People of the Morning Star (9 page)

Four

Out of breath, Blue Heron almost staggered as she climbed the last of the steps that led to the highest level of the Great Mound. As Clan Keeper she could have been carried up in her litter. On the rare occasions when she’d given in to the “luxury” it had scared her half to death.

“Can I help you, Elder?” a voice, thick with Muskogee accent asked.

She placed a hand to her heaving chest and turned. The man, obviously a chief or some sort of high-ranking elite, was barely a step behind her; he had a hand out, as if to steady her should she totter. Even as she recoiled, the hand inoffensively withdrew.

A thick blue band had been painted like a mask over his nose and around his eyes. He was young, in his early twenties, with piercing dark eyes. A gray cape hung over his shoulders. While it looked nondescript from a distance, up close she could see it had been woven in an intricate geometric design. A copper falcon and scalp bundle were pinned in his long hair.

“I need to get out more often.” She gestured absently at the remaining steps. “I used to sprint up this as a girl.”

“Odd how the passing of winters changes things, isn’t it?”

She almost frowned at the irony in his voice. “I don’t believe that I know you.”

“Tishu minko White Finger, Elder. Of the Raccoon Clan, of the White Moiety. I come from Lightning Oak town, an emissary of my great uncle, Minko High Falcon, to pay his respects to the sacred Morning Star.”

“Ah. I am Blue Heron, Keeper of the Four Winds Clan.”

“I am both pleased and honored to make your acquaintance, Elder. Your reputation as a competent and capable leader is known far and wide.”

He touched his forehead in deference and gestured her to precede him. She’d caught a whiff of the curious satisfaction he’d barely masked. Minko High Falcon had chosen his emissary well; the young man seemed almost too familiar in her presence.

Brushing him out of her mind, she bowed to the guardian posts at the top of the stairs. Her souls, however, remained knotted with worry over Night Shadow Star. That
had
been her niece, hadn’t it? That booming and hollow voice was just the result of thirst, or perhaps the aftereffects of the datura loosening the young woman’s throat and muscles?

Piss and blood in a pot! Only idiots fooled around with Sister Datura without supervision. If Night Shadow Star had been in search of a vision, why in
Hunga Ahuito
’s name hadn’t she gone to Rides-the-Lightning and asked the old man to purify her, mix the potions, and lead her on a journey to the Underworlds? He, at least, had the training to do such things. But when the unwary and ignorant tried?

She shook her head, rasping out, “She’s lucky to be alive.”

Why didn’t I let the porters carry me up?

She made a face as she glanced back at the long and steep stairs. She was too old to tumble down that. Others had, and all had broken bones. Some were crippled, others dead.

Breath back, she waited as the Muskogee tishu minko, White Finger, dropped to one knee and touched his forehead outside the gate.

Foreign he might be, but the young man has more reverence for our ways than we do. What does that say about the decline of Four Winds Clan?

After he’d risen and entered, she nodded to the tattooed guards standing to either side. Dressed in wooden armor, they held strung bows; quivers packed with arrows hung on their backs. The leather helmets encasing their heads were decorated with bright feathers. Their forelocks, sporting a single white bead in the middle, hung down almost to their noses.

Entering the gate, she found the courtyard crowded. Everyone had dressed in his or her best. The priests and conjurors were decked out in the symbols of their offices. Clan representatives wore white, red, and black tunics that denoted their affiliation, each sporting the clan totem to which they were subject. The matrons among them wore colorful capes, beaded or quill-worked, furred, or feathered. These draped the women’s shoulders, protection against the evening chill. Off to the side stood the engineers; each bore the symbolic stick-and-string, emblematic of their ability to survey.

In the center of the courtyard the giant, lightning-scarred, red-cedar pole jutted into the sky like a mighty lance. Blue Heron remembered the day it had been raised. A young woman—token of their respect for Old-Woman-Who-Never-Dies—had been sacrificed and buried at the base, a physical representation of First Woman who lived in her cave beneath the World Tree. The entire length of the pole bore carved images depicting scenes from Morning Star’s storied life in the Beginning Times. At the bottom—facing east and carved in relief—was the figure of Old-Woman-Who-Never-Dies’ daughter Corn Mother. She lay on her back, legs pulled up and spread as she gave birth to Morning Star. On the west was the depiction of her thoughtlessly tossing away her afterbirth. The Morning Star’s twin brother, known as The Wild One, was depicted crawling out from the discarded tissue.

For some reason, White Finger stood before it, an amused smile on his blue-painted face.

Successive scenes depicting stories of the Hero Twins battling Spirit Creatures wound their way up the pole. In one they played chunkey against the giants who had killed their father, and won the giants’ heads. At the very top had been carved Morning Star—fitted with eagle wings—as he looked toward the eastern sky. The sacred mace of office was clutched in his right hand, his father’s severed head in the left. Burn scars from lightning only added to the pole’s immense Power.

Behind it stood Morning Star’s tall palace with its steeply pitched roof; it rose like a huge sky-splitting wedge. Atop the high center pole were affixed carved statues of Eagle looking to the east and west.

Nobles representing the various Houses of the Four Winds Clan crowded the small plaza. Representatives from the different nations were present, each dressed in the manner of his people. And there, too—at the Morning Star’s invitation—were the clan leaders from the ever-influential Earth People clans.

She nodded to Matron Red Temple of the Fish Clan and endured the fawning smile from her brother, the obsequious Thin Otter. Like all of the Earth People clans, they remained matrilineal, all possessions being passed through the female line.

“You are looking well,” a smooth voice announced from behind her, and she turned as Chief Right Hand, of the Deer Clan, touched his forehead respectfully. “A bit warm today, don’t you think? The heat should germinate the seeds, and if we can just get a little rain…?”

She shot him a smile, having never quite known what to do with Right Hand. Deer Clan had always been a supportive ally of the Four Winds Clan. Or perhaps “reliable” would be a better word to describe the handsome chief and his sister. Blue Heron looked around, asking, “And where is the Matron Corn Seed?”

“Slightly discomfited, Clan Keeper. A stomach ailment. Nothing that won’t pass.”

She studied his handsome face, oddly aware of his broad shoulders and narrow waist. The man had once been a crafty chunkey player, and no doubt remained faster on his feet than the strands of gray at his temples would indicate. Like so many, he, too, had once been interested in Night Shadow Star. “Please give the Matron my fondest wishes for a speedy recovery. If, however, she is not better in the next day, send word and I will have my personal healer attend to her.”

The scar that marred his firm chin bent as he smiled. “I will communicate both your kind words and your generous offer, Clan Keeper.”

She held his eyes for a moment longer, wondering how, after all the men she’d been through, she’d managed to miss at least a flirtation with Right Hand.

“Good to see you, Clan Keeper.” Matron Soft Bread of the Hawk Clan stepped forward, touching her forehead. “Have you, by any chance, heard word of the attack on the heretics up north?”

“Not yet, good Matron. Let’s see, your son commands a squadron under Spotted Wrist, doesn’t he?”

“Yes, Clan Keeper. And given the history up there…” The white-haired woman barely stifled an uneasy smile. That she would tread so close to offending Blue Heron was but a sign of the tension that had run through the Earth People clans since the army left for the north. The move had been audacious, Spotted Wrist leaving a full moon before spring equinox in hopes of achieving surprise for his attack on Red Wing town.

“Remember, this is Spotted Wrist. As good as the other commanders have been, Spotted Wrist was under no illusions about the dangers.”

Soft Bread glanced around, then leaned close, whispering, “Has the Morning Star had a vision? Some sign from the heavens? Power alerting him to the outcome?”

“Not to my knowledge.” She tried to summon a faint resemblance to a conspiratorial smile. “You’ll know as soon as I do, I promise.”

“Thank you, Clan Keeper.”

“And if you’ll excuse me, I see Matron White Apron over there talking to Chief Flying Falcon. I need to discuss some business relating to Raccoon Clan with them.”

Even as she escaped Soft Bread, Five Fists Mankiller, the Morning Star’s palace chief, hurried forward. He was a big man, an old warrior with a face so intricately tattooed and faded it looked black. Years spent out in the weather had burned his scarred and grainy skin. The man’s jaw hung crooked on his face, having been dislocated and broken so many times in stickball and war it had never properly healed. Decked in multicolored feathers from distant southern birds, he gave her a crooked grin.

“Clan Keeper? I was starting to panic.”

Blue Heron ensured none of the Earth People were watching before she arched an eyebrow and replied, “Like camp dogs, the Earth People need occasional petting and special treats. Part of my job is to keep them sufficiently in their place, while dishing enough rewards to keep them enthusiastic and dedicated in their service to us.”

“A task at which you are most adept, Clan Keeper.” He lowered his voice, glancing around as if looking for someone. “And the Lady Night Shadow Star?”

“Indisposed,” she rasped.

Five Fists’ dark eyes narrowed the slightest bit. “That will displease the Morning Star.”

She gave him a knowing look. “Old friend, I had her sent to Rides-the-Lightning. She’s been in the datura. Keep that to yourself.”

“Of course, Clan Keeper.” He turned. “The Morning Star asked to see you. He’s there, atop the observation post in the west palisade.”

She glanced at the bastion, saw the lone figure atop it, and nodded. “Always more climbing, isn’t there?”

“Only the most pure, chaste, and disciplined are borne to the Sky World on eagle’s wings, Clan Keeper.”

“Then any chance for me vanished before I reached the age of twelve.”

Five Fists masked a chuckle and escorted her to the ladder that led up to the bastion. A group of soul fliers and sky priests—including Moon Gazer, the Morning Star’s recorder—stood clustered at the ladder’s base. These were the cherished servants and advisors to the living god. Each bowed respectfully to her.

Taking a deep breath, she grasped the uprights, placed a foot upon the first rung, and made her shaking legs lift her tired body to the high platform. She clambered through the hole in the floor, and sighed.

Morning Star didn’t bother to reach down and offer a hand; he might have been oblivious. Instead he kept his gaze on the west, hands braced on the weathered tops of the palisade logs where they protruded through the plaster.

While his body had seen only twenty-six summers, he nevertheless looked older with his perfectly applied face paint. Of medium height, he had a muscular build, evidence of his prowess in chunkey and stickball.

This night he wore an immaculate white apron, its front rounded and narrowing to a point as it fell between his knees. A “soul bundle” had been attached to the fabric, and contained the life-souls of the dead men whose beaded forelocks decorated the bundle’s outside. An eagle-feather cape, dyed a brilliant blue, hung from his shoulders. His hair was pulled tight in a bun at the back of his head. A small, copper-clad, wooden box containing a Spirit bundle had been tied atop his forehead. His ears were covered by triangular shell ornaments: long-nosed renditions of human faces representing the human heads Morning Star had worn for decoration in the Beginning Times.

While his face had been painted white, black forked-eye tattoos ran down his cheeks, and a black band, painted in charcoal grease paint, stretched from the angles of his jaw and across his mouth. His thoughtful eyes were pensive as he studied the far western horizon.

“She’s not coming?” The words were clipped, barely containing the anger.

“No, my lord. And you don’t want her here.” Blue Heron hesitated, fear like little mice, scampered around in her gut. Very few individuals scared her like Morning Star did. “She’s been in the Underworld, dancing with Sister Datura.”

His mouth tightened. “I received a messenger today. Spotted Wrist has taken Red Wing town. He did it as he said he would. Bloodlessly. Matron Red Wing, her two daughters, and that wretched Fire Cat were taken alive. They should be delivered to me in the next couple of days. Perhaps she can work her grief out on their dying bodies.”

“Perhaps.” Blue Heron couldn’t help but remember the possessed look Night Shadow Star had given her, or the blood-chilling words she’d issued in a stranger’s voice.

“She is your concern, Clan Keeper. Her oddities grow worse by the moon. Bring her back in line before I am forced to take measures I would rather not.”

She read the anger he worked so hard to subdue, and said nothing. The Morning Star had always shown a special preference for Night Shadow Star. For reasons of his own he’d given her the magnificent palace at the Great Plaza’s northwestern corner as a wedding gift in the first moon of his resurrection. No one, however, doubted that the god’s patience had limits.

“Meanwhile, step up here.” He waited while she climbed to her feet before he gave a slight gesture to the west and said, “What do you see?”

She declined to brace herself on the posts as he did, thinking that presumptuous. But stepping close, she peered over the high wall; the slope of the great pyramid dropped precipitously to the distant ground. The height was dizzying, and she fought the urge to step back. Then she followed his gaze to the west, past Night Shadow Star’s palace-topped mound, past the Four Winds’ clan house. Farther west, the circle of tall poles marking the great observatory cast long shadows as the sun hung low over the distant river. The setting sun shone in a swirl of reflected silver from the old oxbow lakes to the north and west.