People of the Morning Star (16 page)

Instead, the Spirit of First Woman stepped back and warriors closed in.

He was piteously crying, “No … no…” as they severed the thongs holding him to the square. This time they didn’t catch him. He toppled face-first into the slippery clay. The impact blasted lights through his vision.

He had vague images of other warriors cutting his mother and sisters down. Limp as sacks, they were carried off to the east toward the great palace-topped mound that jutted into the very sky.

In a gray haze he felt himself being carried, and before him, like a forbidden dream, First Woman walked with the sultry stride of a seductress.

His last thought was,
How can a Spirit be that beautiful?

*   *   *

A steaming cup of rich yaupon tea—“black drink” imported from the south—warmed Blue Heron’s chilled hands. Matron Wind and her daughter Sun Wing cradled their own cups. At the Morning Star’s orders they’d remained at the palace, and been completely surprised when the Red Wing women had been carried in and dropped on the floor at the rear of the room.

Blue Heron sipped the thick, bitter brew, and glanced sidelong at the miserable women. They huddled, naked, exhausted, and shivering on the floor in the rear. Their filthy bodies jarred with the room’s perfect splendor.

There sits the last despicable remnants of the Red Wing lineage of the Moon Clan.

Which begged the question: Why were they still alive?

Matron Red Wing and her two daughters, exposed, bruised, and broken were all that remained of old Cahokia. Remnants of the terrible religious wars that had ended with the sacrifice of Petaga to achieve the first resurrection of Morning Star.

In those first years Cahokia had begun its remarkable transition. As authority shifted, old clans had been replaced with new. Governance of the various villages that were being devoured by greater Cahokia had been awarded to different lineages among the victorious Four Winds Clan and the “Houses” had been established. As people from all over the known world flocked to Cahokia to live in the shadow of the reborn god, Cahokia itself had been leveled, resurveyed, and rebuilt as an earthly representation of the cosmos. A new magnificent city rose where once the chiefs Keran, Gizis, Tharon, and Petaga had walked. The detailed planning, surveying, leveling and grading, remodeling and construction, already had taken an entire generation, and still the earthworks continued to rise. Logs by the thousands were floated down the Father Water and its upper tributaries from forests far upstream as the expanding need outstripped the logging of the uplands.

And into those freshly cleared uplands—as well as any vacant ground in the broad floodplain—hordes of pilgrims and immigrants had congregated. Every plot of tillable soil was now under cultivation. Villages of foreign “dirt farmers” had sprung up like mushrooms after a rain.

And the people, speaking tens of different languages, bowed their backs to work for the greater good of the living god. Families contributed their corn, their labor, and their meager wealth for the glory of the Morning Star. In ritual reenactment, they played chunkey in the god’s honor, mimicking his fine rolling stones with shoddy replicas made of fired clay.

But not all had accepted the resurrected Morning Star. Some, like the Red Wings, defeated in war, had fled rather than submit. And year by year, the dissident towns had been brought to heel. Either they had been brutally conquered and the leadership executed, or they’d slowly been converted to the truth of the Morning Star’s human existence.

For some, the stunning reality of Cahokia itself had been sufficient. How, after all, could the Cahokian miracle be based on a falsehood?

A few, like Red Wing town, far from the majesty and might, had managed to resist. Preaching heresy, they’d tried to spread their poison. Red Wing town had been the most successful. Not only had the town flourished, but they’d constantly goaded the wild forest tribes to raid the frontiers as Cahokia established colonies farther up the Father Water and its eastern tributaries.

Three times the Red Wings had defeated Cahokian armies. Then, as the Morning Star had predicted, the sacred fourth attempt had succeeded. Spotted Wrist had done by guile and stealth that which could not be accomplished by brute force.

“They are the last,” Blue Heron whispered as she took another sip and felt the tea’s Power slip through her body.

“Look at them.” Sun Wing almost giggled. “Those pitiful wretches dared stand against us?”

Matron Wind shot her niece a narrow-eyed look. “There’s a lesson there, girl. Misguided she might have been, but Matron Red Wing was a cunning and worthy adversary. Even the greatest among us can fall if Power favors another.”

“Morning Star would never let that happen,” Sun Wing asserted primly, and lifted her head to look down her nose at the huddled captives. About her shoulders she clutched a priceless cloak made from painted bunting feathers. A skirt crafted from prime winter martin hung at an insolent angle from her hips.

“Nothing is forever, niece,” Blue Heron added in a sibilant whisper. “As we almost learned last night. But for Night Shadow Star’s peculiar timing and fast reflexes, not even a god is safe.”

Sun Wing’s expression conveyed her irritation. “Of course my sister got here in time. Power protects the Morning Star.”

Blue Heron jabbed a hard finger into the young woman’s breastbone. “Power is just Power, simple idiot. It goes where it’s called. Nothing, no one, not even a spoiled little sheath like you should forget it!”

“Sister,” Matron Wind warned. “Don’t be so hard on the girl.”

Blue Heron willed all the threat she could into her expression, refusing to back down. “Pay attention,
Lady
Sun Wing. Your father may be the
tonka’tzi
and may run Cahokia, but I know its passions and secrets. It has fallen to me to read the deep and dark currents. You think the Morning Star protects us, but you’ve a whole world full of cousins in the other Houses who bow to you and smile while their hearts burn with envy and desire. Why, simple girl, do you think the colonies are so pus-dripping important to us?”

“They’re a symbol of Morning Star’s Power,” she asserted positively. “With them we spread the miracle of the resurrection. By means of their warriors and temples, all the world will come to him.” But Blue Heron could see the building uncertainty behind the young woman’s eyes.

“You’ve never listened to a single important thing your entire life, niece,” Matron Wind groused. “But I’ll try one more time. Yes, the colonies are a symbol of Cahokia’s authority. They’re also a vent, like a hole left in a newly made clay figurine, so that when it’s fired, the steam has somewhere to escape without exploding the sculpture.”

Blue Heron gave her niece a wicked grin. “The ambitious ones want to rule? Well and good, we’ve been able to use that to our advantage. They get to govern their own towns, build their own legacies, and do it without tearing Cahokia apart.”

“For the time being.” Matron Wind rubbed her nose as if it itched. “But we’ve missed something. No one has ever gotten this close before.”

“And that is exactly why we need to talk,” Morning Star announced as he entered through the door behind them. White paint covered his face; the starkly contrasting forked-eye designs had been painted in midnight black. He wore an iridescent cape made of spoonbill feathers. His spotless white apron sported tassels of black-tipped winter-weasel tails. He carried two copper-clad chunkey lances in one hand, his polished red-granite stone in the other.

Blue Heron, Matron Wind, and Sun Wing all touched their foreheads respectfully. From the corner of her eye, she watched Matron Red Wing. The woman had her head down, but her eyes were slitted like a hunting wolf’s.

Morning Star walked around the fire, heedless of the bloodstained matting, and laid his chunkey equipment to the side as he mounted the raised clay dais behind the central fire. Like a young panther, he settled himself on the cougar hides that covered his chair. Finally composed, he cocked his head, eyes lost in thought.

“What service might we render?” Matron Wind asked.

He fixed his eyes on Blue Heron. “You have informants throughout the Four Winds Clan?”

“I do.” Why was he asking what he already knew?

“You once told me that, like a living body, a clan had a pulse and life of its own.”

She nodded, a tingle of unease growing in her breast.

“You stated that emotions ran through a clan like blood, that you only needed to keep your finger on the various parts to know where discontent might be brewing. In your words, by your sensitive feel, you could tell which parts were festering.”

Blue Heron swallowed hard and nodded.

“Tell me, Clan Keeper, did your extraordinary touch give you any warning that someone would try to kill me last night?”

“No, great Lord.”

Pus and blood, the look he was giving her cut right to the bone.

After a long silence, he said, “I see.”

“See what, my Lord?”

“I see that whoever is plotting against me is either not of the Four Winds Clan, or he is so close to us as to be well-versed in our secrets and clever enough to avoid your nimble fingers.”

Blue Heron cautiously replied, “If the latter, it narrows the number of suspects considerably.”

“Someone among the Earth clans?” he asked mildly.

Blue Heron shrugged. “While nothing’s impossible, it would take incredible courage or foolishness for any of the Earth clans to attempt an assassination like last night’s. Great Lord, since you have come back to live with us, the Earth clans have enjoyed peace, prosperity, and riches like they’ve never known. But to unleash chaos? They have too much to lose, and whichever clan acted so rashly, the others would retaliate just to protect their investment in the system.”

Matron Wind touched her forehead, and asked, “What about them?” She jerked a head toward the huddled Red Wing Clan women. “Is it coincidence that Red Wing town is taken by Spotted Wrist, they are delivered here, and Spotted Wrist’s niece is murdered in your bed?”

He tilted his head the way a predatory bird might as it inspected prey. “I turn the question back on you, Matron. Is it?”

Blue Heron watched her sister squirm, then ask, “If it is, why are they still alive?”

A flicker of anger crossed his face then vanished. “Because Lady Night Shadow Star requested that they live for the moment.”

“Night Shadow Star?” Blue Heron blurted. “But … why?”

Morning Star once again fixed his unsettling eyes on her. “When I took this body, Chunkey Boy’s memories remained. That being the case, I’ve been kindly disposed to the lady Night Shadow Star. But only last night did I learn how completely we’ve all misjudged her.”

He took a breath, waving down any interruption. “Clan Keeper, you will accompany Lady Night Shadow Star and assist her in her current undertaking. In doing so, you will respect her ultimate authority … no matter what your predisposition or experience might suggest.”

“Defer? To my niece?” Blue Heron tried to keep from growling.

He gave her a godly, thin smile. “A reverse of the old line of authority. Reconciliation of opposites. Most suiting. But sometimes, when we turn the world upside down, the most interesting things come tumbling out of dark places.”

She ground the few teeth she had left, and said, “Yes, my Lord. Just what undertaking are we embarking upon?”

His face had closed into an expressionless mask. “I have ordered Five Fists to keep last night’s attack to himself. His trusted warriors have disposed of the bodies. Until I decide, no one else will know what happened here last night. Perhaps our lack of response will bewilder the plotters into revealing themselves. They may even feel emboldened to try again.

“Meanwhile, you will ferret out this plot, Clan Keeper. Discover who is behind it, and expose them to my wrath.” He paused for effect. “Know this: what stirs isn’t just the passions of men, but the workings of Power.”

“By whom?” Matron Wind almost snapped.

“Whoever it is who seeks my death is clever, skilled in his conjuring. He has powerful and frightening allies.” He gave them a slight smile. “But so does Lady Night Shadow Star.

“Clan Keeper, I ask that you communicate your findings to either the Matron, or Sun Wing, here. And after both have been apprised of the situation, they shall communicate them to me.”

Sun Wing?
Blue Heron struggled to keep surprise and dismay from her expression, but she nodded. One didn’t argue with the Morning Star’s direct order. At least, not more than once.

She locked eyes with Matron Wind’s, seeing confusion and surprise reflected there.

“Yes, great Lord,” Blue Heron made herself say.

“Then you had better be about it, Clan Matron.”

Blue Heron drank down the last of her black drink with a feeling of unreality. As she started for the door, Morning Star called, “Oh, and Clan Keeper, I would be very careful if I were you. Anyone desperate enough to make an attempt on my life surely wouldn’t hesitate to murder a woman such as yourself, no matter how venerated.”