“What if I do?” My voice quavers.
“The nearest farmstead full of dirt farmers will tear you apart with their bare hands for what you did to the Morning Star. Just don’t mention me. They’d cut me apart alive for keeping you here.”
“Then why are you doing this? Just to have a minko’s daughter? What about when that gets old? All you care about for the time being is my body. You don’t even like me.”
He studies me thoughtfully. “You’ll be worth a fortune to me. But not here.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Don’t you?” He laughs. “You are the woman who killed the living god. That makes you special, Whispering Dawn. Exotic like no other woman in our world. Men will Trade for that. Trade to possess you for a night. Trade a small fortune.”
“I won’t do it!”
His face is expressionless again, those flat black eyes pinned on mine. “Of course you will. If you won’t, I can always tell the Cahokians where to find you. Nor can you hide. Not from here on out.”
“What makes you say that?” My souls are reeling, shocked, and numb.
He points to the tattoo on my hand. “Are you figuring to cut your hand off? Rip that soft skin from the bones? All I have to tell the Cahokians is ‘Look for the young woman with the Sacred Moth tattoo. It’s the sign of her assassins’ order.’”
Forty-five
Based on the movement of the stars, Fire Cat could tell they were at the night’s midpoint. With great solemnity, the Cave Society priests began to Sing. The single bonfire cast its dancing yellow light on the cave entrance. On either side, trees rose along the steep slopes, their leaves bathed in contrasting shadow and flickering light by the fire’s leaping flames.
Oak, cedars, shellbark hickory, and black walnut grew on the slopes, while sassafras and shagbark lined the edges of the cavern. Before it, tumbled sandstone blocks were sunk in the grass-covered soil.
To reach the cave, they had followed the ancient path, climbed up the conical hill’s southern side, Sung prayers at the summit, and left offerings. Then, pace by pace, they had descended the northern slope to perhaps an arrow’s shot down from the top. There they rounded the cave mouth to this small hollow in the hillside.
Fire Cat stood back from the fire, slightly behind Night Shadow Star’s right shoulder, his copper-bitted war club in hand. He wore only a breechcloth, and a buffalo-wool blanket hung around his shoulders.
Night Shadow Star was clad in a skirt and split-feather cape, her hair loose and falling down her back. She carried only a small pack with her sacred paraphernalia. Her head tilted back to the night sky, she hummed in time with the priests’ Song.
Before them loomed the dark opening. Like a Spirit maw, it seemed to swallow the light.
Fire Cat’s soul cringed as he looked into that blackness. The night, the Singing, the moonless and star-filled sky, all sent flickers of fear into the very marrow of his bones.
“At midnight,” Night Shadow Star had told him as they dressed after the sweat lodge. “That’s when the Underworld is in complete opposition to the Sky World. That is the moment we have to enter the outer cavern. At any other time and the Spirit opening to the Underworld is closed, the path to reach it blocked by dead ends, traps, and pitfalls.”
“Will the priests lead us?”
“We will go alone, Fire Cat. You and I. They understand that I am Piasa’s chosen. That I have special Powers. Accompanied by Sister Datura, you and I will only be able to go so far in our bodies. If we make it all the way to the cave’s depths without being killed by the Spirits, our souls will have to leave our bodies behind. Sister Datura will allow us to soul-journey the rest of the way. It means filtering through the cracks and following the Spirit paths that lead down into the watery depths. That is where we will find the Morning Star’s Spirit.”
And that scared him more than anything. The physical he could fight, as he had the wild northern tribes, the Tula, and the Itza. But when his souls were separated from his body, how did he protect himself? From childhood he had grown up hearing stories about Spirit beasts in the Underworld. How they could sneak up, baring mouths full of teeth, and rip a person’s being into shreds. The notion of giant teeth tearing his living muscle apart, of blood spurting from his veins and arteries, and his bones snapping as Spirit teeth crushed them? That had lurked beneath his worst nightmares.
According to the stories it was the most terrifying death a person could face. Worse than the pain, agony, and suffering in the square. He’d seen what it had done to Night Shadow Star. The memory still brought her bolt upright in bed, screaming, her eyes wide with terror, fear-sweat beading on her face and chest.
A woman of Power, she had survived.
Barely.
What chance did he have?
It matters not. I will go. I will act like a Red Wing war chief. I will do my duty to the woman I love.
Even as he thought the words, the priests’ Song ended. The Cave Society elder rose and stepped forward to wave a leafless branch over them, as if spiritually blessing them.
Night Shadow Star reached into her pack, removing her small ceramic jar. Singing a blessing, she raised it to the night sky, offered it to the four sacred directions, and finally to the opening that led into the earth.
With two fingers, she dipped out the greasy paste made from crushed datura seeds. Turning to Fire Cat, she carefully rubbed a dab of the concoction into each of his temples. Then, with care, did the same to her own before replacing the little pot inside her pack.
As this was happening a second young man approached bearing four split-cane torches. He stopped at the fire only long enough to lower the frayed end of one into the flames. When it caught and crackled to life, he stepped forward, handing one lit torch to Night Shadow Star; the remaining three he gave to Fire Cat.
Sister Datura? How do I tell when she takes possession of my souls? He certainly didn’t feel any different.
“Go in Power,” the old man whispered.
With a slight nod of the head, Night Shadow Star took a deep breath and walked toward the rectangular opening in the lichen-covered sandstone.
The only sound was the crackling of the fire and the soft sigh of breeze through the trees.
Heart hammering in his chest, Fire Cat tightened his grip on his war club, nerved himself, and followed behind his lady, his head held high, his blood pulsing liquid fear.
As they passed into the first gallery, one darkness was replaced by another. The dancing light of the lit cane torches barely illuminated the oblong room.
Here had been placed numerous offerings brought by pilgrims from all over the Cahokian world. Baskets, ceramic jars, wooden boxes, feathered prayer sticks, painted leather and embroidered fabrics, and other objects lined the edges of the chamber. Along the walls, too, were burials, the dead tightly bound, knees to chests, arms flexed and tight to torsos, the heads wrapped in fabrics.
Under Cave Society supervision, this was as far as supplicants could come. Only special adepts were allowed beyond, into the ominous blackness ahead.
The opening in the cavern’s rear looked like a beastly mouth, agape and waiting. Fire Cat’s heart began to pound, and he fought to swallow past the knot in his throat.
You can do this.
He kept shifting his grip on the war club, skin prickling, his hair rising. As Night Shadow Star led the way over the uneven footing of tumbled and broken stone, the air moved, as if the Underworld were whispering across Fire Cat’s skin.
He ground his teeth, every muscle alive with tension as Night Shadow Star, Singing softly under her breath, ducked down before the opening and extended the torch. The flames danced in the cool, damp air that spewed out like a deadly exhale. It carried a smell of earth, stone, and the musty pungency of the long dead. Tilting her head the way she did when the Spirits whispered in her ears, Night Shadow Star crouched, extended the torch, and ducked into the blackness.
Fire Cat hunched down, placed one hand
on the cold stone, and froze. Fingers of panic caused his lungs to flutter.
I don’t have to do this! If I run, they’ll never catch me. I could disappear. Go so far away they would never find me.
An image of golden sunshine, a warm blue sky, a verdantly green meadow—lush with grass and bounded by tall and sparkling trees—seemed to burst into his imagination. Birds, deer, life everywhere. It could all be his.…
A tear, triggered by indecision, trickled down his cheek. He remained paralyzed. Caught between this world he so loved and whatever horror lay just past that narrow divide.
“Fire Cat?” Night Shadow Star’s voice seemed to call from across an eternity.
In that instant her large dark eyes peered out of his memory, questioning, as if wondering if he still backed her. A rapture rolled warmly through his chest. The world seemed to shift, his fear like a thing alive inside him.
Fire Cat bit off a curse, hating himself for his cowardice, and slid the three torches across the stone before he followed.
He straightened, knees weak, inside the next chamber. His hand was trembling as he collected the cane torches and turned. The way he clutched the war club’s handle in his right hand should have splintered the wood. His insides felt as though a thousand insects were crawling around inside his flesh, and his vision had turned watery, unable to find that fine focus.
Then he came face-to-face with the monster.
Eyes burned into his.
Round.
Black.
Huge.
Wavering in the light of Night Shadow Star’s cane torch, the eyes stared out of a black face and pinned Fire Cat’s souls with their eerie stare. A sharp-toothed mouth bared pointed teeth, the expression threatening. Ugly square ears stuck out from either side of the round head. Above them, black antlers rose. The creature’s body—corpulent and sinuous like a slug’s—trailed along the wall.
A choked sound caught in Fire Cat’s throat as the monster wavered on the rock and seemed to rush toward him. He froze like a frightened rabbit. That eerie stare burned down into the bottom of his being.
He and the terrible beast were face-to-face, locked together. In a moment it would strike, those teeth would—
The torches clattered to the ground from his nerveless left hand.
“No,” he choked.
“Fire Cat?” Night Shadow Star whispered as she stepped between him and the terrible beast. “Do not move.”
Liquid fear ran like water through his belly, paralyzing muscles and sickening his souls. Nausea wove itself through his stomach.
“This is the Spirit of Horned Serpent,” she told him. “Guardian of the cavern.” She reached out, wrapping her fingers around his where they clenched the war club. “From here on, you must show courage. The Spirit can feel your fear. If you do not show courage, it will devour your souls, Fire Cat.”
Her tightening grip imparted just enough courage that he could swallow, nod at the wavering apparition.
Reaching down, she collected the torches. His eyes still locked with the monster’s, he somehow took them from her. Heart hammering, Fire Cat managed to will his legs to move as Night Shadow Star led him away. The monster faded into the stygian blackness as she led him deeper into the cavern.
Fire Cat could sense the terrible apparition hovering just behind him, though when he cast worried glances back over his shoulder, he could see only wavering darkness.
A sheer wall blocked his way, and as Night Shadow Star lifted her torch high, a hundred figures drawn in black—warriors locked in battle—leaped from the rock. Thunder Birds hovered with wingtips down. The Spirits of elk, deer, wolves, and dogs pulsed vibrantly. Large-eyed serpents stared at him, sending a chill through his souls. Faces seemed to leer, and a snarling mouth with peg-like teeth made his skin tingle.
“They are all black,” he whispered, noting that the only red on the wall was drawn in lines, circles, and bars.
“They are dead,” Night Shadow Star told him softly, her voice distant. “We have passed into the realm of the dead.” Her eyes had grown large in her face—glistening, depthless, and as dark as the cavern itself.
He felt her Power as it flowed from her eyes, from her mouth and hands. She was one with the darkness, one with the whispering voices that he could now hear. The drawings spoke, Sang, and laughed, as did the cool air around his head.
He cocked his head, trying to hear them, only to lose individual voices in the soft but sibilant merging of distant sound.
“I feel so…” He blinked, trying to understand the floating sensation.
“Sister Datura has embraced you,” she told him. “Do not fight her.”
Night Shadow Star stepped up, leading him over the broken footing along the wall, past an image of Mother Spider. The torch light focused on a black chief, his headdress spilling down his back, the forked-eye design marking him as Sky World. He held a bow with nocked arrow in his extended right hand, a mace lifted high in his left. A three-banded breechcloth draped his waist as he Danced and exhaled a white, outlined, human head from his mouth.
“Who?” Fire Cat asked, his balance shifting like loose sand beneath his feet. A series of pots had been laid at the foot of the wall; offerings for the black warrior, and proof that he was a figure of great importance.
“Black Tail,” Night Shadow Star told him. “Captured in the moment the Morning Star took possession of his body.” She inclined her head toward the outlined white head. “His souls are being expelled, sent to the Underworld. Creating balance between sky and earth.”
She tilted her head slightly, saying, “Yes, ancestor. I know he doesn’t believe.”
Fire Cat flinched as he heard faint laughter in the darkness. The black chief’s single visible eye watched him with a cold menace and disdain.
Then Fire Cat shivered, for above Black Tail’s trapped life soul, a different monster was baring fangs as it swallowed a deer whole. Three arrows had been shot into its corpulent body, and elk antlers jutted from its eyeless head. From instinct, Fire Cat raised his ax, stumbling back.
“Easy, Red Wing,” Night Shadow Star warned, reaching out to grasp his arm. At her touch, an electric crackle shot through him like a wave. Something elemental, alive, pulsing of womanhood and blood and security.
“Why are we here?” he wondered, her reassuring touch allowing him voice.
“Here, look.” She took him another step along the wall, extending the torch.
“Morning Star,” Fire Cat said as the white-bodied figure jumped from the stone. He recognized the white-shell maskette earpiece, the arrowed-forelock headpiece and the Soul Bundle at the back of the image’s head. A bow was clutched in the effigy’s left hand; the dead and severed head of Morning Star’s father hung from his right.
Her voice hollow, Night Shadow Star told him, “It happened right here. In this place. In the Beginning Times, this is where the Morning Star brought his father’s head after defeating the Giants in a game of chunkey. On this spot, he brought his father’s head back to life.”
She turned, her eyes dark and glowing. “Power fills this place. Through each of the drawings, the souls of the dead are given presence. Hear them? All around us. Feel their touch, Fire Cat? Light, like the faintest stir of air.”
He jerked as something skipped lightly along his forearm. Almost cried out as a tickle ran along his thigh.
The voices in his head grew louder.
“We should leave,” he whispered. “No good will come of this.”
In the flickering torchlight, Night Shadow Star smiled. An action without humor, it appeared as the rictus of a woman condemned.
“Come,” she told him. “There is only one way now. If you go back, the dead will claim you. And Horned Serpent’s Spirit will devour anything that makes it as far as the exit.”
Fire Cat bent, gut racked by a convulsion. He fought the need to vomit, then gasped as the Dead came wheeling out of the darkness, reaching out with black, formless hands to finger his s
weating skin.
“Why are they angry?” he demanded, voice breaking.
“Because the Morning Star’s Spirit chose the Sky World at the end of the Beginning Times. And now he is in the Underworld. If we don’t bring him back, Fire Cat, they will take it out on us.”
“How?” he cried, struggling to focus as Sister Datura whirled him around and the dead began to grasp his arms and legs.
“There are worse things than being devoured by the Spirit beasts. Come, we must hurry.”
On the point of tears, he stumbled along behind Night Shadow Star. He had to climb over blocks of roof fall, the footing treacherous … and the dead followed as they tugged at his hair and laughed just behind his ears.
Forty-six
Seven Skull Shield wondered if he should have left Farts behind rather than bringing him along on this mad venture. He was sure that with the promise of some small reward, he could have talked Crazy Frog into letting his small tribe of children take care of the beast. Unlike Mother Otter, the children fawned over Farts.
Around him, River Mounds City was falling off to slumber, the night dark, with only patches of stars overhead. The smell of smoke, sour latrines, and the wet pungency of the river hung on the still air.
From one of the society houses surrounding the square came the sound of a flute. A man laughed in the distance, and a shift of the air brought the taint of a charnel house to Seven Skull Shield’s nose.
He made a face as he stared up at the mound-top palace with its clay-covered palisade wall. The wedge-roofed building rose up against the partly cloudy skies like a looming miasma. The thing seemed to reek of doom and death and defeat.
“Pus and blood,” Seven Skull Shield muttered under his breath. “It’s just War Duck’s same old stodgy palace. Seen it a thousand times.”
On none of those occasions, however, had he been trying to sneak into the fortified heart of River House. The palace had always been a fixture of the city. A mere landmark. A place he’d never had any particular interest in, other than as the high chief’s residence. If it had meant anything to him, it was as a place to avoid, since he could think of no sane or healthy reason for him to be within those grim walls.
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