Moon Hunt

by Kathleen O'Neal Gear

  Winter Leaf stood from where she was weaving on a loom and stared in dismay. “You’re bringing her in?”

  “She’s Night Shadow Star’s sister,” Fire Cat growled. “What were you going to do? Leave her out there on the veranda babbling to herself?”

  “But the Lady—”

  “Is she Spirit traveling?”

  “No, just sleeping. It’s so odd,” Winter Leaf said. “It’s the first time in days. When I went in and called out that Sun Wing was here, Night Shadow Star didn’t even stir. Knowing that she hasn’t had a good night’s sleep, I figured she needed it more than she needed to visit with her sister.”

  Fire Cat straightened, carefully inspecting Sun Wing. The woman seemed completely indifferent to her surroundings, eyes focused someplace beyond this world, lips moving as she mouthed odd words.

  War Claw led him to the side, voice low. “You know what happened to her? Why she’s the way she is?”

  Fire Cat nodded. “I was there, remember? Didn’t get more than a glance at Sun Wing. She was sprawled naked on the floor, screaming in a pool of blood. Severed pieces of her sister were scattered around. Like a nightmare come to life. Night Shadow Star told me that when she walked into the room Walking Smoke had Sun Wing hanging upside down, a knife to her neck. Sun Wing came that close to having her throat slit.”

  Fire Cat shrugged. “That kind of terror? Do anyone’s souls survive such a thing intact?”

  War Claw took a deep breath. “Rides-the-Lightning was supposed to call her souls back. Return them to her body. He did the best he could, but wasn’t sure he’d succeeded after the four days were up. Then Sun Wing was placed in that house over on the other side of the plaza. Since then, she’s just eaten, drank, slept, and kept to herself. Sometimes she just sits on her sleeping bench and holds herself as she rocks back and forth all day long.”

  Fire Cat fingered his chin. “But she picks today to suddenly run to Night Shadow Star’s and kneel on the porch?”

  War Claw gave another of his enigmatic shrugs. “What do you want to do with her?”

  “Let her sit for the moment. I need to check on Night Shadow Star.”

  Fire Cat took a moment to retrieve his chunkey stone and lance and stow them before he stepped into Night Shadow Star’s personal quarters. She lay on her side, her hair a dark swirl on her bedding. Her face was tranquil, her breathing deep and regular. This time her bedding wasn’t wadded and disheveled where she’d been thrashing, tossing, and turning.

  Fire Cat could almost feel the peaceful depth of her sleep.

  He frowned, turned, and walked to the Tortoise Bundle where it rested on its special shelf. The scuffed leather cover seemed innocuous for once. “Just this once, let her sleep. That’s not asking too much, is it?”

  But the Bundle remained mute.

  Fire Cat made a face and returned to the great room. War Claw was fingering his chin, narrowed eyes on Sun Wing. “What does the Lady Night Shadow Star say, Red Wing?”

  “Winter Leaf was right. She’s sleeping like she hasn’t in two moons, and I’m not waking her.” He gestured to Sun Wing. “For the moment she’s not hurting anything. When Night Shadow Star awakens, we’ll see what she wants to do. In the meantime, leave her guards here. We’ll feed them and see to their needs until it’s time to take Sun Wing back home.”

  War Claw lifted a skeptical eyebrow. “You sure you don’t want me to take Lady Sun Wing back now? I mean, with your lady sound asleep and not much else happening, you could send Winter Leaf off on some errand or another.”

  “And why would I do that? You’re not making any sense.”

  An impish smile bent War Claw’s normally humorless lips. “And on my way out I’ll send up that slippery-sheathed vixen waiting below so that you can … um, fulfill her needs.”

  Fire Cat chuckled. “On second thought, Squadron First, I’d rather you called up another two tens of warriors in ranks to guarantee Lady Sun Wing’s safety—and to ensure that saucy minx down there doesn’t creep in the back way. ’Cause if she does, I’m running and leaving you to whatever fate the Spirits decree.”

  Meanwhile, on the bench, Sun Wing’s mumbling voice could be heard, chanting, “Born of Sun. One is slayed. Here, by the long trail, his corpse is laid.…”

  “What is that?” War Claw asked.

  “Nothing I’ve ever heard.” But it sent a shiver down Fire Cat’s back.

  Fifteen

  “Do you think this is going to work?” Sacred Spoon asked as she stared around the crowded Four Winds Clan House. Most of another day had been spent in arguments, accusations, and recriminations. The final vote would be coming soon. The participants seemed to anticipate it.

  “I think so.” Blue Heron glanced over to the side of the room where Slender Fox and Wolverine stood in council with their brother Sliding Ice and younger sister Ripe Woman. War Duck, with Green Chunkey at his side, stood at the fore of their united block of votes for River Mounds and Horned Serpent Town.

  To her cousin, Blue Heron added, “Slender Fox thinks she’s got it. Robin Wing will be the kicker. Columella’s deal with her was that we’d withdraw Light Woman’s nomination.”

  “And how did Light Woman take that?” Sacred Spoon shot a look at where her cousin stood in the rear.

  Light Woman’s falcon-feather cloak was thrown back in concession to the stifling heat—too many bodies packed in the room. The expression on the woman’s face wouldn’t have been more bitter had she just been slapped.

  “Not well.” Blue Heron fingered her chin. “If you win this, I would suggest some efforts be directed at soothing her hurt. For the moment she’s just seen the matron’s chair slip away, but when it sinks in that it was you or Slender Fox, she won’t necessarily like it, but she’ll accept it.”

  From her litter chair on the dais behind the fire, Tonka’tzi Wind called out, “A final vote is in order. I’m about to call it. Are there any other statements?”

  Blue Heron stepped forward to the speaker’s position before the fire and raised her hands high. “Morning Star House has heard the objections raised by High Chief War Duck and High Chief Green Chunkey against Light Woman. While Morning Star House believes it has the votes necessary to force the issue and place Light Woman on the matron’s chair, it is our considered opinion that doing so would sow such discord that the harmony of the Four Winds Clan might be irreparably rent asunder.”

  She took a moment to stare around the room. “In concession, and as a gesture of Morning Star House’s goodwill, we withdraw Light Woman for consideration as clan matron.”

  On Slender Fox’s side of the room every expression was stunned, as if they were clubbed fish.

  Good! Blue Heron thought to herself. Caught them by surprise.

  “Does Morning Star House offer another to stand for the matron’s chair?” Wind demanded.

  “We do not,” Blue Heron announced. “At this time, relations are so strained that any woman put forward by Morning Star House, no matter how qualified, will be rejected outright by North Star, River Mounds, and Horned Serpent Houses.”

  She saw a gloating satisfaction fill Slender Fox’s catty face. The cunning sheath thought she’d won.

  “Are there nominations from any of the other Houses?” Wind asked, her slitted eyes on Blue Heron as she stepped back. That the tonka’tzi didn’t know the plan—thought Blue Heron was giving up—actually brought a quiver of pleasure to Blue Heron’s breast.

  Columella stepped forward, raising her arms. “Evening Star House offers Lady Sacred Spoon of Slick Rock’s lineage, daughter of Chief Takes Blood and Eel Woman of the Panther Clan.”

  “She’s Morning Star House!” Slender Fox cried.

  “What of it?” Columella shot back, then turned her attention to the surprised Wind. “Evening House offers Sacred Spoon as a compromise, given that the Keeper—in the best interest of the clan—has withdrawn Light Woman. The complaint has been that authority was concentrated in Black Tail’s lineages. Slic
k Rock served as tonka’tzi during Cahokia’s formative years. Slick Rock’s daughter Swan Tail held the position of clan matron before this council voted it to Wind. Now that Wind has vacated the chair, Evening Star House sees no problem returning the matron’s chair to Swan Wing’s niece, Sacred Spoon.”

  Columella stepped back amidst a rising murmur of speculation.

  Tension rose in the crowded room.

  “Does anyone else support Sacred Spoon as possible clan matron?” Wind demanded, her face like a frozen mask.

  Robin Wing and Round Pot both stepped forward, calling, “We do,” in unison.

  From where she stood in the crowd, Columella shouted, “Call the vote, Tonka’tzi. Let us elect Sacred Spoon as clan matron!”

  Hisses and barely stifled curses came from Slender Fox’s side. Green Chunkey had a thoughtful look on his face as he considered his suddenly rebellious sister. War Duck looked fit to be tied, staring daggers at Round Pot. In her turn, she studiously ignored her brother, expression stoic. So much for River Mounds’ vaunted unity and compromise.

  That’s going to be an interesting relationship from here on out, Blue Heron thought.

  Wind cleared her throat, announcing, “Very well. If there are no other comments, I will call the vote.”

  “There are other comments,” Five Fists called from the rear. He marched forward, almost shoving his way through the crowd. In his wake came Sacred Spoon’s younger sister, Rising Flame. In her early twenties, she was a tall, muscular stickball player with a raven-dark wealth of thick hair piled high on her head and pinned with a copper headpiece. She had painted her face white with black forked-eye designs that mimicked the Morning Star’s. A brilliantly colored cloak of painted bunting feathers hung from her shoulders, and a short white skirt was tied at her narrow waist to emphasize her hips and long legs.

  Five Fists strode to a stop at the speaker’s position. Rising Flame positioned herself beside him, a curious smile on her face, eyes narrowed in what looked like satisfaction.

  Wind had straightened, her copper-clad staff of office in hand. “War Leader Five Fists, you have no standing here. As a member of an Earth Clan and a—”

  “I come as escort for Lady Rising Flame,” Five Fists announced, and paused as he looked around the room, eyes like hot black coals. A faint amusement could be seen in his lop-jawed face. “I speak for the Morning Star. Or would you deny him a voice in the Four Winds Clan?”

  Wind had a perplexed look—taken aback as she was. Not even as tonka’tzi would she dare deny the Morning Star.

  Before she could formulate a response, Five Fists turned, searching the faces around him. “Would any of you? Go on. Speak up! Who among you would deny the Morning Star a voice in your council?”

  Blue Heron’s heart began to beat harder. What scheme was this? Why on earth would the Morning Star insert himself into the Four Winds council? And more to the point, who in their right minds would stand against him?

  Five Fists—as he’d known from the start—heard no dissent. Which was when he stepped back, leaving Rising Flame alone before the fire.

  “What’s she doing?” Sacred Spoon demanded, starting forward.

  Blue Heron reached out, clamping fingers on the woman’s upper arm. “Don’t even think it. If this is what I think it is, it’s all over.”

  Rising Flame lifted her chin, staring haughtily into Wind’s eyes, and said, “I offer myself as clan matron. I am Rising Flame, of Slick Rock’s lineage, Morning Star House, daughter of Takes Blood and Eel Woman, and the chosen of the Morning Star.”

  She paused for effect, looking around the room with challenging eyes and repeating, “The chosen of the Morning Star.”

  “As a woman of the Four Winds Clan you have the right to offer yourself.” Wind took a deep breath, a look of futility on her face. “Is there anyone else who supports Rising Flame for clan matron?”

  For a long moment, no one moved. Five Fists began to grin, a growing gleam in his eyes as he fixed on War Duck and raised a suggestive eyebrow.

  The high chief of River Mounds stepped up beside Rising Flame and chuckled humorlessly to himself before he said, “I withdraw my support of Slender Fox and place it behind Rising Flame.”

  He was but the first of many.

  “Just what is happening here?” Columella asked as she slipped up beside Blue Heron and Sacred Spoon.

  “The vote on Rising Flame’s ascent to the matron’s chair just became a formality,” Blue Heron said woodenly.

  “Why is Morning Star interfering?” Sacred Spoon demanded through a forced exhale.

  “That,” Blue Heron told her, “is the real question.”

  To Begin the Dance

  The day I arrived at the Tunica embassy, I decided if I was going to take control of my destiny, I must assert myself. I am the high minko’s daughter, after all. I may not have wanted it, but this is what I’ve been trained for: to be a leader.

  If I was not to be treated like a bit of chattel—a mere trophy female captured on a raid and given away like some prize—I had better start acting like a lady of noble birth.

  I started by pointing to a sleeping bench in the center of the back wall closest to the fire and stated, “That’s mine. You will have the warriors place my bedding there.”

  Then I looked at Strong Mussel, ordering, “Come with me, War Leader.”

  I climbed up out of the house and surveyed was my new domain. To the east the skyline was dominated by conical burial mounds and high temples atop earthen pyramids. Through a break in the houses to the north I saw the tonka’tzi’s remarkable palace with its statuary and soaring Spirit poles, and beyond it, the Morning Star’s great mound and sky-scraping home.

  Strong Mussel followed me out, still holding my despicable leash. I said, “Oh, hand it over. I’m not running today. I give you my word on the honor of the Chief Clan. On my ancestor’s bones.”

  He looked skeptically at me. His lips quivered as though arguing with himself; then he handed the leash over. I wrapped it around my wrist.

  I checked the council house, finding it pretty much the same as the one we’d slept in. The sweat lodge behind it was a low dome big enough for six people to scrunch themselves inside. I was pleased to see a pile of stones and the fire pit outside for heating them.

  In the distance, I hear a great shout. Someone is beating on a pot drum. Sounds like some sort of celebration.

  I walk over to the dwelling and seat myself in the sun, back against the wall. “Two Sticks,” I call. “Would you be kind enough to come and explain some things to me?”

  The Albaamaha is talking in a low voice to that despicable hulking Cahokian. They both come, the Cahokian’s remarkably ugly dog following along behind in a loose-limbed gait.

  Two Sticks drops to his haunches, the Cahokian doing the same, much to my dismay.

  Strong Mussel still stands, fidgeting, holding the White Arrow as if for reassurance. He looks like a man whose canoe has been spun around and around by a whirlpool until he has no idea which direction he was headed.

  I say, “The war leader, here, hasn’t bothered to ask, but we need to know: What’s happening here? Why are we being shuttled around from one subordinate to another?”

  Two Sticks studies me thoughtfully. “We just heard. While you were inspecting your new home, the Four Winds Clan has chosen a new clan matron. Some things, at least, will slowly return to normal. Including your reception as a visiting dignitary.” As he talked, he signed for the despicable Cahokian’s benefit.

  “So that I have it straight, the Four Winds Clan rules Cahokia. The Earth Clans, under them, actually administer the separate areas of the city?”

  “That is correct. Each Earth Clan district in turn is composed of separate villages filled with immigrants. They all have their own languages, temples, council houses, and plazas with their crude chunkey courts, surrounded by dwellings and farmsteads. These people are called the dirt farmers, and come from all over the world. They move
d here to share the miracle of the Morning Star’s resurrection into a human body.”

  “Do you believe that, Two Sticks?”

  He shrugs. “How else do you explain the miracle of this giant city, Lady? The important thing is that all of these people … they believe it.”

  In the distance, another great shout can be heard.

  Two Sticks tells me, “They celebrate the election of a woman called Rising Flame of the Morning Star House. Within the quarter moon there will probably be games. I would expect your wedding to the Morning Star to be postponed until after the celebration.”

  I can tell Two Sticks is holding something back, his gaze pointedly avoiding Strong Mussel’s. “War Leader?”

  “Yes, Lady?”

  “Take two men and a string of beads. We passed Traders with firewood back by the tonka’tzi’s palace. We will need wood for the cooking fires tonight. Corncobs won’t make us stew.”

  As his eyes fill with suspicion, I wave him away. “Oh, go on. I’m not running. I’m still surrounded by warriors, and Two Sticks will ensure that I’m still here when you get back. Go. That’s an order.”

  Still he hesitates.

  “By the World Tree’s roots, War Leader, if your remaining warriors can’t keep me here, they don’t deserve to call themselves Sky Hand. Go get wood!”

  He rises to his feet, pointing at Two Sticks. “She’d better be here.”

  The Albaamaha raises his hands in submission.

  I watch the war leader open a box, remove some beads, and leave at a trot with Cloud Tassel on his heels.

  When I look back at Two Sticks, a faint smile teases his lips. In a low voice, he notes, “My uncle had a tattoo like yours on his right hand. It’s not the sort of thing I would expect to see on a Sky Hand high minko’s daughter’s hand. You are not what you seem, are you?”

  I glance meaningfully at the disgusting Cahokian who is watching through half-lidded eyes. Two Sticks is no longer signing.

  Catching my meaning, Two Sticks says, “He has none of your language. And he certainly knows nothing of the Sacred Moth Society or its rites. So why don’t you tell me exactly what is going on?”