People of the Morning Star (22 page)

Seventeen

Columella’s body ceased to pulse with the explosions of ecstasy. She lay on her back, fingers knotted in the buffalo-hide pillow above her head. Panting for breath she waited as the flush faded from her breasts and the tingling delight in her pelvis became a warm sensation of contentment.

She rotated her hips and straightened her legs as Flat Stone Pipe crawled up her torso. The dwarf slipped down into the hollow of her arm as she laid it along his back. A shiver ran through her as he reached out with his small hand to finger her nipple.

“What is it about you?” she asked. “All these years, and it’s as if my very bones explode.”

“Caught your breath yet?” he asked.

“Mostly.”

“Good.” He shifted enough to study her. “We need to talk.”

She raised her head just enough to pull the buffalo pillow down behind her. “What have you heard?”

“Did you attempt to have the Morning Star murdered? Something that, given your busy schedule, you might have forgotten to mention to me in passing?”

She craned her neck to see him more clearly. “If I did, I forgot to mention it to myself as well. No. Not that the idea doesn’t have a certain appeal. Why?”

“You know Cut String Mankiller?”

“He’s made quite a name for himself as War Second. Chances are good that he’ll be given command of one of the squadrons. Don’t tell me…”

“Oh, yes.” Flat Stone Pipe had forgotten her nipple, his thoughtful eyes on hers. “Apparently he hid somewhere in the palace. Then, in the middle of the night, he managed to sneak into the living god’s quarters. He bashed the brains out of one of Spotted Wrist’s female cousins, and was about to slit the Morning Star’s throat when Lady Night Shadow Star appeared out of the night, naked and dripping wet, and drove three arrows into Cut String’s chest at the last possible instant.”

Columella frowned. “I’d like to think this is some crazy story someone heard after smoking too many hemp leaves.”

“Unfortunately, I have a source. He tells me it happened just that way.”

“Why hasn’t the Morning Star turned the whole city upside down? You’d think he’d be furious.”

Flat Stone Pipe shifted, gently massaging her breast. “Blue Heron is using the subsequent silence to set her trap. Morning Star himself wants her to quietly find the plotters so he can deal with them.” He paused. “Which is why I thought perhaps…?”

Columella frowned as she settled her hand on his hip and cupped her fingers around his rump. “No. Not that I wouldn’t have tried it given half a chance for success. Do they suspect us?”

“They suspect everyone. My worry, beloved, is that something might link Cut String to you.”

She shook her head absently. “No. There are rumors, however, about Cut String’s uncle and his daughter. Or is it his niece?”

“Not just rumors,” Flat Stone Pipe told her. “My first thought was to dispatch him over the pollution of incest. After Tharon’s transgressions no one would so much as cock an eyebrow. And I would have, had you been involved.”

“No.” She rubbed her chin over the top of his head. “He might have more value alive for the time being.”

“I’ve someone watching him. Should whoever goaded Cut String to act try and contact the uncle again, we’ll grab them for a little chat.”

“What would I do without you?”

“Suffer dissatisfaction under the clumsy fumblings of awkward lovers with no idea of how to coax your body into a frenzy?”

She slapped his round bottom playfully. “I wasn’t thinking about that.”

“Then perhaps you were wondering about your brother?”

“Why, in the name of the Sky Eagle, would I think of him?”

“Because he’s up to something.”

“Oh, really? What now? Some new woman? An angle on Trade?”

“Political, I think.”

“He’d have told me.”

“Then why did he sneak out before dawn, dress like a common Trader, blank his tattoos in brown paint, and skulk through the crowds at the Great Plaza this past midday?”

She shifted to stare into his hard dark eyes. “He did that?”

“He did.” Flat Stone Pipe took a breath. “Do you think it had anything to do with the attempt on the Morning Star? Something he’s pursuing without your knowledge?”

“He’d never dare!”

But he would, and she knew it. She frowned, saying, “He’s never been clever about these things.”

Flat Stone Pipe gave her a reassuring pat. “I’ll keep an eye on him.” He hesitated. “And if he’s managed to get himself into trouble?”

She massaged her forehead with her free hand. “Then I’ll have to deal with him. One way … or another.”

“He’s your brother.”

“It’s
my
life! The lives of
our
children!”

His eyes fixed on hers as he nodded. “We’ll do what we have to do.”

“No matter what it costs,” she agreed, images of High Dance’s laughing eyes playing between her souls.

You stupid fool! Please don’t make me kill you.

*   *   *

Fingers of unease stroked his souls; Fire Cat came awake with a start. The fire had burned low, leaving the great room poorly lit. But in the glow he could make out the furnishings of Night Shadow Star’s palace. The carved likenesses of snakes and raptors along the wall benches had fixed their intent gazes on him. Their shell-inset eyes gleamed red and seemed to have a malicious intensity. Growing anxiety flitted about between Fire Cat’s souls as if on bat wings.

What is it? What’s wrong?

His heart began to pound; he listened to the silence. From the corner of the room he could hear the faint rhythmic gnawing of a mouse.

Still, that feeling of threat hovering over him might have been a grim mist.

He blinked, slowly taking a breath, smelling the musty blanket on which he slept, drawing in the faint scent of smoke. And something else. He sniffed again, catching a hint of musk.

Someone was close. Too close.

Turning his head, he froze. Eyes wide, his gaze fixed on the stone knife poised over his heart. The blade was as long as a man’s forearm, and two slender brown hands gripped it at the top. He followed those athletic female arms back to Night Shadow Star.

She knelt beside him, knees together in the manner of a well-bred woman. A finely woven hemp skirt patterned in black and white diagonal lines conformed to her hips. Her long black hair hung loosely over her shoulders like a midnight mantle. The expression on her fine triangular face bespoke tortured indecision.

“Go ahead,” he whispered. “You’ve taken everything else from me.”

Her nod was faint, as if she heard from a great distance. The knife poised over his heart didn’t so much as waver.

“Piasa,” she whispered, as if talking to herself, “you ask too much!”

“Piasa?” Fire Cat studied the knife, shifting ever so slightly. If he could get his right arm clear of the blanket, move quickly enough, he could thrust up, grab her hands, and pull that long chert blade straight down into his body.

Am I that ready to die?

A weary smile curled his lips. What an easy escape from his pledge to serve this vile woman.

“Do you know what it’s like?” Her voice sounded hollow. “How do you expect me to sleep in peace, knowing he’s here? In my house, eating my food, drinking my water? Breathing my air?”

“I could be elsewhere,” he suggested softly. “Just release me from my vow.”

Her eyes tightened the slightest bit, accenting the faint shake of her head. “It would be so easy. Just like tonight. He sleeps soundly. A simple thrust. The blood would flow, rich, red, pulsing with each dying beat of his heart.” She closed her eyes, tipping her head back, as if relishing the dream. “Would it wash away this endless feeling of despair and pain?”

“Try it and see,” Fire Cat suggested. “I don’t wish to be bound to you any more than you want me polluting your house with my eating, drinking, and breathing.”

Her brow lined in pain; she glanced down at him, and seemed to see him for the first time. “You
killed
him. And doing so, you killed me.”

“That is the red nature of war, Lady.” Fire Cat shrugged. “And had he won that day? Had Power favored him and his squadrons? Would I have fared any differently? Your brother sent him to destroy us. We defended ourselves. Nothing more. Nothing less.”

“You could have reached into my body and torn my heart out. It wouldn’t have hurt any less.”

He narrowed an eye, wondering at the muscle control that allowed her to hold the knife without even a faint quiver. “I think I’m catching a glimmer of what this is all about. Your pain is an obsession with you. You’ve been raised to be the exalted and overindulged sister of the Morning Star, daughter of
Tonka’tzi
Red Warrior Tenkiller, niece to the Matron Wind. You’ve never been denied anything, have you? Never had life, Power, or fate slap you hard in the face. Now it has, and the spoiled child inside you can’t stand it. You poor, pampered little sheath, my souls just
ache
for you.” He sniffed in disdain. “Now, will you act like a
competent
woman for once in your life and end this sham?”

For the first time, the knife quivered slightly; her muscles tensed. She held his gaze, loathing and hatred in her large dark eyes. Her mouth worked, jaws clamping hard as she ground her teeth.

Then she abruptly tucked the knife into her lap, a defeated emptiness in a gaze gone vacant. “I would love nothing more, you Red Wing maggot. Every nerve in my body cries out to kill you.”

“Just do it. Spare us both the discomfort.”

She shook her head. “You’re part of the bargain. When a Spirit Beast tells you to do something…”

“Stop it! Your brother is just a man. Even in Red Wing town we heard about Chunkey Boy and the way he abused people. You were all Four Winds, spawn of the
tonka’tzi
and above punishment. No matter how heinous the crime. Nothing’s changed. He panders to you. A smile, a shrug on your part, and he’ll forgive you. Tell him I goaded you, insulted your virtue, called you names.”

For an instant she seemed confused. “Morning Star could care less.”

“Then who? You’re
Lady
Night Shadow Star. Who could possibly give you orders?”

Her expression went distant again. “I do as my master tells me.” And with that she rose elegantly to her feet, and head down, walked wearily back to her private quarters.

Rot and stink take me, I’ve promised on my honor to … serve the insane?

The Serpent

What I am about to attempt has taken years of planning. They never would have thought me capable. Certainly I shouldn’t have accomplished all that I have, been to all those places, done the things I have. Call it the culmination of a family’s love. That’s what families do, don’t they? Provide incentive to exceed expectations?

I certainly wouldn’t have dedicated myself to such intense study of the chaotic Powers of the Underworld. It is there—and to a lesser extent from the Powers of the Middle World—where true guile and stealth are learned.

I’ve watched bobcats, weasels, foxes, and wolves, but the stealthiest hunters of all are the snakes. And they are the true Power of the Underworld. No one stalks as silently, as carefully, or with the invisibility of the serpent. Watch them approach. Not a blade of grass quivers as they close with their prey. Nor do they hurry, but stop, wait, and sense, totally attuned to their surroundings.

Oh yes, I have studied. Now the moment has come to return my love in full measure. The Four Winds Clan is dedicated to the Sky World. But, in all things, there can only be harmony with equilibrium. The Underworld is about to cast the balance, and I am its warrior.

I move with the night, ascending the steps to the palace. I know this place, can imagine the rooms and where my victims await. My feet barely caress the wood as I climb. Sky Beings are creatures of the day, and the guardian posts of Eagle and Falcon do not see me, cloaked as I am in Serpent Power. My body is painted black, the color of death and invisibility. I wear the night like a cloak, hidden within its darkness. I slick a finger through my black grease-paint and smear a slithered black serpent over the shell eyes of the guardian posts. Come dawn’s light, they will find themselves blinded.