People of the Morning Star (8 page)

“Yes, Clan Keeper.” The woman lowered her eyes. “Lady Night Shadow Star asked me to inform you that she’s indisposed to receive—”

“She’ll see me now.”

“But, Clan Keeper, I can’t just—”

“Do you wish to pick a quarrel with me, Field Green?”

“I … I…” The woman’s mouth opened and closed like that of a suffocating fish.

“Out of my way.” Blue Heron marched past her, hardly noticing the woman’s smudged black skirt or the panic in her eyes.

At sight of the two new guardian posts, Blue Heron stopped short; a cold fear sent a shiver down her spine. Carvings of Horned Serpent and Piasa stood just out from the veranda and to either side of the entrance. Each was immaculately sculpted and painted; both stared out through shell-inlaid eyes. The Underworld Spirits regarded Blue Heron with malevolence. Horned Serpent’s sinuous body had been rendered in rainbow-colored scales, his head adorned with forked antlers painted scarlet.

Piasa’s face mimicked that of a screaming cougar. The three-forked-eye design—indicative of his Underworld home—surrounded two fierce yellow eyes. A diamond-patterned snake’s tail culminated in rattles and had been affixed to the creature’s rump. Two raking arms were mounted on the front, ending in grasping, yellow-painted eagle’s feet with curving black talons.

What possessed Night Shadow Star? These were
Underworld
beings! Four Winds Clan was affiliated with the Sky World. Unless Night Shadow Star had cleared this with the Morning Star, their presence acted like a slap in the face to the living god.

She turned again to Field Green. “When were Sky Eagle and Falcon removed and replaced with these?”

“Just yesterday, Clan Keeper. My mistress ordered it after seeing these carvings at the landing a couple of days past while on a journey back from Evening Star town.”

Blue Heron gave the Piasa a glare of disapproval. The lord of the Underworld was a Spirit of darkness, water, and death. She stepped up on the porch matting, and several of Night Shadow Star’s slaves scampered to open the wooden-plank door with its falcon—surrounded by the swirls of the four winds—artfully engraved in the wood. That, at least, hadn’t been replaced, but the presence of sky Power in such close proximity to the Piasa and Horned Serpent jarred Blue Heron’s sense of order.

As Blue Heron stepped into the main room, it took a moment for her eyes to adjust to the gloom. Second only to Morning Star’s palace itself, this was the second most opulent structure in Cahokia—even outclassing
tonka’tzi
Red Warrior’s palace, and the Four Winds’ clan house where her sister Matron Wind held court. The cane matting that covered the floor was a one-piece weaving done in intricate patterns and design. Along the walls were benches that served both for seating and sleeping. Each was composed of hand-carved wooden frames topped with cattail-down-stuffed cushions covered with buffalo, panther, bear, and finely tanned deer and elk hides. The walls were hung with carved reliefs of Falcon, Eagle, and Morning Star. Clawing Panther designs were gilded in copper and inset with shell and dark wood. War trophies including bows, shields, human skulls, and other memorabilia hung between the carvings. A low fire burned in the central hearth, and behind it stood the raised clay platform topped with its detail-carved litter where Night Shadow Star conducted audiences. A lower rise of clay marked the one-time seat of Makes Three. The bear hides that covered it looked gray with dust.

He’s been dead for over six moons now. Why hasn’t she thrown them out?

Blue Heron strode across the room and passed through the single doorway that led into the back. Storerooms could be accessed by doors to the right and left, but what concerned her was the altar built just back from the rear wall. Several crushed sherds from the remains of a gleaming black well pot remained atop the panther-hide-covered pillar.

Night Shadow Star sprawled on the floor before it, her naked body unadorned by so much as a bracelet or gorget. Her hair spilled over the matting like a midnight wave. The little brown pot beside her had been rolled onto its side, a thick tongue of paste having leaked onto the matting.

Blue Heron paused as she took it all in, her analytical eyes missing nothing. Then she bent down, lifted the little brown pot, and sniffed.

“Fire and lightning, girl, what have you done?”

Blue Heron crouched and placed her hand over the young woman’s mouth and nose, watching as the lungs began to starve and heave.

“At least you’re alive.”

Extending her callused hand, Blue Heron twisted a fistful of glistening black hair and lifted until Night Shadow Star’s face was exposed. Blue Heron slapped her niece across the cheek. Then again, and again, until Night Shadow Star groaned and weakly extended one of her long brown legs.

Blue Heron sniffed, caught the acrid scent of urine, and—her eyes finally adjusting—identified the stain on the matting as vomit. She sighed. “Look at you. Pitiful.”

“Husband?” Night Shadow Star mewed.

“Dead, you idiot. Come on. Wake up. The Morning Star specifically asked that you be at Council.”

“Can’t,” she whispered. “Piasa … I’ve agreed…”

A cold shiver ran through Blue Heron. “The Water Panther is no Spirit to be playing with, girl. Not even for one such as you. Tell me your souls haven’t done something foolish.”

Even as Blue Heron said it, Night Shadow Star’s body spasmed. The young woman jerked upright, eyes popping open. Blue Heron stepped back, a hand held up reflexively.

Night Shadow Star’s head turned, her wide dark eyes gleaming in a feral, catlike manner. In a sibilant voice that wasn’t Night Shadow Star’s she said, “You’re too late, old woman. The bargain is made.”

Blue Heron could barely breathe. Finally she managed to croak, “Mud and slime! Niece? Was that really you?”

But beautiful Night Shadow Star had collapsed onto her back, hair spilled in an inky swirl. Her high breasts continued to rise and fall as if her lungs were starved for air. The dark triangle of her pubic hair vanished as she crossed her legs and writhed.

Blue Heron staggered back, stumbled through the main room and out into the reassuring light of day. To Smooth Pebble, she called, “Quick. Fetch Rides-the-Lightning. We need the earth clans’ priest here now!
Run!
”

The Spider

Everything in Creation is related. I have spent years in careful study of the world around me. Some thought me mad as I crawled around the forest floor, my eyes even with the leaf mat. The fools had no idea what I was learning. Mostly I watched the spiders as they hunted each other.

Killing another spider, you see, is a most dangerous and deadly game. And some play it better than others. Will you eat, or be eaten?

The successful ones were those who blended with the background, becoming essentially invisible, patient, and cunning. A spider who looked like but another bit of forest duff would remain motionless, undetected as his prey passed heedless within a finger’s breadth. Only when the hunted had passed, its fangs sheathed, and believing itself safe, did the hidden hunter pounce.

You see, the spider who hunts other spiders must strike from concealment. He must act when least expected, and attack from an unanticipated direction. His first bite must be lethal.

But the most important rule of all: the victim, just as agile and venomous, must never know it is being hunted.

I smile crookedly as I watch the Four Winds Clan Keeper’s litter-chair approach. The ornate seat is borne upon the shoulders of strong young men. And following is Blue Heron’s retinue: Old Smooth Pebble, Notched Cane, Two Beads, and her longtime guards, Clay Bell and Fire Temper.

For an instant, nothing seems to have changed. The intervening years might not have passed, perhaps being nothing more than a bizarre dream or vision spun of my imagination.

And then reality snaps back with the clarity and impact of a striking stone maul. I feel the rage. Injustice and pain flood back into me.

Careful. In this moment, at this place, you are hunting another spider—and perhaps the most dangerous of them all!

The crowd milling at the base of the Morning Star’s black-sided mound parts for Keeper Blue Heron; people are touching their foreheads and respectfully bowing.

Once more the hunting spider that I am, I, too, act with humility. Carefully I force the hunger from my gaze, replacing it with worshipful respect lest her eyes accidently meet mine. I am becoming one with the forest litter, my true nature must freeze, still and invisible to my prey.

Blue Heron is lowered to the ground before the sloping ramp that leads up to the first walled terrace of the Morning Star’s great pyramid. Her servants offer a hand and help the Keeper to her feet. Her two guards watch with bored eyes—a fact that makes me smile in anticipation.

The great Avenue of the Sun that runs east-west at the base of the mound is crowded, and I move through the dullards, drawing only the attention my disguise should warrant. The usual collection of Traders, food vendors, and trinket-barterers display their wares. A number of previously emptied litters have been placed out of the way. Their carriers are seated where the mound’s sloping sides meet the avenue in a sharp angle. The black clay here has been smoothed to a perfect crease, and though the lounging porters squat on their heels, none would dare recline on the Morning Star’s sacred slope.

To avoid drawing attention as I reach the bottom of the ramp staircase, I drop to one knee and fiddle with my sandal, as if having trouble with one of the bass-wood cord ties. Dressed as I am in a noble’s wardrobe, my face is painted a most striking blue; a copper-falcon headpiece and scalp bundle are affixed to my tightly wrapped hair. I look like just another elegantly clad lord summoned to receive the embassy that has just arrived from the Yellow Star nation.

This fills me with delicious irony. I’ve never liked Frantic Lightning Mankiller, the
Kadohadacho’s,
or Supreme Chief’s, spoiled nephew. This cannot be serendipitous. Power is either teasing me or weaving some textile of its own that I cannot yet discern.

Blue Heron remains oblivious to my presence. The woman appears totally preoccupied as she resettles her cape and skirt. The expression on her face reflects a deep-seated worry.

She’s hardly acting like the deadly shadow hunter I expected to stalk.

Which is worth considering. So far the vast throngs inhabiting Cahokia have allowed me complete anonymity and freedom to move and study my prey. A change of hairstyle, a different cloak, a dab of face paint, or any combination of the above, and I draw no more attention than any of the passersby. I have watched her from a distance for several days now.

The agitation the Clan Keeper barely hides has her off balance as she starts up the stairs. Normally she would glance around, catalog the faces and nod to those she knows. Her crafty eyes should be calculating and observant. This time her entire attention is focused on the stairway.

Whatever happened at Night Shadow Star’s must have been important. But what? And how will it affect the fulfillment of my own aching love for the stunning Night Shadow Star?

I watched from the plaza when a runner was dispatched for the temple on the great plaza’s southern end. In less than a finger’s time, the renowned Earth People’s priest Rides-the-Lightning had arrived on his litter. They’d carried him without ceremony up the stairs, and ushered him into Night Shadow Star’s house.

Nor had the priest left before Blue Heron exited, wearily rubbed her face, and ordered herself carried to the Morning Star’s great mound.

For the moment, I lose myself in concern over Night Shadow Star. She always was sensitive to things beyond this realm. Does she feel me? Does she whimper at the sucking emptiness of my devouring love?

With Blue Heron heading up the stairs, I’ve fiddled enough with my strap. Nodding to the guards at either side of the bottom step, I see that Blue Heron has disappeared through the first terrace gate.

Time enough. I start up the steps after my prey.

Passing into the
tonka’tzi’s
courtyard, I narrow my eyes and wonder just how close can I get.

She is just up ahead of me, climbing slowly. Already I can see that she’s breathing hard. And it’s a long, long climb up into the Morning Star’s sacred realm.

If she should misstep? Tumble and fall down the steep and unforgiving stairs…?

Could it be that easy?