the night. I can hear the hooting of a great horned owl in the distance, and then the curious calls of a herd of elk deep in the woods.
This is not how I imagined I would celebrate my victory. But my day will come. As soon as I am healed, I will fulfill my Dream. I will have a special lodge prepared, have Night Shadow Star stripped and tied.
I will purify my body, paint designs of rebirth on my flesh to invoke vigor, and filled with the Power of the lightning I will mount Night Shadow Star. I will drive my shaft into her—a merging of Sky Power and Underworld Power. In that glorious moment, when my hot semen jets into her, I will possess her Lord’s Power and mine. Piasa and Thunderer, combined. Opposites crossed.
I will become the most Powerful man in the world.
When I do, not even Morning Star can stand against me.
I stare up at the sky, see a streak of yellow fire as a meteor burns its way from east to west. A sign that the Sky World has heard and approves of my thoughts.
Painfully I stand. Hobbling, I make my way to where Night Shadow Star is bound, her back to a sapling. She is dark against the white bark.
I try to bend down, to stare into her hard eyes, illuminated by the dancing firelight as they are. Can’t. Hurts too much. Her remarkably muscular arms are straining against the bonds, and I know that if she could get free, she’d strangle me in a moment.
Wounded as I am, she might even be able to do it. Fair, I guess. Once, in a wild rage, I tried to kill her that way.
I smile, savoring my victory. It will, after all, only be a matter of time before I am healed.
I say, “Hello, Sister.”
And then I proceed to tell her all the things I am going to do to her when I am well.
She listens, her eyes gleaming. Is that fear or anticipation?
To my surprise, she says, “Before I die, I will stand over your dead body. I swear it before the Powers of Sky and Underworld.”
She says it like she believes it.
As she does, I see a flicker of blue at the edge of my vision, and lightning streaks the cloudless skies.
Acknowledgments
From the beginning, Tom Doherty and Linda Quinton have supported our efforts to bring the story of North America’s first peoples to life. Without their belief, encouragement, and commitment to our nation’s cultural heritage, these novels would never have existed.
To Theresa Hulongbayan and the Facebook Gear Fan Club: Book Series First North Americans go our eternal thanks.
We particularly want to thank the great staff at the Cahokia Mounds State Historic Site. Mark Esarey, Matt Migala, Bill Iseminger, their staff, and the volunteers keep this remarkable World Heritage Site open to the public. To learn more, contact www.cahokiamounds.org. Better yet, when you’re in the St. Louis area, experience Cahokia yourself.
And finally, a special thanks to Jen, Cyle, Ashley, and the wonderful staff at the One Eyed Buffalo in Thermopolis for brewing Michael’s stout and Kathleen’s Sessions IPA. OEB is our haven for brainstorming plot, story, and character.
Authors’ Note
Great story lines, character arcs, and epic tales often exceed the scope of a single book. Night Shadow Star, Seven Skull Shield, Fire Cat, Blue Heron, and of course Farts will return in Lightning Shell, book five of the People of Cahokia series. Coming to you soon from Forge Books!
BY W. MICHAEL GEAR AND KATHLEEN O’NEAL GEAR FROM TOM DOHERTY ASSOCIATES
NORTH AMERICA’S FORGOTTEN PAST SERIES
People of the Wolf
People of the Fire
People of the Earth
People of the River
People of the Sea
People of the Lakes
People of the Lightning
People of the Silence
People of the Mist
People of the Masks
People of the Owl
People of the Raven
People of the Moon
People of the Nightland
People of the Weeping Eye
People of the Thunder
People of the Longhouse
The Dawn Country: A People of the Longhouse Novel
The Broken Land: A People of the Longhouse Novel
People of the Black Sun: A People of the Longhouse Novel
People of the Songtrail
People of the Canyons*
THE MORNING STAR SERIES
People of the Morning Star: People of Cahokia
Sun Born: People of Cahokia
Moon Hunt: People of Cahokia
Star Path: People of Cahokia
THE ANASAZI MYSTERY SERIES
The Visitant
The Summoning God
Bone Walker
BY KATHLEEN O’NEAL GEAR
Thin Moon and Cold Mist
Sand in the Wind
This Widowed Land
It Sleeps in Me
It Wakes in Me
It Dreams in Me
BY W. MICHAEL GEAR
Long Ride Home
Big Horn Legacy
The Athena Factor
The Morning River
Co
yote Summer
BY WILLIAM GEAR
This Scorched Earth
OTHER TITLES BY KATHLEEN O’NEAL GEAR AND W. MICHAEL GEAR
The Betrayal
Dark Inheritance
Raising Abel
Children of the Dawnland
Coming of the Storm
Fire the Sky
A Searing Wind
www.Gear-Gear.com|www.gear-books.com
*Forthcoming
About the Authors
W. MICHAEL GEAR holds a master’s degree in archaeology and has worked as a professional archaeologist since 1978. He is currently principal investigator for Wind River Archaeological Consultants. You can sign up for email updates here.
KATHLEEN O’NEAL GEAR is a former state historian and archaeologist for Wyoming, Kansas, and Nebraska for the U.S. Department of the Interior. She has twice received the federal government’s Special Achievement Award for “outstanding management” of our nation’s cultural heritage, as well as a Certificate of Special Congressional Recognition.
Their first North American series hit the international as well as USA Today and New York Times bestseller lists. They live in Thermopolis, Wyoming.
Visit her online at www.gear-books.com, or sign up for email updates here.
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Contents
Title Page
Copyright Notice
Dedication
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Star Path--People of Cahokia Page 50
