People of the Morning Star (51 page)

Squadron second War Claw picked that moment to march through the door, and behind him—followed by another six warriors—came two prisoners. From their clothing, they both appeared to be Deer Clan, and high ranking.

Right Hand and his sister Corn Seed.

“Oh, my,” Seven Skull Shield murmured to himself. “We got two more before Two-Whatever-Smoke could silence them. The question, however, is if the scorpion is slipping? Are we finally ahead of him? Or were we supposed to capture these two and hear their confessions? Has he played them as well as he’s played everything else to this point?”

Forty-seven

“I should have known when I pulled the broken knife edge from that poor woman’s ruined sheath that day.” Blue Heron watched the building terror in Corn Seed’s face. “But, like everything else when it came to the two of you, I misread that entire event.”

She lifted the knife they’d taken from Cut String, and raised it, seeing shock and defeat in Corn Seed’s eyes. “Look familiar, does it?”

The Deer Clan matron dropped to her knees, then fell forward on her face, crying, “Clan Keeper, we had no idea! We thought he was just a Trader.”

“Who?”
Tonka’tzi
Wind demanded. “What is his name? Where do we find him? Hidden in your territory? Butchering more poor immigrants as he tries to resurrect his dead Tula warriors?”

“We don’t know. We called him the Whisperer,” Right Hand declared, straightening. “We were as shocked as you when we saw what happened in that farmstead.” He glanced down at his groveling sister. “It’s my doing,
Tonka’tzi.
I dragged my sister into this. Our kinsmen, children, and the rest of Deer Clan have no knowledge of what I did. They remain loyal to the Morning Star and the Four Winds Clan. In fact, given the shame I’ve brought upon them, they would be harder on me than you will.”

“Why?” Blue Heron asked, feeling sick. “What have we ever done to you?”

He looked around the room, lips curling at the irony, and said, “Keeper, I’ve always respected you and the
Tonka’tzi.
Because of that respect, I ask that you order the warriors out. Unless, of course, you want every gossip monger in the city wagging his tongue and repeating what I have to tell you. War Claw can stay, of course, and perhaps a handful of very, very trusted kin.”

Blue Heron, heart like a stone in her chest, gestured it to be done; she watched the warriors file out, curiosity in their eyes. To her amusement, the notion of leaving hadn’t even crossed Seven Skull Shield’s mind. A look of animated anticipation filled the thief’s face. On a hunch, she allowed him to stay.

“Speak,” she ordered.

Right Hand, in the manner of a man with nothing to lose, studied her thoughtfully. Then he raised his maimed hand. “You remember how I got this?”

“Some fight with Chunkey Boy. I heard you made up afterward.”

“Some …
fight
?” He wiggled his maimed hand. “I told him I would marry Night Shadow Star when she came of age. Corn Seed was first in line to become Clan Matron. I was going to be Deer Clan’s high chief! A man worthy of Night Shadow Star’s bed when she came of age. Nor was she opposed. You know. You were there. You supervised the negotiations between our clans. Your brother, the
Tonka’tzi,
communicated his approval of the marriage.”

“Then, why did you back out?”
Tonka’tzi
Wind asked in fury.

“In private Chunkey Boy told me that I’d never marry his sister. He refused.” Right Hand made a fist with his good left hand, shaking it in anger. “So I challenged him to chunkey. A match in which Power would decide. If I won, I would marry Night Shadow Star when she became a woman. And win that match I
did
!” he thundered.

His face lit at the memory. “Can you imagine my delight? The woman of my dreams would be mine. Power had reaffirmed it in a sacred chunkey match. And, you can imagine Chunkey Boy’s frustrated reaction as he stalked off the court, shoulders bent by a rage as black as thunder.

“The two of them caught me on the way home. Had ten of your loyal Wind Clan warriors throw me down and hold me.” The Deer Clan chief raised his mangled hand and inspected it. “He used my own chunkey stone to do this. Had my hand placed on the hard clay, and then he hammered it, and hammered it, and hammered it until it was bloody pulp.”

The room was silent.

“Looking into my eyes, Chunkey Boy said, ‘I demand a rematch.’ I refused to answer. As long as I held my silence, I’d won.” Right Hand pointed at the disfiguring scar in his chin. “This he did with a sharp chert flake he picked up from the dirt. He told me, ‘You can have a rematch, or you can marry my sister without lips, a tongue, or nose. And when I’m done with you, I’ll make your lovely sister’s looks match yours.’”

Blue Heron closed her eyes, imagining it just the way Right Hand claimed.

Right Hand said reasonably, “This is Chunkey Boy we’re talking about. He’d have done it, sliced Corn Seed’s face off if I’d refused. You
know
how he was when he lost! How acid burned in his souls when he sulked. Him, his fawning and worshipping brother, and Night Shadow Star, nothing about that threesome was right!”

Blue Heron made a face, pinching her nose. “What about now? When did the sorcerer contact you?”

“Midwinter. A messenger from the Whisperer arrived and asked an audience of me. He sent an offering of Trade, and told me that I would finally have my revenge on Chunkey Boy.”

“Chunkey Boy is dead!”
Tonka’tzi
Wind thundered.

“Maybe. So people believe. And he plays the part well.” Right Hand shrugged. “But every time I see the Morning Star, I see Chunkey Boy. And every time he looks at me, he grins, knowing full well what he did to me.”

“So, you received the knife from Bleeding Hawk. How did you get it to Cut String?”

“Through a stone Trader who knew about the incest in Cut String’s family. And Cut String had his own trouble with Chunkey Boy when he was little.” He barked a bitter laugh. “What
normal
boy didn’t?”

“Where do we find this stone Trader?”

“You don’t.” Right Hand glanced sadly at his maimed hand. “I gave him a wealth of Trade, two comely young immigrant women for wives, and told him that he was implicated in an attack on the Morning Star. He’s fully aware that if he ever comes back, he’ll bleed the last of his life out on the square.”

Right Hand gave her a triumphant smile. “It was the only way to…” His stomach seemed to cramp.

“To what?”
Tonka’tzi
Wind asked.

Right Hand made a face, as if in pain. “To ensure that you’d never get him to talk.”

“And how did you get Evening Star House to cooperate?” Blue Heron asked. Right Hand was looking sick, the confidence gone. And well he should, given the …

Right Hand jerked, stomach rising as if in a dry heave. He swallowed hard, what looked like foam at the corner of his mouth.

“That, you’ll have to find out for yourself.” His entire body spasmed, and he collapsed next to his sister. Seven Skull Shield dropped to a knee beside the man as War Claw rushed forward. Together they rolled the convulsing Right Hand onto his back.

Blue Heron and Sun Wing had both risen.

Right Hand’s gut heaved, spewing vomit.

“What is it, Aunt?” Sun Wing asked.

“Water hemlock.” Blue Heron sighed and dropped back onto the dais in defeat. Then Corn Seed gagged, twitched, and threw up. “Somehow they’ve managed to poison themselves.”

Blue Heron leaped down to stare into Right Hand’s dark and fearful eyes, demanding, “Where’s Lace? Where did they take her? Tell me, and I’ll cut short the suffering.”

Right Hand’s tongue pushed out another gob of foam, his muscles twisting and jerking, his feet kicking at the matting.

“Don’t know … Nothing … Where’s Lace…” His eyes rolled back in his head. With a violent contraction he threw up yellow slime and foam.

Seven Skull Shield stood, backing away, and shook his head. “Now, Keeper, the question remains: How much of what they said is true? And how much is lies concocted in accord with the scorpion to mislead us?”

*   *   *

“Do you believe that Piasa’s souls are actually inside her?” Fire Cat asked Rides-the-Lightning as he squeezed a rag and trickled water into Night Shadow Star’s mouth. He sat beside her on her bed. Her room was illuminated by a circle of hickory-oil lamps that cast a warm yellow glow over the walls, bed, altar, and storage boxes.

Where he sat on a large box, Rides-the-Lightning lifted a shaggy white eyebrow. His opaque eyes stared into emptiness. “I had trouble with the notion at first. How can such a Powerful Underworld Spirit as Piasa project such a strong reflection of his Power into a young woman? Even one as gifted as Night Shadow Star? And then I realized, old and slow as I am, that her brother is home to the living god.”

The old shaman smacked his toothless gums. “Power runs through the Four Winds Clan like a deep-water current.”

Fire Cat rewet the cloth in a bowl of water. “I’ve watched your supposed ‘living’ god. He does play the part, acts like he is the Morning Star. Night Shadow Star, however, acts like she’s trying to be herself.”

Rides-the-Lightning sighed, resettling himself on the box. “I cannot change your heresy through any argument or proof. Belief is a choice we all make as individuals. Worship, however, can be, and often is, an enforced behavior. But whether or not you believe in the Morning Star? Any time we waste in debate over it is a distraction.”

“It doesn’t seem like a distraction to me, Soul Flier.”

“Oh, I don’t argue that your heresy isn’t in some way crucial to our current circumstances.” The old man pointed a cautionary finger. “Power is shifting, Red Wing. Something terrible has come to Cahokia. The entire Underworld is shaken clear down to First Woman’s cave. Power has brought you here, reeking of heresy, and placed you with Night Shadow Star for a purpose. But what purpose? I cannot say.”

“The only thing we have for each other is burning hatred,” Fire Cat murmured. “I killed her husband, she killed my world.”

“Yes. It has become so very apparent.” The old man’s lips quivered, as if he were hiding something. “This most special hatred you and the lady share, along with your obligation to serve her, is somehow vital.”

“You’d think Power would have picked two people that didn’t despise each other when it went looking for such, in your words,
vital
allies.”

“Yes.” Rides-the-Lightning’s lips quivered again. “You would, wouldn’t you?” He seemed to be on the verge of some revelation, then he chuckled to himself.

“What?” Fire Cat watched Night Shadow Star swallow the last of the water he’d trickled into her mouth.

“I was wondering, musing absently about the ways we can delude ourselves. That is all. How long would you stay and continue attending to Lady Night Shadow Star if her souls don’t return? Sometimes bodies can live for years as soulless husks.”

“As long as her heart beats, and I can keep breath in her lungs, Soul Flier.” Fire Cat used a square of cloth to wipe away a bit of spittle that leaked from the corner of her mouth. “I gave my word.”

“And that is important to you?”

“I’m the last Red Wing. My honor is the only thing which remains mine.”

“That … and the part Power has chosen for you to play in this final confrontation.” The old man’s lips bent in a wry smile. “Yes, I see.”

“See what?”

“You heard Blue Heron’s thief when he came to summon Night Shadow Star to the Council House: Lady Lace is taken by the abomination.” He raised a withered and gnarly finger. “That is the term they are using in the Spirit world for this mad sorcerer. Abomination.”

Seeing Night Shadow Star swallow, Fire Cat began trickling water again. “Abomination? That’s the term we use … excuse me, the term we
used
when we talked about the Morning Star.”

Fire Cat pursed his lips, glanced at the blind soul flier, then asked, “Is this appropriate … or even right? This spreading practice of calling the souls of the dead back into the living? Doesn’t it reek of an arrogance to wrench the Morning Star out of the Sky World and insert him into a human body? Especially one as sordid and mean as Chunkey Boy was storied to be?”

“Sordid and mean? Strong words, Red Wing.”

“Rumors have long legs, elder. And on those legs they traveled often to Red Wing town. Once there, people spoke without fear of Four Winds Clan retaliation.”

“And perhaps without fear of bending the truth, as well?”

Fire Cat shook his head. “There were too many stories, for too long a time, clear up until Black Tail died and Chunkey Boy stepped into his place.” He paused, considering. “Although people did stop talking about Chunkey Boy’s abuses after that.”

“Perhaps a glimmering of the truth that Chunkey Boy’s souls were consumed? Hmm?” Rides-the-Lightning suggested mildly.

“Or that being known as a ‘living god’ no one ever denied him anything he wanted. He even exiled and murdered his brother as one of his first actions. They were such good friends, weren’t they? We heard the stories way up in our frozen north of how they went everywhere together, played chunkey and stickball, committed pranks and high jinks. The boys and Night Shadow Star were in one another’s constant company, no matter the improprieties of a high-born girl acting in such an unseemly manner. The jokes where that Chunkey Boy would have her installed in the men’s house, that she’d pass her monthly cycle there instead of in the women’s house.” He arched an eyebrow, only to realize that Rides-the-Lightning couldn’t see it, and added, “And the more vicious among the rumor mongers crowed that, as a ‘warrior’ the only blood a pampered high-born bitch like her would ever see would be on her menstrual rags.”