People of the Morning Star (42 page)

Frantic Lightning stopped short, half bent to his bath. Water dripped from the rag he held and trickled down the ripples of his muscular body. He gave his second a flat stare. “I am to believe this? Tula? Here? In Cahokia? And shooting at Lady Night Shadow Star? How ludicrous is that?”

“Nevertheless,
Amayxoya,
you are summoned to the Council House. They want to know about the Tula.”

“As if anyone
knows
about the Tula! What do I tell them?” He touched his forehead in mock submission. “Great
Tonka’tzi,
being an expert on the Tula I can tell you that they’re just human versions of the short-grass coyote. Forever howling, they like sneaking close in the night and snapping up whatever is left unattended. They drink the blood from their kills while it’s still hot and steaming and paint their faces and bodies with it. Their women are made of sinew and muscle, and as terrifying as it is to be captured by the men, it’s the women who take the greatest joy in slowly murdering a prisoner. They slit his belly just wide enough to reach in with a hooked stick and pull out a knuckle’s length of intestine. The next day, they pull yet another knuckle’s length, and so on. Unless they’re aroused, in which case they let the camp dogs pull out and consume the man’s innards as he screams himself to death. It’s said a Tula woman will snap a man’s neck if he leaves her disappointed with the arts of his shaft. And so, great
tonka’tzi,
if you think you’ve got Tula sneaking around in Cahokia, just listen for the shrieking of women and children. Your Tula will be close by.”

He reached for a second cloth and dried himself. “Are they serious, second? What would entice a Tula to come here? Since their exile, they’ve become completely wild. Acting more four-legged than human.”

Takes Horn spread his arms wide. “It’s probably nothing, some rumor spinning out of last night’s attack. Perhaps someone desperate for an explanation heard the word Tula in passing.” He grinned. “Besides, with all the other concerns they have to worry about, maybe hearing your stories about the Tula will provide some diversion.”

“Diversion? Nightmares, you mean.” He pointed to his paint palette and dress finery. “If you’d be so kind, second. I can’t go looking like this.”

“Of course,
Amayxoya
. What colors would you prefer for this meeting?”

“Yellow and blue. Something as comic as the notion of a Tula war party attempting to kill Lady Night Shadow Star.”

In less than a finger’s time,
Amayxoya
Frantic Lightning was carefully painted, his hair twisted tightly into a bun, pinned, and a copper headpiece attached. He wrapped a grizzly-hide cloak over his shoulders, and let it hang down the rear past his sky-blue apron.

“You look magnificent,
Amayxoya
.” Takes Horn FiveKiller gave him a gnarly grin that exposed the gaps in his teeth. “Worthy of the Kadohadacho himself.”

“Let’s go amuse the
tonka’tzi
with stories of half-human Tula.”

He strode through the front room where most of his retinue had been scurrying back and forth to prepare. At his entrance, they flocked to the front doorway, making ranks to either side as he emerged into the shade of the veranda. The breeze from the north carried the musky scent of the marsh along Cahokia Creek. No more than a bow-shot to the south, and beyond the cluster of houses, he could see the busy Avenue of the Sun where it passed on the other side of a conical burial mound. A constant stream of people almost clogged the avenue.

Frantic Lightning settled himself in the litter and braced his hands on the polished wood of the chair arms. He took a deep breath as his warriors lifted him high, a familiar Caddoan work song breaking out on their lips. Frantic Lightning smiled at that, delighted to have a reminder of home. He waited a couple of beats, and joined in, knowing it just strengthened his bond with his warriors in this remarkable and alien place.

His carriers started forward in their swinging gait. War Second, Takes Horn FiveKiller trotted along in front, the Cahokian messenger leading with his staff of office held high to clear the way. Frantic Lightning checked to the side, making sure his two translators were there. The Cahokians provided a translator, but having two of his own guaranteed that nothing was missed. And behind them came the recorder, his pack filled with strings and beads.

Frantic Lightning let the song roll through him, singing, “As I labor, the sun warms my skin. I feel the breeze and join my kin.” His hands were patting the chair arms in time. “The soil smells rich as I raise my hoe.”

Of course—the sudden notion came to him as he sang—there was one possible connection between a Cahokian lord and the Tula. And it made a curious kind of sense. The image of a young man’s face flashed in his memory, as if teased out by the song. Yes, the knot-headed Cahokian had gone out to find and study the Tula—not that he’d ever exhibited much sense so far as Frantic Lightning had ever seen. At the time, he’d thought that a black sickness of the soul, like a twisting knot of intestinal worms, had been slowly consuming the young Cahokian. Blood and thunder, surely he hadn’t—

The impact felt as if he had been hit in the middle of the back with a hard-thrown, fist-sized stone. The sound, surprise, and sensation were indistinguishable.

What the …
The words in the song were forgotten, even as he stared down at the sun-bright crimson coating the arrow point that protruded from his breastbone. Fire lanced through his chest.

The warriors bearing his litter had ceased to sing, having felt and heard the arrow’s impact. Now they swiveled their heads, staring in disbelief as
Amayxoya
Frantic Lightning struggled to take a breath. He kicked out in panic and coughed, blowing a fine crimson spray like a misty cloud to speckle the faces of his horrified warriors.

He tried to mouth the words through the blood. “The young Walk…” The rest vanished as the high sun turned dim, then gray, leaving a fading glare in the memory of his vision.…

Thirty-six

Old Blue Heron pulled at her chin as she stared down at the Yellow Star war chief where he had been placed on the floor in the embassy main room. Frantic Lightning looked anything but what his name implied. His body lay sprawled in his litter, limbs akimbo. The man’s head was flung back, exposing his throat, jaws agape. The slanting afternoon sun shining through the doorway illuminated his wide brown eyes as they dried in the muggy air. Clotted blood outlined his tongue and teeth, and packed the back of his throat. An expression of disbelief lingered on his painted face, the bands of blue and yellow now speckled in a browning spray of dried blood.

Several of his warriors hunched beside him, shooing the flies from his sightless eyes. She immediately recognized the blood-caked arrow they’d withdrawn from the leaking puncture in the Frantic Lightning’s chest. Oh yes, familiar indeed!

“He’s always a step ahead of us,” Blue Heron growled. “Murdering piece of filth!”

One of the translators said, “The Yellow Star squadron second, this man, Takes Horn FiveKiller, says he demands you hand the killer over to him.”

She glanced sidelong at the older, weathered, squadron leader who rattled on in Caddo, his arms swinging as he added emphasis to his words.

Blue Heron met his angry eyes with her own burning gaze. She jabbed a finger at the man, words pinched, as she said, “You and me, Second. We’re going to have a race. Whoever catches the murdering weasel first gets to cook the testicles off his body.”

As her words were translated, the Second’s tattooed face reflected a bitter satisfaction. Following his barked question, the translator said, “Who did this? Why?”

“I think it’s the same filth who tried to kill Lady Night Shadow Star. It’s the same kind of arrow. We want him as badly as you do.” Blue Heron took a deep breath, glancing around. The “guest” house, looked oddly forlorn. She stepped out onto the veranda, and took in the environs. Behind the house the marshy bottoms of Cahokia Creek lay like a green swamp just above its confluence with Marsh Elder Lake. Toward the avenue to the south, the conical burial mound thrust up like a green cone. A crowd, held back by a line of warriors, had gathered around the warehouses, workshops, and dwellings belonging to various craft specialists from the Earth Clans.

“The shot came from there.” The second had followed her out and was pointing back toward the marsh as the translator continued. “We were headed toward the avenue, attending to your summons. As you can see, he was shot from behind. The distance is a good sixty paces. Not an impossible shot, but one requiring a skilled archer.”

“And you and your warriors didn’t see the shooter?” she asked.

As this was translated the second slowly shook his head. “We were too surprised. Then we were concerned with the
Amayxoya.
By the time I thought to send anyone to find the assassin, there was no one. Just bruised grass where he’d stood behind the corner of the house. There’s a trail back there running through the grass. My best tracker followed the smudges of a running man west for a couple of bow shots. The fugitive cut back to the main avenue on the west side of that temple mound over there to the west.”

“Where he would have disappeared into the crowd.” Blue Heron followed the pointing finger to a Turtle Clan charnel house where it topped a low mound in the distance. She could just see its peaked roof.

Angrily she rubbed the back of her neck, announcing, “All of Cahokia is at your service, second. The great Kadohadacho and the Yellow Star Nation are beloved and valued allies. Cahokia shares your outrage and grief over the vile assassination of a brave and respected
amayxoya.
Anything we can do to help you prepare the body for transport back to your home will be freely granted. You no doubt need to conduct special rituals to ease the transition of his life-soul into the afterworld. We intend to show him every honor.”

“Thank you.” He touched his chin forcefully, his angry gaze barely ameliorated.

“But first,” Blue Heron said as she raised her hand, “what were you discussing just before he was killed?”

“The Tula,” the Second growled. “The
Amayxoya
was bemused by the notion of a summons to discuss the wild barbarians.”

“Amused? Why?” She listened as the translator turned her words into Caddo.

“Great Clan Keeper, the Tula were once a part of the Yellow Star Nation. They rose in rebellion against Kadadokies’ rule and attempted to seize the leadership. In the end they were defeated in war. Rather than surrender, they exiled themselves to the prairie country to the west. In protest, they ceased to tattoo themselves, to cut their hair, or adopt the ornamentation of civilized men. Instead they concentrated on war and the hunt, believing such a way of life would harden them to battle. Not being a numerous people, they one day hope to regain their place as leaders of the Yellow Star nation and dominate the Kadadokies tribe through exceptional skill, valor, and proficiency of arms. They favor the bow and are renowned for making their own. It is a terrible weapon, and if they ever managed to breed enough warriors, they might pose a threat.”

“But you don’t seem to take them very seriously.”

He smiled at her, a knowing glint in his eyes as the translator repeated his answer.

“Great Clan Keeper, one out of every two of their boys dies during their arduous process of training and deprivation. They must exhibit superb discipline and suffer extreme privation as youths. Any who falter in the slightest, or are considered weak or somehow flawed, are eliminated. Tula end up as remarkably tough warriors, superior archers, and physically formidable. What they are not is smart, adaptable, or resilient when it comes to combat.” He made a “cut-off” gesture with his right hand before cocking his head and demanding through the translator. “Why are we talking about Tula? What makes you want to know about them?”

She dabbed mindlessly at her healing throat wound. “They gave up all form of ornamentation? Even tattoos?”

“It was a renunciation of Yellow Star’s affluence, Clan Keeper. They wanted to breed ‘pure and focused’ warriors, men undistracted by vainglory and frivolous ostentation.”

She took a deep breath, staring at the doorway behind which the dead
Amayxoya
lie. “What would it take to recruit a party of them?”

“A leader who could inspire either fear or discipline, and being ignorant as they are, they are susceptible to those who claim to have special Power, such as magicians and conjurors.” The second gave her a humorless smile. “And they would relish any opportunity to test their courage and hone their skills while they learn new ways to kill enemies and prove their superiority.”

She absently rubbed the red slash on her neck where the scab had peeled away. “I think, noble second, that someone has done just that. I think a small group of Tula warriors has been brought to Cahokia. And given what happened here, the
Amayxoya
might have known the man’s identity.” She frowned. “Or the assassin feared that possibility.”

The second swallowed hard, glancing furtively at the guest house. “He might have slipped up from the marsh, listened at the back of the house. I didn’t post guards. Here? In Cahokia?”