She tried to scream as a big hand clamped down over her mouth.
Please! Make it fast. Don’t let it hurt!
Thirty-seven
Tonka’tzi Wind propped her chin on her fist as she leaned forward and glared her displeasure at Rising Flame. She was perched atop her dais in the Council House—the room having been cleared at her order. Now the only sound in the great building was the periodic popping of logs in the central fire.
“So you’ve begun your stint as clan matron with disaster after disaster. You said you needed help; I’ll give it. Reluctantly. Why? Because I don’t have time to summon the clan leaders and ask for a recall vote to get rid of you. That means that you’re all I’ve got in the current crisis. And because you were chosen by the Morning Star. Perhaps as his last request.” A pause. “I have to assume he had a reason for choosing you, although figuring out what that might be completely escapes me at the moment.”
Rising Flame glared back, a half-panicked desperation in her eyes. She’d gone pale, which accented the star tattoos on her hollow cheeks, and her full mouth was pinched.
She said, “I know you wanted Sacred Spoon. I’ve always been everyone’s last choice, and I’ve hated them for it. You think my life’s been easy, growing up in everyone else’s shadow? Rising Flame? She’s the daughter we don’t know what to do with! Ship her out, send her off with the embassy. What do we care if she’s shuttled back and forth among the River Nations? She’s Morning Star House. And who knows? If she’s paraded through far-off council meetings, maybe the barbarians will be duped into thinking we’re taking them seriously!”
She snorted her derision. “Being born into Morning Star House is like being born into a pack of starving weasels. They’ll all turn on you at a moment’s notice.”
She thrust out a slim forefinger. “I watched my brother Fire Light get himself exiled to the far east when he tried to buck Chunkey Boy. You wonder why there’s bad blood between me and Blue Heron? It’s because she played Sacred Spoon, my father Takes Blood, and my mother against each other. She was responsible for brokering my marriage to Tapping Wood. With your blessing, I might add. And yes, he might be a pretty good squadron leader for a Fish Clan man, but as a husband, he was an idiot.”
“We all have our lives dictated by the needs of the clan. As matron, you’d better figure that out.”
“Oh, believe me, I have.” Rising Flame stepped forward, hands on hips, not more than a pace away. “Piss in a pot, Wind, if you and the rest of the matrons are so clever, cunning, and smart, why am I matron today instead of Sacred Spoon?”
“You wouldn’t be, were it not for the Morning Star sending his—”
“Exactly!” Rising Flame crossed her arms in triumph. “Now do you begin to understand? If not, I could take a piece of charcoal and draw it all out on the floor for you.”
Wind fumed under the young woman’s knowing stare. As she did it soaked in that Rising Flame—young, without a benefactor, without a prayer to be taken seriously—had avoided the bitter infighting, the backstabbing, and treacherous deal-making required to collect enough faction-backed votes to win. While the Houses were obsessed with cutting each other’s throats, Rising Flame had neatly circumvented each and every one of them. In the end, when the time was right, all it had taken was a word from Five Fists.
The realization was stunning, and Wind straightened, seeing the young woman clearly for the first time.
Rising Flame couldn’t keep the satisfaction out of her voice. “That’s right. Not only did I do it the easy way, but I’m the matron.”
Wind grunted, both envious and irritated. “Yes, you’re clever. Doesn’t lessen the danger you’re in or the mess you’ve made of it.”
“How is it my mess? The Morning Star married the girl; I didn’t.”
“No, but you dismissed Blue Heron.”
“And what difference could she and her spies have made?”
“Well, let’s see, shall we?” Wind clapped her hands, calling, “Send in Smooth Pebble, if you would!”
She watched as the door was opened and the berdache was allowed in. Dressed in a skirt, and with a hemp cape hanging from her muscular shoulders, Smooth Pebble crossed the room and knelt, touching her forehead respectfully as she said, “Bless you, Tonka’tzi. Is there word on Blue Heron?”
“Rise, Smooth Pebble. No word, I’m afraid. The matron and I, however, have even greater pressing issues. The girl, Whispering Dawn, she was brought first to Blue Heron, isn’t that right?”
“Yes, Tonka’tzi. One of her spies, an Albaamaha named Two Sticks, escorted the delegation to the Keeper’s palace. The girl and her Sky Hand escort were seeking an audience with the Morning Star and, as they said at the time, to establish an embassy.”
Wind saw the slight narrowing of Smooth Pebble’s eyes. “Something about that bothered you?”
“It was the young Sky Hand woman. She was brought in wearing an ankle leash. Clearly a captive. But by the end of the session, she was giving the orders. Her squadron leader clearly had the matting pulled out from beneath him when she asked for permission to open an embassy. My suspicion was that he wanted nothing more than to deliver the girl and head for home.”
“Like a man who knew he was delivering an assassin?” Rising Flame asked.
“No, Matron. More like a man who was anxious to be rid of an embarrassment and a problem. If you ask me, the girl wasn’t sent here as a gift, but as a punishment.”
“For what?”
“The thief reported that she was already married.” Smooth Pebble shrugged. “To an Albaamaha.”
“Which means?” Wind asked.
Rising Flame told her, “It means that the Sky Hand—especially the Chief Clan—despise the Albaamaha. They’ve conquered all but a handful of them.”
Wind absently chewed on her knuckle as she tried to think it through. “Would have been nice to have known that little fact before we received that Albaamaha embassy, don’t you think, Matron? Remember? The one that specifically asked to see Whispering Dawn?”
“Where is this Two Sticks now?” Rising Flame asked.
“I’ve no idea.” Smooth Pebble spread her arms. “Since Blue Heron disappeared, well, most of her spies have been biding their time, unsure of their status, or if they’re even needed anymore.”
Wind closed her eyes. “That’s a fine thing. Half of Cahokia’s in a panic. There’s no telling what the Houses are doing in the wake of the matron’s council; the Morning Star’s souls have fled, and his body barely clings to life; an assassin involved in either a Sky Hand or Albaamaha plot is on the loose; the Surveyors’ Society is screaming at me for answers about the Quiz Quiz; my sister is abducted; and we’re blind as gophers!”
At that moment, Five Fists burst into the room followed by a knot of warriors who half-dragged a young man. The war leader’s crooked expression was darker than a thunder cloud, his hand on a war club. At a signal, his warriors tossed the young man to the floor as Smooth Pebble scurried out of the way. Wind recognized him as one of the Albaamaha who had accompanied the embassy.
“Got one of them,” Five Fists declared, his scowling glare on the hunched young man on the floor. “He was hiding, keeping watch on that dwelling you assigned them to. Haven’t found the others, and the place was empty. Cleaned out. The fire dead and cold.”
Wind turned to the young man, perhaps no more than in his late teens. From his expression, he appeared terrified. “Where is the woman called Whispering Dawn?”
The young man blinked at her, wide-eyed.
“He has no Cahokian,” Five Fists said. “We’re waiting on a translator.”
It was Smooth Pebble who stepped forward, bent down, and spoke to the youth. There followed an interchange in the sibilant Muskogean tongue.
Smooth Pebble looked up. “He says his name is Straight Corn, of the Reed Clan, of the forest Albaamaha. He came here to rescue his wife, Whispering Dawn. He says that the Sky Hand high minko, White Water Moccasin,
sent his daughter here as punishment for marrying an Albaamaha. That White Water Moccasin wanted her to assassinate the Morning Star. He says that he and his relatives came only to stop the plot and get his wife back. That they have only love for the Morning Star.”
The youth interrupted, speaking in a tumble of frantic words.
“He says that we should know that Whispering Dawn is innocent. That she was only doing what her father ordered her to. That the Cahokians should send an army to destroy the Sky Hand in punishment for their crimes.”
More babble followed, the young man reaching out plaintively to Wind, eyes fixed on hers, rightly reading that she was the one in charge.
Smooth Pebble said, “He says that if you will pardon Whispering Dawn, that he, personally, as firstborn of the Reed Clan, will act as a guide for our army. He says he knows the back ways whereby we can attack Split Sky City and destroy the high minko and the Chikosi once and for all.”
The stream of sibilant words continued, Smooth Pebble translating: “He says that we can keep Whispering Dawn as a hostage until White Water Moccasin is captured. That of course the lying Chikosi will deny that he has murdered the Morning Star, but that we can ask Whispering Dawn who gave her the little jar of nectar. She will tell us it was her father.”
“That’s a lie,” Five Fists muttered wryly. “I was there when the girl was dressed and married. She arrived with only the clothes she was wearing. I can tell you that no little ceramic jar was in her possession. She never saw her Sky Hand escort again after the wedding feast. They are still sitting, waiting, in that embassy Blue Heron appointed them to. I’ve had some of my people keeping an eye on them. If they were part of an assassination plot, they’d have slipped away in the night.”
“Let’s see how he responds to that,” Smooth Pebble said, bending down. In a harsh voice, she barked out a string of Muskogean.
For long seconds, Straight Corn averted his eyes, a desperate look on his face. Then he clamped his eyes shut and bent his head forward until his forehead rested on the floor. His broken posture spoke with an eloquence unequaled by words.
Wind asked, “Smooth Pebble? Ask him why the Albaamaha wished the Morning Star dead? Ask him why we shouldn’t send an army to exterminate them.”
Smooth Pebble again resorted to the harsh tone.
“He says his people are innocent. It was not the Albaamaha, but his uncle and mother who thought up the plot. The two elders with whom you met in this very room. He says that Whispering Dawn is innocent. That the uncle put her up to it. Forced her to do it. That we should let her go and punish him.”
“Where are the uncle and mother now?” Five Fists demanded.
“Gone,” Smooth Pebble told him when she’d translated. “They left at dusk on the day he says the uncle gave Whispering Dawn the nectar. That they pressed Straight Corn to go with them, but that he loves his wife. That he stayed, hoping she would escape and they could flee together.”
“Not very brave, is he?” Five Fists noted with disdain.
“He’s trying to save the woman he loves,” Rising Flame noted, a finger pressed to her lips.
“What about the Sky Hand embassy?” Wind asked. “Should we round them up, too?”
Five Fists grinned evilly. “That’s a lot of squares to fill. That should come as a surprise to them.”
“No.” Rising Flame continued in her thoughtful pose. “Wouldn’t it be better to just question them? Put a guard on them? Hold them in reserve?”
“For what purpose?” Wind asked. “Granted, it doesn’t seem like they had a hand in this, but—”
“For leverage,” Rising Flame broke in. “Whatever happens to the Morning Star will happen. His souls return, or they don’t. He survives, or he dies. But the deed is done. And by the hand of the high minko’s daughter. White Water Moccasin may be innocent of any involvement, but the act was committed by a member of his family. A woman he sent here.”
Five Fists noted, “That makes him responsible as head of his lineage.”
“Which means he owes us,” Wind said, catching on. “Think about it, War Leader. We have colonies all up and down the Tenasee. The Matron’s own brother, Fire Light, is building a colony in far-off Cofitachequi. At the same time, just south of the bend of the Tenasee, the Chikosi are rising in both military and political strength and influence. All that lies between them and our southeastern artery is the Tso Nation. Better if we have the Chikosi in our debt than outraged at us because we tortured their innocent warriors to death in revenge for a plot they didn’t commission.”
“Assuming they didn’t,” Five Fists countered.
“All the better,” Rising Flame said as she studied the now-weeping youth on the floor. “We let them know that we are a just people, and that evidence points to the Reed Clan, and only the Reed Clan, of the Albaamaha. Then, if it turns out that the Sky Hand were indeed behind it, our outrage, and their obligation, is even greater. Meanwhile, it is circulated among the Albaamaha clans that we do not hold them responsible as a people—an act for which they in turn are grateful. To the Albaamaha, Cahokia is a just and understanding Nation, one to whom they, too, have an obligation.”
Wind studied her cousin through slitted eyes. Masterfully done. And from an essential novice, no less.
“What of this thing?” Five Fists flicked his fingers at the groveling youth.
“He gets his very own square across the Avenue from the landing below the Great Staircase,” Wind decided. “War Leader, be sure that he lasts a long time. Meanwhile, his uncle Hanging Moss, Wet Clay Woman, and that Albaamaha war chief need to be pursued. They have a lead on us, but four fast war canoes, with our strongest men to paddle in shifts, should overtake them before they reach the portage from the Tenasee into the Black Warrior River system.”
“As you order, Tonka’tzi.” Five Fists indicated Straight Corn with a nod of the head, and his warriors stepped forward and lifted the stunned youth. Within heartbeats, they were gone.
“Good thinking, Matron. But it shouldn’t have gotten this far,” Wind mused.
Rising Flame watched her for a moment, lips pursed, then looked at Smooth Pebble. “No word from your master?”
“No, Matron.” Smooth Pebble did nothing to hide the fact that she blamed Rising Flame for Blue Heron’s situation.
“You had better hope that she hasn’t come to harm,” Wind said softly. “Because if I find out that your dismissing her caused her to suffer, I will destroy you.”
Rising Flame shrugged. “If the Morning Star’s Spirit doesn’t return to Chunkey Boy’s body, it matters not, Tonka’tzi. If the Morning Star’s Spirit is trapped in the Underworld, no requickening and resurrection will ever be able to call the Spirit to another body. Ever. Cahokia will tear itself apart in days. Mass violence of a scale the earth has never seen. House turning on House, clan on clan, one dirt farmer community upon another, and family upon family.”
“I don’t want to live long enough to see such a thing.”
“Oh, you won’t,” Rising Flame promised. “We are the ones responsible for the city. When it falls, they will come for us first.”
Thirty-eight
Seven Skull Shield carefully shifted his whimpering burden and heaved it over his right shoulder. Not so bad. But for the darkness, he could almost run.
As he eased out of the doorway, he could hear Farts’ paws pattering on the hard clay, shishing through the beaten grass.
The two dark forms on either side of the door had a relaxed posture—that of a peaceful repose. And yes, they appeared perfectly comfortable with their backs leaned against the inclined soil that banked the little building’s wall. And good thing they’d been there. Not even a flying standard could have marked the location with greater surety.
Seven Skull Shield resettled his load, heard a pained gasp, and started forward. The faintest of gray made a mere suggestion of a glow against the eastern horizon. Not much time.
Nevertheless, innate caution kept him from h
urrying, and he let Farts take the lead. Dogs were better in the dark. Still, he’d had plenty of practice feeling his way with his feet.
Do it long enough and a person develops a sense for moving silently.
The web of tree branches barely stood out against the cloud-dark sky as he passed beneath the cottonwoods. They were old trees, protected and nourished for their cotton each spring when they went to seed. Once separated from the seed, the fine cotton-like fibers were spun into delicate thread and crocheted into remarkable and exquisite lace by Cahokian artisans.
Beneath the trees, the little community of four buildings crowded atop a truncated high spot where an old levee had been chopped away by the great river. The surrounding fields, clinging precariously to the edge of the swampy bottoms, had already been harvested.
The see-ip, see-ip, see-ip of a robin’s call sounded from the darkness ahead.
Farts stopped short, head up in the darkness, ears pricked.
“Hey,” Seven Skull Shield whispered under his breath. “We don’t have all night.” He used a toe to prod the dog forward again.
By following Farts’ faint form he stayed on the trail as it wound through the weeds down to the sandy bank of the river.
Again the robin chirped.
“We’re here,” Seven Skull Shield called in response. Flat Stone Pipe sounded just like the bird.
“I was starting to worry.”
“Oh, come on, little man, this is me we’re talking about. Had a slight problem to solve. A really tough one.”
“How’s that?” Flat Stone Pipe’s voice asked from the dark bow of a canoe.
“Well, it’s hard for me”—he waded into the river and carefully placed his moaning burden in the canoe’s middle—“to kill people quietly. It’s all I can do to keep from howling, kicking, head-butting, and the like.”
“Who’d you kill?” Flat Stone Pipe asked.
“Two Quiz Quiz guards. I figured we owed them anyway.
“How is she?”
Seven Skull Shield shook his head as he pushed the small dugout into the current and hopped into the stern.
Moon Hunt Page 28