Unmarried young women without families are either slaves or bound servants. There is no other role for them. They have no rights and exist only for the labor they provide hauling water, fetching firewood, hoeing or harvesting crops, cooking, and doing household chores. Or to pleasure and warm a man in his bed.
This becomes startlingly obvious to me just walking along the edges of the canoe landing. The comments and calls are rude. Jarring and vile to a woman of my chaste upbringing.
If I am anything, however, it’s a quick learner. I have mixed charcoal with grease to paint a Bear Clan design on my cheeks, having heard that they are least numerous of the Cahokian Earth Clans. I have abandoned my braid for the Bear Clan’s twisted bun and have turned my skirt inside out to hide its telltale pattern.
My pack, along with the wealth I stole, is now crammed with old rags to make it look like a heavy burden. If anyone tries to approach me, I wave them off, muttering “I’m busy,” or “No,” some of the few Cahokian phrases I know. Then I stride off, back bent under the pack like I have a purpose.
I have been up and down the canoe landing for three days now. But for a loaf of bread I stole from a farmstead, I have eaten nothing. There are warriors everywhere. I have overheard them telling people they are looking for a Muskogee woman, the one who poisoned the Morning Star.
Though my heart is pounding each time, and fear nearly strangles the breath in my lungs, I make myself march within a pebble’s toss of them. I keep my head bent at just the right angle so that they can see my face paint, give them a slight nod, and steadfastly proceed as if I’m hurrying along on clan business.
So far it has worked.
My stomach growls as I tramp past a cook fire where fish and a turtle are roasting over the coals. The smell brings water to my mouth and lingers like a fitful dream in my nostrils.
I dare not glance sideways lest someone see the wistful look in my eyes. A look that will betray me as an imposter and spark questions about who I really am.
I hear voices rise in Muskogean as I march along just up from the beach. These are Kaskinampo Traders from just north of the great bend of the Tenasee River. We passed through their territory when Strong Mussel brought me here.
I hesitate, wondering if I dare approach them, try and bargain passage using one of the remarkable items I stole from the Morning Star’s room. As I am eyeing them, one glances my way, shooting me a lascivious grin. His hands fly in Trader sign language to ask if I would lay with him for a sack of freshwater mussels.
I shoot him a look of disgust, muttering “No” in Cahokian, and plod on in my search for Straight Corn, Hanging Moss, or Wet Clay Woman. The only hope that buoys me is that they have to come here eventually. That they haven’t already been caught. Or worse, have fled.
That, or I will see Strong Mussel or Cloud Tassel or my father’s warriors and beg them to take me away from this place. Yes, it is a measure of my desperation that I am willing to return to Split Sky City and swear on the bones of my ancestors that I will never disobey again.
To my dismay, I have no idea as to the fates of either my Albaamaha or the Sky Hand. It might be the talk of the Cahokians surrounding me that they are all hanging in squares, dying, and I wouldn’t have a clue.
I plod around a huge raft of logs that have been floated downriver and laboriously dragged up on the beach. A crew of men swarm over it, some with the huge hafted splitting mauls used to create planks and rails. These are giant, hafted, ground-stone axes that take two men to raise and swing. With a precise hit they will split the grain, allowing hardwood wedges to be driven in to widen the gap. Then the ponderous ax is lifted again, driven down forcefully, and the process repeated until a plank pops free.
My attention is so fixed on the process I actually jump as someone matches my step.
“You’ve given me quite a chase, girl,” Two Sticks says as he nonchalantly gazes at the woodcutters. “The entire city is looking for you, and here you are, parading right through the middle of the canoe landing, passing yourself off as a Bear Clan woman.”
“Where is Hanging Moss? And what about Straight Corn?”
“Gone.”
“Where?”
“Home, I assume. The moment I heard that you’d poisoned the Morning Star, I hurried to their so-called embassy and found the place empty.”
“They wouldn’t have left me!”
“It appears that they did. The same with your companionable and stiff-necked Sky Hand war leader and his stalwart party of invincible warriors. After a talk with Five Fists, they too took flight like a covey of finches before a sharp-shinned hawk.”
“Then why are their canoes still here?” I jerk a thumb back upstream to where I’ve passed and repassed the beached vessels for the last three days.
“Because, thoughtful and crafty as your witless war leader is, he took a Quigualtam Trader’s cypress canoe instead. From what I overheard, they were worried that the Cahokians might have changed their minds and put a guard on their boats.”
Two Sticks gives me a smug smile. “Your war leader was never really very comfortable in Cahokia. And when word came that you’d been off to the Albaamaha to ‘broker a peace,’ he was already on edge. Then Five Fists and his warriors paid them a visit. After that, well, I don’t know how fast they made the run from the Great Plaza to the canoe landing, but I’m sure that not even a motivated cougar could have beaten them here.”
“You’re telling me that Straight Corn, my husband, also abandoned me?”
“Lady, do you think he or any of the rest of them are fools?”
“He’s my husband! I love him! He loves me!”
“I’m sure his heart is torn in two over it. He’s no doubt staring back north with each stroke of the paddle as he heads home. I suspect that guilt will entangle itself with insufferable grief for the rest of his life as he honors the sacrifice you made for our people—and how you did it out of selfless love. You’ll be a hero for as long as he lives, which I suspect won’t be long.”
I have stopped short, staring at him in disbelief. My heart is hammering like a pot drum in my chest. A sick feeling has pulled tight in the pit of my stomach.
“But he … loves me.” My voice sounds timid and frail. My knees have gone weak.
Two Sticks shrugs. “He loves his family most. And beyond Hanging Moss and Wet Clay Woman, his love is for his people. I am sure that you filled his heart with delight and that special bond a man feels for his first woman.”
“You talk as if I’m gone from his life!”
Two Sticks looks at me as if I’m an idiot. “You are, woman. Muck and rot, do you think he could ever take the woman who poisoned the Morning Star back into his household? Yes, you would bring renown, but so, too, will come Cahokian wrath. It has to. Do you think they can allow the woman who poisoned the living god to go unpunished? As it is, your father, the good high minko, is going to be quivering in his boots when it is discovered that his daughter murdered the living god!”
The sick feeling intensifies; a welling emptiness is sucking at my souls, causing my vision to fade. I feel tears leaking down my cheeks.
They abandoned me?
I try to speak, but words do not come.
“What will happen to me?” I finally manage between sobs.
“That is up to you.” His voice has a sharper tone.
“Me?”
He glances around at the busy canoe landing. “To be caught sheltering you? It would be a death sentence.”
“We could leave. Just you and me.”
“And go where?” He spreads his muscular arms. “This is my world. Here I am a rich man. And no one is hunting me. I have a fine house, plenty to eat, Trade, and a life of leisure. I know Cahokia’s back ways, how to stay out of sight if I have to. Why should I leave when I’m happy here?”
“But what about me?”
He studies me through half-slitted eyes. “I imagine it will be the square. Like I said, they will have to make an example of you. A most painful
and drawn-out example. Probably stretch it so it takes days for you to die. Saw it once. Young girl like you. They made a slit in her belly. Pulled out a knuckle’s length of intestine every day. Just left it hanging out to dry and draw flies. She lasted most of a moon. The agony was so terrible I saw blooded warriors crying in—”
“You have to get me away! I’ll give you anything!”
He studies me as if from a distance, as if considering very carefully. His voice lowers as he says, “Like I told you, it would be a death sentence.”
“I have Trade!” I cry, knotting my fists. “Here. In the pack. Things I took from the Morning Star’s room.”
He inclines his head to where a couple of Four Winds Clan warriors are walking along, shields hung over their backs, bows unstrung and armor loose. They are a stone’s throw away, inspecting a canoe-load full of freshwater clams and mussels that are being unloaded into baskets.
“They’re looking for a Sky Hand noble, you know. All it takes is a word, the slightest gesture, and they’ll have you.”
I close my eyes, swaying in desperation. “I know.”
“Were I to accept the risk? What would be in it for me?”
“Like I said, I have Trade—”
“I have Trade of my own.” He shrugs, an amused smile on his lips. “What else do you offer?”
“Anything. I’d do—”
“Anything?”
I nod.
“Cook? Clean? Serve me?” He pauses, lowering his voice. “Share my bed? The Morning Star was said to be a magnificent lover. Were you to show me? Do to me the things he did for you?”
I stare at him in dismay, aware my mouth is hanging open.
“No?” He sighs and turns, stepping away. “Then I’m afraid you wouldn’t be worth the risk.”
I swallow hard, fully aware of the Four Winds Warriors as they leave the clam Trader and continue their patrol of the canoe landing.
What is my life worth? What would I do to save myself from the square?
“Wait!” I hurry to catch up with Two Sticks. “I’ll cook and clean and mend. Wouldn’t that be enough?”
He gives me a sidelong glance. “Everything … or nothing, Whispering Dawn. It’s me”—he tilts his head in the direction of the warriors—“or them.”
The sick sensation inside me expands, hollowing out the last of me. I am empty. Betrayed.
Aloud I say, “I don’t have any choice, do I?”
“There’s always the square.”
I close my eyes, draw my last breath as a free woman. “All right.”
But what happens when he finally tires of me? When he thinks I have taught him what the Morning Star taught me?
How long before he turns me over for the reward?
Forty-three
The night had a chill; the bite in the breeze blowing in off the river reminded a person that winter lurked somewhere up over the northern horizon. And if, on sunny and warm days, any doubt cropped up, there were always the endless Vs of ducks, geese, herons, cranes, and other waterfowl following the Father Water south.
At times the migrating flocks were so dense they appeared as a brown smudge, like a wave rolling south through the sky, their cries like chiming music in the air.
Seven Skull Shield considered this as he wound his way through the densely packed warehouses and ambled up to Crazy Frog’s large fire. Around it sat the nightly ranks of chunkey players, the fancy professionals upon whom Crazy Frog showered his favors—especially if they’d made him a small fortune in winnings that day.
Their women sat behind them, shoulder to shoulder, as they giggled and shared gossip. Mostly slaves, they were nevertheless decked out in the finest of garments and feathers, their faces painted in patterns and colors similar to that of their men.
At the sight of them, Seven Skull Shield sighed. All were young, voluptuous, healthy, and possessed of the arts that made them worth not only the price the players paid, but the cost to keep them. None, Seven Skull Shield reflected, had been chosen for their clever heads, quick wit, and engaging conversation, or deep philosophical reflections.
All eyes were on his arrival as he grinned and held his hands out to the flames. “Bit chilly tonight.”
“Thief? What are you doing here?”
He turned at the sharp query and found Mother Otter standing in the doorway to Crazy Frog’s large dwelling. Several of the younger wives had stopped short at the tone in her voice and now looked Seven Skull Shield’s way with slight dismay.
“First and foremost, Mother Otter, I was wondering if I might finally entice you to run off with me. Maybe head off downriver. Find a chieftainship in need of new leadership and found a clan that would rival Cahokia itself. Of course, it’s the making of that clan, and the wonders that would entail, that fills my imagination with anticipation.”
She closed her eyes and shook her head. The chunkey players watched with subtly amused expressions as they picked at their plates or paused to drink from ceramic or shell cups.
“I’d take that detestable beast trotting at your heels into my bed before I’d let you so much as step through my doorway. And before I’d let that happen, I’d rather be chopped into pieces and thrown into the river to be devoured by Underwater Panther. And before that, I’d sell myself to foreign Traders to be Traded off to distant savages as a pack animal. Any and all of those disgusting possibilities are imminently preferable to even sharing the same side of the river with you.” She gestured with a horn spoon. “Or is the subtlety of that too much for your wooden wit to surround?”
Chuckles of laughter rose from the players.
“You always remain my favorite, Mother. You’ll come around.”
“He’s around back,” she said stiffly. “And if I’d known you were coming, I would have bribed a clam diver to haul you out into the river and tie you to a rock on the bottom. No matter what it did to the fish.”
“And I love you, too, dear woman,” he replied with a touch to the forehead.
“Oh, and try not to touch anything,” she called as he started around the house. “I know you’d steal the grain out of the wood in the ramada poles if you could, and I don’t want to have to sand off the dirty fingerprints where you tried.”
This was greeted by a series of guffaws from the feasting players.
Seven Skull Shield made his way around the side of the house and along the narrow passage to the cul-de-sac blocked by Crazy Frog’s storage house. The place was a stronghold, with hard-plastered, double-thick log walls where Crazy Frog kept his wealth. Normally at least two guards—always blooded warriors—were lounging about the structure.
One of them now stepped out of the darkness and asked, “Who comes?”
“Seven Skull Shield to see Crazy Frog.”
“A moment.” The shadowy figure seemed to merge with the door. The wait was longer than usual, and Seven Skull Shield looked down at Farts, saying, “Must have caught him in the middle of counting his clam shells.”
Despite the darkness Seven Skull Shield could see the wag of Farts’ tail in reply.
The dark form emerged from the door, saying, “He will see you, thief.”
To the dog, Seven Skull Shield said, “You stay and keep this warrior company. If any Quiz Quiz attack, grab ’em by the throat.”
Farts uttered a soft whine.
Chuckling, the warrior led the way, opening the wooden plank door and allowing Seven Skull Shield into the fabric-draped entry. Pushing the thick fabric aside, he stepped into the warm yellow glow of an oil-lamp-lit room piled with boxes; baskets; huge ceramic storage jars; folded and stacked fabrics; sacks of corn, beans, and squash; and just about every sort of wealth.
A lot of it was ill-gotten gains Crazy Frog skimmed from the riffraff that preyed on the canoe landing. A goodly portion came from services the gambler’s men provided for Traders, including guiding, packing, and transportation of goods. More came from Crazy Frog’s share in Trading ventures; he often outfitted Traders with goo
ds and demanded a share of the profits. The rest, however, came from the man’s obsession with chunkey.
The gambler was seated on an ornate litter perched atop stacked storage boxes. The thing was draped with buffalo winter hides tanned hair-on. Turkeys in full display had been carved into the box’s sides along with corn plants, all inlaid with freshwater pearls.
“Won it from an Earth Clans chief from one of the colonies down on the Tenasee,” Crazy Frog said as Seven Skull Shield eyed the thing. “Took two canoes strapped side by side—and frustrated his warriors half to death—to get it here so the good chief could impress us with his largess and status. He also brought a local chunkey champion to humble us with his remarkable skill. Some nephew, I believe. Not only was the nephew anything but humbling, but the good chief’s faith in his champion’s invincibility led him to bet most unwisely.”
“What a pity,” Seven Skull Shield replied, giving a nod of recognition to the inside guard before stepping over to finger the intricately carved wood.
“Yes.” Crazy Frog was watching him through half-lidded eyes. “A great many pities are suddenly floating to the surface in Cahokia. The Morning Star lies moribund, his souls in the Underworld. The city is being turned on its head as warriors search for his assassin—reportedly a mere slip of a Muskogee girl. We learn that the Keeper, though freshly rescued, has been dismissed from her longtime position by the new Four Winds matron. And in the midst of all this chaos comes word that these troublesome Quiz Quiz are in search of their Nation’s War Medicine Bundle. A Bundle which no one seems to have seen or admitted to having, and which apparently vanished at the same time you captured War Leader Sky Star.”
Seven Skull Shield spread his hands wide. “It does seem like everything’s fallen apart all at once, doesn’t it? Sort of like snapping timbers in a new construction. One beam breaks, which causes another to collapse, which causes another, and within moments the whole framework has come crashing down.”
Crazy Frog watched him through suspicious eyes. “If whoever took that War Medicine Bundle could go back, I wonder if they’d have taken it, knowing how much trouble they’d be unleashing?”
Moon Hunt Page 31