“Don’t know,” Seven Skull Shield told him and shrugged. “But so much for Medicine Bundles, fascinating and valuable though they might be. I’m here looking for Winder. My suspicion, given your knowledge of the Trade and Traders, is that you’ve had dealings with him in the past.”
“He might have come to my attention a time or two. Hear that he’s rather prominent among the lower river Nations. A man of considerable reputation. Imagine my surprise to discover that he was actually from Cahokia. An orphan. One who scratched out a living as an urchin, miscreant, and one-time boon companion to another well-known Cahokian thief.”
“Wonder where he is?” Seven Skull Shield asked offhandedly. “I’d like to look my old friend up. Reminisce over old times.”
“That I cannot tell you.”
“Can’t or won’t?”
“Can’t.” Crazy Frog touched the tips of his fingers together, making a tent of his hands. “Though given recent events, and the activities of important persons, I’m not sure I’d tell even if I knew.”
“Why’s that?”
“Thief, all of Cahokia is in chaos. The living god is on the verge of death, a new matron is stirring things up, Night Shadow Star is off to the Underworld, and Blue Heron is no longer Keeper. I hear that she is barely clinging to life as it is. Depending on how this all works out, your position among the Four Winds elite may no longer have value.”
“And there is no substitute for value.”
Crazy Frog shrugged. “Consider it fair warning. The world is what it is, thief. I have survived this long by wits and being quick on my feet when it comes to the shifting sands of politics.”
He paused. “Fortunately for you, your trouble with Winder hasn’t run afoul of that eventuality. One of my people, however, did mention seeing someone meeting his description climbing the steps to War Duck’s palace at around midday. Was it really him? I don’t know. If, however, he’s hiding the Quiz Quiz in River Mounds City, it’s because War Duck finds it to his interest.”
Seven Skull Shield frowned and fingered his chin. “With the Morning Star on the verge of death, and the Four Winds Clan torn over the election of Rising Flame, he might be smarting that Round Pot wasn’t chosen.”
“Not to mention that his old nemesis, the Keeper, is out of the game.” Crazy Frog arched an eyebrow. “You should keep in mind that he didn’t approve of the things I did for you and Blue Heron. Saw it as a potential betrayal. I smoothed it over, saying it was just business, and gave him a cut. After recent developments that excuse won’t even cut water.”
“And it didn’t matter that we kept Cahokia from disaster in the process? Maybe he’d like serving as a Mayan vassal? Or living through the wreckage of Walking Smoke’s civil war?”
“Don’t give him credit for that much imagination, thief. War Duck is more like a blunt club rather than a fine obsidian blade when it comes to the nuances of things. Look to Matron Round Pot for the cunning and planning.”
“But what use would they have for Winder and his Quiz Quiz?” Seven Skull Shield scratched the top of his head as though the act would stimulate an answer.
“Oh, all right. I’ll give you a clue: Consider how the Quiz Quiz and Winder think. So far it’s been a disaster for them. Everything they’ve tried—stealing the Surveyors’ Bundle, Sky Star’s capture and torture, the loss of the War Medicine, kidnapping the Keeper and ending up with two dead Quiz Quiz—has all gone from bad to worse.”
“Don’t they know when to cut and run? If everyone hadn’t been distracted by the selection of the new matron, they’d never have made it this far. Let alone grabbed the Keeper. And if she dies, it will bring the whole of the Four Winds Clan down on top of them. It might anyway as word spreads.”
“I might agree with you, but what if the Morning Star dies?”
“Piss in a leaky pot, I hadn’t thought of that.”
“My guess is that War Duck has. And he knows how Quiz Quiz operate. Winder is easy: He’s looking to salvage his reputation. From the Caddo lands to the eastern Tenasee, he’s known as a man who can get things done. His knowledge of the Nations is second to none. He acts as a middle man, a broker of peace agreements, and an agent sent to ransom captives. Some pay him to learn things about enemies, and he is known in some circles as a man who can obtain someone else’s treasured possessions.”
“And the Quiz Quiz?”
Crazy Frog smiled grimly. “You asked why they didn’t cut and run? They don’t think that way. What began for them as a quest to steal one of Cahokia’s Power Bundles for their own use has degenerated into a matter of sacred honor. Sky Star and the rest can’t run. Not without their War Medicine Bundle. And certainly not without retaliating for the loss of two of their warriors, and worse, for the indignities heaped upon Sky Star during his capture and torture.”
“You think War Duck knows this?”
Crazy Frog shrugged his ignorance. “It depends on how deeply Winder has brought him into the game.”
Seven Skull Shield sighed, perched his butt on a hip-high seed jar, and ran everything Crazy Frog had told him through his head. “When we followed Winder back to the farmstead where he’d hidden Blue Heron, his Quiz Quiz had changed their appearance. Looked like dirt farmers. The hair poms were gone; so, too, was their regalia. They had mussed their tattoos and were carrying sacks. Probably had their weapons in them.”
“And there are thousands of barbarians in River Mounds City who meet that description.” Crazy Frog raised an eyebrow. “Looks like you’ve got a problem, thief. These people live for vendetta. They’ll be coming to even the score with you and Blue Heron. And it won’t be pretty.”
Forty-four
Night Shadow Star’s skin prickled from the sweat lodge’s damp heat as she threw the flap back and stepped out into the night. Staring up at the stars, she stood naked, arms out, and let the cold breeze fight its battle with her too-hot skin. What began as relief faded, then turned to shivers as the chill won out.
Illuminated by firelight, the sweat lodge stood in a hollow surrounding a small spring that flowed from the sandstone. Around her, the Cave Society knelt, heads lifted to the heavens as they Sang and drummed, calling upon the Powers of night and darkness to bless her. Their chants, in a harmony, rose and fell, her souls swaying in time to their melody.
Disembodied voices from the Spirit world whispered and hissed from the night, the words mostly unintelligible, their meaning lost and jumbled.
At the corners of her vision, images flickered and flashed—like hints of light or snatches of movement. The fragile veil between her and the Spirit World lay in shreds about her. So close she might reach out and touch it, though the singers and priests appeared oblivious.
Meanwhile, at the fire, Fire Cat used a stick to pile coals around the heating river cobbles. After they had finished their first sweat, he had used a forked deer antler to carry the cooling stones from inside the sweat lodge. When he’d dumped them onto the bed of coals, they’d been dark ovals against the glow. As she’d watched, the stones had turned dull red, orange, and now were almost white with heat.
As her teeth began to chatter, Fire Cat said, “We are ready, Lady.”
“Go ahead.” She began to Sing, asking for the blessing of the Spirits as she cleansed body and souls.
Around her, the ranks of priests renewed their chant, arms raised to the night.
Fire Cat used his blackened antlers to fish the stones from the fire, then carried them one by one into the low-domed sweat lodge.
After he had placed the last inside, she lowered her arms, rubbed herself, and ducked back inside the cramped confines. Seating herself on the hides in the rear, she shivered at the warmth radiating from the glowing stones.
Fire Cat reached out and tugged the door flap in place, sealing the lodge. Then he settled himself across from her.
In the glow of the stones, she could just make out his muscular body, his back bowed by the low walls. He was whispering a prayer under his br
eath, purifying himself for the ordeal.
When he finished, she said, “Thank you for doing this.”
“You should be praying, Lady.”
“According to ritual, we must sweat four times. We’ve another two to go. I have plenty of time to purify myself.” She chuckled. “As if Piasa hadn’t cleansed my souls of any impurities before he vomited them back up into my body.”
On the other side of the stones, Fire Cat’s eyes were like black holes in his barely visible face. He waited patiently, knowing she would get to her point.
“Power fills too much of my life, especially being caught between Piasa and the Tortoise Bundle. I have no room for impurity of the souls. My body, however, is a different thing. In the days after Thirteen Sacred Jaguar’s death, I was unclean, my body tainted by his semen. I could feel it inside after his attempts to impregnate me, but that was finally flushed from my loins during my woman’s moon.”
“Should you be discussing such intimate woman’s things with me?” Fire Cat asked softly. “Isn’t breaking such a taboo dangerous? Especially in a place like this?”
She reached out, casting water onto the glowing rocks. Steam exploded in a suffocating haze, its touch tingling on her bare skin.
As it subsided, she said, “At midnight, you and I are descending into the earth, following the Morning Star’s trail back down into the Underworld. Are you afraid?”
“Yes.” He almost shivered. “I am still a Red Wing. We are a Sky Clan. Down there in the darkness … The monsters…”
“But you accompany me anyway?”
“I do.”
“You have made this choice, knowing you could lose your souls in the blackness. That they could be devoured by Horned Serpent, who is the guardian of this place. Knowing that, should that happen, there will be no afterlife with your ancestors. That the essence of yourself will scream as it is slowly digested. That everything that was Fire Cat will finally be shit out in darkness, left to stink and rot into black eternity.”
He was silent. His hands cupped the steam, rubbed it over his skin, as was proper in the sweat lodge. “I will stand behind you, Lady. As is my oath.”
The grim finality with which he said it brought a wary smile to her lips as she poured more water onto the rocks.
After the sizzle and gushing steam subsided, she gasped for breath, then said, “Despite being terrified, you will accompany me. Sacrifice yourself to the Powers of Darkness for me should it become necessary.”
“Is there a reason you are stating the obvious?”
“I am answering your question … making a point about what is taboo, and what I can and cannot discuss with you, Fire Cat.”
She cupped steam and rubbed it over her sweat-beading skin. “You and I are not like other men and women. We are opposites crossed: male and female. Heretic and believer. Master and bound servant. Priestess and warrior. We have both cursed, hated, and saved each other. In the service of Power, each of us will sacrifice his life to protect the other.”
“Lady?” He sounded incredulous.
“I state no more than what we both know in our hearts, Fire Cat. When you think about it, this was probably Piasa’s ultimate purpose when he ordered me to cut you down from the square. Two sworn enemies … whose souls were fated to weave together like a remarkable fabric.”
He was silent, poured more water. Steam exploded from the hot stones.
She gasped for breath, eyes closed against the unbearable heat as her sweat beaded and trickled in patterns.
“Why do you bring this up now?” he asked when he could catch his breath.
“If we are to survive our journey into the Underworld, impurity must be washed away. The sweat lodge is a place for cleansing. A place where purity of body and soul can be achieved before a great undertaking. We both understand that we are condemned to be what Power has demanded of us. At the same time, we are exalted and blessed by that same fate as, perhaps, two individuals have never been before. I wanted to put that into words so that there was no doubt. As much as we have shared, I wanted no secrets between us before we descend into the darkness.”
He splashed more water onto the stones, the steam stung and burned into her skin.
“Then you should know, Lady, that there are worse ways to die than being devoured by Underworld monsters.”
“How is that, Fire Cat?”
“I might have died in a world and place where I had never known you,” he told her softly. “So whatever comes after we enter the cave, no matter what terrors are unleashed in the darkness, I am with you.”
“And how does that make you feel, Red Wing?”
“For the first time in my life, Lady, I feel pure and free.”
“Very well. Throw back that cover. The stones need to be reheated, and I have to cool off or I’ll lose consciousness.”
A relief ran through her souls as he tossed the cover back and cool air rushed in. Come what may down there in the darkness, it would be with the knowledge he finally understood.
And like him, she knew there were worse deaths.
Misery
I suppose Two Sticks’ house is nice, but only in comparison to a stick-and-wattle hovel. It’s not very big, only two-by-four paces, and it’s not a trench-wall, with a sunken floor, but a post-constructed structure where saplings were individually placed in postholes and bent over to be tied together at the top to form the roof. That, in turn, is finished with a split-cane covering to shed water.
Ceramic jars line one wall. The puddled-clay hearth is centrally located at the foot of the straw-pallet bed, which at least rests on an elevated frame.
The thing creaks and sways, as I found out the first time Two Sticks frantically tossed me onto it and took me. An act he repeats over and over, leaving me sore and feeling as if my pelvis is thick and waterlogged. I no longer wonder or care if the bed is going to collapse. Some part of my soul has gone dull and senseless.
I understand that I have Traded my body and services for protection. That’s the deal. I’ll try to live with it, but I don’t have to like it. Most times I’m just listless, going through the motions of feeding the fire, cooking, and fetching water. But at odd moments, and without warning, I will burst into tears.
Two Sticks watches me, sometimes absently fingering the scar on the left side of his face as he does. At these times a flat hollowness fills his eyes, as if he’s seeing something in his memory. Afterward he is remote, gaze fixed on a distance only he can see.
His house is located on the southern end of River Mounds City, a place where the levee fades into the marshy floodplain. It doesn’t take a Surveyors’ Society chief to see that these lowlands are subject to frequent flooding, though we are past the worst season for that.
“If it floods I just pack up and leave,” Two Sticks tells me when I bring this up. “When it dries out, I come back. Plenty of new clay lying around to replaster the walls. Bedding is cheap, and someone is always Trading it at the canoe landing.”
“But what do you do?” I ask.
“I’m a guide.” He shrugs. “You know that. I offer my services for newcomers to Cahokia. That, and I spy.” His smile goes flat. “Though if the Keeper’s no longer the Keeper, I may have to find someone else who values my abilities.”
“And if you can’t?”
“Depends.” He looks at me through knowing eyes. “Might have to put you up for the Trade. You know how men are after weeks on the river. They’ll come across with a sack full of shells, maybe a couple of good pearls, or a small sack of yaupon tea for a chance to slip their shafts into a snug sheath. Might have to train you up a bit, though. You’ve got muscles down there. The better you use them, the more you move, and if you could act like you enjoy it, the better they’d pay.”
I stare at him, openmouthed. It’s not so much what he’s saying as the way he’s saying it: as if I were just some common woman from a low-status clan desperate to become a paid woman.
“I am a high minko’s daughter,”
I tell him. “Of the Chief Clan of the Sky Hand people! Not some homeless, clanless slave woman to be Traded for a man’s pleasure. I’m—”
“You are the woman who assassinated the Morning Star,” he reminds me as he points a finger at my face. “You are the assassin that the entire Four Winds Clan is desperate to hang in a square and torture to death. Everyone you ever knew has abandoned you. Your noble father, mother, and clan? They sent you off to exile. Your loving young husband and his caring family? They used you as a weapon against the Chikosi. Played you like a hand puppet to slip poison into the Morning Star’s drink. Then they vanished into the night. Not even your Chikosi embassy remains. They, too, skulked away. There’s no one but me.” He goes back to fingering his scar, and an absent smile finds his lips.
I have a crawly and nauseous feeling down in my gut. What he says is true. “Why did you want me?”
His eyes have that flat, passionless, blank look. “I like driving myself into a Chikosi high minko’s daughter. Knowing I possess the Morning Star’s wife, and when I’m in you, my shaft feels what his did. Closer to home, you were married into the arrogant and mighty Reed Clan. To the matron’s son, of all people. And after all those twists and turns of Power, you spread for me. Here. In my house. At my command. How’s that for a disgraced, clanless, and exiled Albaamaha? Back home even the lowest of Chikosi spit on me. Gave me this scar.” He points to his cheek. “Now I’m pumping myself dry in the high minko’s daughter.”
The sick feeling curls tighter in my stomach. “You are a … a…”
“Disgusting man?” He shrugs, expression amused. “Ask the Cahokians; they’re calling you a vile murderess, a treacherous camp-bitch who assassinated her husband. That you seduced him, played him, knowing all along you were going to poison him. You, my dear, are the most despised woman in all of Cahokia, and as news spreads, in most of the world. And that puts you a lot lower than me.”
I am speechless, my hands knotted, sobs choked in my throat.
He continues, “Compared to that, what do I care what you call me. I just murdered a cousin to be declared an outcast. Hardly in the same category as poisoning a living god. But any time you tire of my company”—he points to the door—“you can leave and take your chances.”
Moon Hunt Page 32