People of the Morning Star (72 page)

“All ropes break eventually,” Seven Skull Shield noted.

“Which is why we’re always making more,” Big Fish replied as he carefully stretched fibers around his flyer and spun it. The rotating disk twisted another length of cord.

“Look at this.” He gestured at the coils of string and cord around the room. “Can’t make enough fast enough. That pile of hemp over there? A Deer Clan man brought that in. Wanted a new fish net by the new moon. If I had five more skilled men, I might keep up.”

“You’re not doing so bad, you still have a granary full of Traded corn left over from the winter,” Seven Skull Shield noted. “Best Trade it before it molds.”

“And you’re not doing so poorly yourself,” Wild Hare shot back. His brow raised skeptically. “We’ve heard all kinds of stories about you. Unbelievable things. That you’re tied in tight with the Morning Star up on his mound. That you’ve been driving that tree trunk you call your pisser into the Four Winds Clan Keeper. Bit old, even for you, isn’t she?”

“Um, that’s not exactly the case.”

“Figured as much,” Black Martin noted, lips twitching as he kept an even pressure on his cut. “No way a woman with her kind of authority and prestige would look twice at a bit of human flotsam like you. High Chiefs are more her type. If half the rumors can be believed, she’s been married to most of them at one time or another.”

“Say,” Wild Hare noted, “just why are you here?”

“Thought I’d come and make your lives happy with my songs.”

“I’d rather hang in a square than hear you sing. The only time we see you is when some husband just missed catching you in his wife’s bed. Usually you’re in here with us because he and his clansmen are out there somewhere, prowling around with war clubs in their hands and blood lust in their hearts.”

“Thought we were your refuge of last resort,” Black Martin agreed. Then he stopped short, his careful work forgotten. “Pus and blood! The Four Winds Clan isn’t after you for bouncing the Keeper up and down on that shaft of yours, are they?”

Seven Skull Shield rubbed his face wearily. “Haven’t you been paying attention? The assassinations? The Morning Star’s brother coming back, trying to resurrect Piasa in his own body? Palaces burned, searches for missing women?”

Wild Hare peered at him from under lowered brows. “Yes, something. Who has time for gossip? We’ve got orders to fill. Traders are going to be flooding in with fiber and looking for finished cord and rope. We’re getting a reputation. People up and down the river value our rope and cord. And then there are the new people who will be moving in. More dirt farmers come to praise the Morning Star and play chunkey with their crummy little clay chunkey stones. That means the clans are going to need more cord and twine to bind thatch, hold rafters together, tie up latrine screens, hang doors, mend packs. Ropes to erect guardian posts, lift logs … a thousand things. Pus and blood, man, we have
important
things to attend to.”

Seven Skull Shield threw his head back and laughed. Then he sang,
“She grabbed my hard shaft, it left me half daft…”

“You worry me,” Wild Hare noted. “I’d think you were here to find out if I knew you’d been in my wife’s bed. Unfortunately, she’s one of the only women in Cahokia who has the same high regard for you as she has for fresh dog shit when she steps on it barefoot.”

“And if you want my wife, she’s yours. Just don’t bring her back when you’re done.” Black Martin had returned to the fine details of his cutting.

“I’m just here to lay low.” Seven Skull Shield reached into a pack he’d stolen and removed a smoked fish that a distracted Trader hadn’t been paying enough attention to. “My every inclination is to be on a canoe, headed south, even if I had to paddle for my keep.”

“Then why aren’t you?”

“Because, assuming the Keeper’s still free to follow her instincts, the canoe landing will be well-watched.”

“What about your other … um, friends?”

“They know about Crazy Frog, Black Swallow, and the rest. Somehow old loyalties pale in comparison to the wealth my old companions might accrue should the Morning Star offer trinkets in return for my remarkably beautiful hide.” He sighed. “And with Crazy Frog, there’s a chance he’d expect me to live up to a bargain I may no longer be able to fulfill.”

“Just because you burned the Evening Star palace down?” Black Martin asked in mock amazement. “Don’t these Four Winds rulers take affront over the most inconsequential things?”

“Apparently they’ve no sense of humor,” Wild Hare agreed. “What’s another palace here or there among the Power kissed?”

At that moment, a boy of perhaps ten appeared in the doorway, carefully stepped around Black Martin, and grinned at Seven Skull Shield.

Swallowing his mouthful of fish, Seven Skull Shield asked, “What have you got for me, tadpole?”

“You know Crazy Frog’s wife, Mother Otter?” The kid’s cheeks were smudged. His face seemed to be all big eyes, a button nose, and round mouth. A filthy rag had been wrapped around his skinny waist. His bare feet where caked in malodorous mud.

“Did she say anything about me?”

The boy nodded, face expressing the seriousness of the situation. “She said nobles had been there. Morning Star’s warriors … and it scared her. She kept repeating that Crazy Frog told the nobles over and over that he didn’t know for sure where you were.”

“Didn’t know for sure?” Seven Skull Shield mused.

“Does Wooden Doll mean anything?” the boy asked. “Mother Otter said you were probably at Wooden Doll’s under the covers. Under what covers? Looks to me like you’re sitting on a stump in the cord makers’ workshop.”

Seven Skull Shield chuckled. “Wooden Doll is a longtime friend of mine, boy. A woman of insatiable appetites and a loose … Well, never mind. Good. All to the better. They can sniff around every single one of my delightful lady friends for as long as—”

An authoritative voice outside the door boomed,
“Seven Skull Shield!”

He froze, heart racing. Then, in panic, shot to his feet. Two warriors were peering in, their faces tattooed in the Four Winds Clan pattern.

“He’s not here!” Seven Skull Shield insisted, trying to adopt a nonchalant look as he plucked up a piece of rope and inspected the braided strands with a critical eye. “He was. Earlier this morning. Traded that pot up there for a length of rope. Said he was going to offer it to a Pacaha Trader for passage south downriver. If you hurry, you might catch him at the landing.”

“I doubt it,” a familiar voice said, and the Keeper stepped between the warriors.

Black Martin had scuttled to the side, his painstaking cut having gone wildly astray, ruining two lines on his hide. Now he gaped up, looking like a trapped mouse.

“Hello, Keeper,” Seven Skull Shield added mildly and took another bite of his fish. Best eat all he could. There’d be no telling when he’d get another meal.

Unless, of course, these warriors would be no more vigilant than that last bunch.

Blue Heron cocked a skeptical eyebrow as she glanced around, taking note of the interior and its occupants. “Crazy Frog was right, I’d never have found you.”

“Then how did you?”

She tilted her head toward the boy. “You’d want as much warning as possible if we were hunting you. Glancing around Crazy Frog’s, he made the most sense. A little boy, looking homeless, working so hard to appear like he wasn’t listening. Clever, thief. Very clever.”

“It would probably be a rude observance, and not at all diplomatic to bring up, but I did distract that very nasty Tula up there in the palace when he had that gorgeous, brown chert, ceremonial knife to your neck.”

She chuckled to herself. “Yes, you did. Meanwhile, come. Unfortunately, there’s something I’ve overlooked for too long, a comeuppance, if you will, for bad behavior.”

“Not that I’m ungrateful, but the idea of hanging in a square…”

She’d half turned toward the door and the waiting warriors. “Oh, well, yes. That’s indeed a possibility given your charming proclivities.”

“My … what?”

“Your tendency toward theft, seduction, and generally bad behavior. Most likely you
will
end up in a square. But not today. I once said you liked challenges, enjoyed taking risks.” Her smile turned crafty. “This comeuppance, if you’re up to it. There’s a personal item of mine that the Fish Clan chief, Two Throws, took with him when I divorced him years ago. It’s a trifle, really, a small pot with the Thunderbirds engraved on it. He keeps it as a memento. But I’d like to have it back if you can get it.”

“Is that all?”

“Of course not. We’re stuck in the middle of some sort of Power struggle between Morning Star and Night Shadow Star.” She paused, made a face, and slapped a hand on the door frame. “And then, to my surprise and horror, I discover that I’ve actually
missed
your charming company.”

“Thank the Spirits,” Wild Hare whispered just loud enough for the old woman to hear. “He can go sing to someone else.”

“No, he can’t,” the Keeper told him. “If he so much as hums under his breath, I’ll hang his sorry carcass in a square for a week. But pus and blood, if he starts a fight, I’ll brain him myself before I listen to that racket.”

“Steal a pot, huh?” Seven Skull Shield mused as he collected his things and headed for the door.

“I thought you’d be interested,” the Keeper told him with a sly smile. “And I’ll bet Smooth Pebble’s baked acorn bread will be done by the time we get there.”

“You drive a hard bargain, Keeper.”

“Indeed I do.”

Epilogue

The morning sun had crested the eastern bluffs and shone through Cahokia’s smoke-hazed air. It cast a long shadow behind the Morning Star’s high mound with its tall palaces. From the vantage of her veranda, Night Shadow Star watched the crowd that had assembled to watch the Morning Star in his daily chunkey game. As per routine, the living god had bounded down the stairs, his copper-clad lances gleaming; every bit of his stunning regalia, the colorful feathers, the head maskettes, the pure-white apron, and his copper headpiece, were perfectly fixed. The Traders and hawkers proudly displayed their wares, and runners were already trotting along the Avenue of the Sun on the way to deliver reports to the
tonka’tzi.

To the south, laborers, in an endless line, carried basket loads of clay as they covered the old
tonka’tzi
’s mound with a new layer of earth. The engineers were already at work planning a new, larger, and more opulent palace than the old one.

From the feel of the air, Night Shadow Star knew enough to enjoy the cool morning, for midday would be hot. She seated herself on the edge of the porch and laid a cloth sack beside her. Then she stared out past Piasa and Horned Serpent’s guardian posts, aware that in the passing crowd, people were stopping, pointing up at her palace, and whispering in awe.

In the great room behind her, Fire Cat’s voice exploded, “I don’t care. The Lady’s been up for almost a hand of time. And don’t tell me you’re a Four Winds. That means rat droppings to me. If you can’t have a satisfactory meal prepared, I’ll find someone who can.”

She smiled in spite of herself. In the end, she’d probably be forced to speak to the Red Wing, but until then, she rather enjoyed having her palace spotless, with fresh water and food, an ample supply of firewood, and everything neat.

I lost too much of myself when Makes Three died.

She heard Fire Cat as he stepped out onto the porch and brought her a fine ceramic plate heaped with steaming catfish seasoned with greens, squash, and a cup of mint tea.

“Thank you,” she told him, fighting the urge to smile. It kept getting harder to remind herself that this man killed her husband.

“Are you all right?” He was squinting at her, his tattooed face suspicious. “Is Piasa plaguing you for some reason today?”

“Sit, Red Wing.” She took the plate and cup, blowing to cool the food. “Not Piasa. Not this time.”

He dropped to his haunches beside her, squinting as he fixed on the chunkey court where Morning Star played one of the Earth Clans chiefs. She read the mixture of disdain for Morning Star, and longing for the game.

“Were you good at chunkey?” she asked.

The barest flicker of a weary smile tugged at his lips and vanished. “I was very, very good.” He shrugged slightly. “Another life, Lady.”

With her fingers, she plopped a bit of tasty catfish into her mouth, sucking air to keep from burning her tongue. Her memory filled with the sensation of him blowing air into her lungs, driving water out, and the warmth of his body on her cold flesh. When her souls had battled back from death, and she’d opened her eyes, it was to fix on his. They’d been dark, worried, and desperate. She’d seen his souls—touched him in the most unsettling of ways.

Yet he still insists that he hates me?

More than once she’d caught herself dreaming about his muscular body, wishing he’d smile just for her. She’d already felt his strong hands as they massaged her skin, had reveled in his gentle touch. What other man would have denied himself liberties when she’d been vulnerable? Too often she had to remind herself that his touch was forbidden.