The first thought in Blue Heron’s head was: This ought to be fun!
Blue Heron had spent most of that morning socializing with the various nobles and ambassadors who’d gathered in the high courtyard before the Morning Star’s towering palace. All had dressed in their best, their faces painted, and they had outfitted themselves in finery. She might have been “demoted” from her position as Clan Keeper, but Blue Heron had prudently maintained her spy network. People still feared and respected her.
The way Spotted Wrist made his entry and strode through the crowded courtyard you’d have thought he was the living god. In his early fifties, the Hero of the North was a solid man. Muscular. In addition to the gaudy eagle-wing splays at his shoulders, a bloodred apron hung to a point between his knees. The long cloak—crafted out of a thousand painted bunting breasts—swung behind him with every step. His blocky face was filled with purpose, a tension in the set of his wide mouth and hard eyes.
At his heels followed ten of his handpicked warriors under the able command of Blood Talon—the legendary squadron first and Spotted Wrist’s most trusted friend. Each of the warriors was dressed in wood-and-leather armor, every surface polished so that it shone in the morning sun. Hardened leather helmets capped their heads, and beaded forelocks swung on their foreheads. As they marched, they clasped their feather-studded arm guards against their chests; grim expressions gave them a ferocious look.
When Clan Keeper Spotted Wrist passed the massive World Tree pole that thrust up into the morning sky, he let his fingers slip across the lightning-riven wood, carved as it was with scenes from the Morning Star’s life in the Beginning Times. The towering post was crafted from a giant bald cypress trunk floated up from the south.
Where she sat, her back to the Morning Star’s palace wall, old Blue Heron bit her tongue—not that she had a lot of teeth left to give the action much emphasis. In her fifties now, she wore her gray hair in a tight bun at the back of her head. Until four months ago, she had been the Four Winds Clan Keeper, a position she’d held for ten more years than she had fingers and toes to count. To be supplanted by a swaggering, over-feathered spoonbill of a man like Spotted Wrist grated with the same irritating intensity that wet sand did when lodged in the delicate folds of one’s private parts.
As the new Keeper approached, War Leader Five Fists emerged from Morning Star’s palace, taking his place before the beautifully carved double doors.
The lop-jawed and gnarled warrior remained in charge of the living god’s security—a position to which he was particularly suited given he had the same disposition as an old boar grizzly with a toothache. Morning sunlight slanted across the palisade walls to illuminate the man’s weather-beaten face with its dislocated jaw. His skin, aged to dark walnut and deeply lined, made his clan tattoos illegible.
Blue Heron growled to herself as she forced her tired bones to stand. After all, she was an elder in the Morning Star House, of the Sky Moiety, of the Four Winds Clan. Sister to the Lady Wind—who served as the “great sky,” or tonka’tzi, the ruler of secular Cahokia. Blue Heron’s nephew, Chunkey Boy, had surrendered his body as a host for the Morning Star’s reincarnated spirit.
Just because Blue Heron had been deposed from her position as Clan Keeper was no reason she shouldn’t act like the noble she was.
Around her, the Earth Clans chiefs and matrons paused. All lowered their heads, placed fingers to their foreheads in a gesture of respect.
Spotted Wrist nodded in reply, his sharp eyes catching on Blue Heron’s as she stood, back stiff, arms crossed, her gaze burning into his like obsidian fire.
Something flickered behind his eyes; she thought it the sort of look the renowned war leader would have given his enemies across a battlefield. He had to resent her. Of all the humans in Cahokia she knew the extent of his failures.
Blue Heron baited the man with a mocking grin and tapped her forehead in a flouting gesture that smacked of disrespect.
Spotted Wrist glared daggers at her.
Before the palace doors, Five Fists bowed and gestured that the Keeper precede him. Notably, however, Five Fists stepped between Spotted Wrist and his honor guard as they entered the great palace. An affront that turned Squadron First Blood Talon’s expression black and angry. She could see the warriors, bristling, shuffling, controlling their anger as they filed through the double doors.
Following them inside the palace, Blue Heron blinked, then shuttled her way along the wall to the right, passing the opulently furnished sleeping benches, covered as they were with the finest of textiles, furs, and blankets. Packed beneath were magnificently carved and inlaid wooden storage boxes, large jars, intricately woven baskets, and the greatest concentration of accumulated wealth in the known world.
Well, at least north of the Gulf. Who knew about the Maya and those other people down south?
Blue Heron, by virtue of her rank, displaced old Kills Four, chief of the Snapping Turtle Clan of the Earth Moiety. She smiled as she indicated his place. Kills Four graciously rose and retreated to the second rank of seated people where he in turn displaced a lower-ranked chief from one of the Deer Clan lineages. That chain would follow its links down to some lesser noble who’d be forced outside.
Blue Heron seated herself, nodding to old friends, acquaintances, and enemies. She could see the curiosity in their eyes as they gazed back and forth between her and Spotted Wrist.
The new Clan Keeper had stopped just short of the great central fire. It shot flames and occasional sparks toward the high roof and illuminated the great room filled with painted and ornately attired occupants.
Young Rising Flame—high clan matron of the Four Winds Clan—stood to one side and gave Spotted Wrist a nod to acknowledge the new Keeper’s arrival. Rising Flame, young, athletic, and in her twenties, remained a controversial figure as the recently appointed Four Winds Clan matron. She’d gained the position through Morning Star’s intercession— a fact that still rankled in each and every one of the Four Winds ruling Houses.
No one, however, denied the living god.
One of the boys who guarded the eternal fire tossed another log onto the flames. Bright tongues of fire cast light that leaped and flickered on the ornamented walls, glinted off polished copper reliefs, caressed brightly colored wood carvings and statuary. It bathed the faces of the nobles and foreign dignitaries who were all seated, awaiting the Morning Star’s entry.
And he came. Emerging from his rooms in the palace’s rear as if from a cocoon. An eagle-wing splay spread wide behind his shoulders, and a quetzal-feather cloak—gift of the distant Itza—hung from his shoulders. The spotless white apron at his waist dropped to a point between his legs; scalp bundles decorated its front flap. Layers of beaded necklaces surrounded his throat, and a polished arrow-split-cloud headpiece with a soul bundle was pinned to his tightly wound hair. His face had been carefully painted black with a white forked-eye design around each eye. Shell masks covered his ears.
Here was the reincarnated god, walking among them in human form. People immediately knelt or prostrated themselves, depending on their rank.
Blue Heron merely bowed until her forehead touched the intricately woven matting upon which she sat.
The Morning Star—born of First Man and Old-Woman-Who-Never-Dies—along with his twin brother, the Wild One, had helped to destroy the monsters and establish the laws of Creation in the Beginning Times. Then his Spirit rose to join Hunga Ahuito, the two-headed eagle who ruled the realms of the Sky World.
There he had stayed until two generations ago. That was when the Spiritual essence of the hero had been called down from the Sky World and reincarnated into a human body that had once belonged to Chief Black Tail. Upon the death of Black Tail’s body, Morning Star had again been resurrected in the body of Blue Heron’s nephew: Chunkey Boy. Even if she looked hard, she could barely see the likeness of her hellion of a nephew in the being who now seated himself on the raised dais behind the fire.
“Arise
!” Morning Star called. A pause. Then he added, “Thank you for coming, Clan Keeper. I was delighted to accede to your request for an audience.”
Blue Heron sucked her lips in and clamped her jaws tight. It would be foolishness to allow even the hint of a smile to betray her anticipation.
Spotted Wrist, the Hero of the North, the man who had defeated the heretics in Red Wing Town and pacified the northern forests, threw his head back. He clasped his arms behind him, and said, “Lord, I have asked Clan Matron Rising Flame to attend, for the problem involves her as well. It is the order of the clan matron that Lady Night Shadow Star join me in marriage. As leader of her clan, Rising Flame has the authority to demand that the marriage take place now. Before Night Shadow Star leaves for the east. I have been patient, but Night Shadow Star has ignored me and the orders of her clan. Told me that while she cannot cancel the clan matron’s—”
“And you expect me to influence Night Shadow Star on your behalf?”
“Lord, a simple decree on your part would—”
“What news do you have for me regarding the theft of the Koroa copper, Clan Keeper?” The Morning Star’s eyes narrowed, the tone of his voice as cutting as an obsidian blade.
Blue Heron went giddy with delight.
Spotted Wrist stiffened at the change of subject. Seemed to be searching for words, shot a surprised look at Rising Flame, who in turn was blinking her confusion.
Blue Heron fought to keep from giggling. Fool that Spotted Wrist was, he’d never seen it coming.
“What Koroa copper?” Rising Flame asked.
“The stolen Koroa copper,” Morning Star said with exaggerated patience.
Spotted Wrist cleared his throat. “The search for the culprit is proceeding as we speak, Lord. I have my men looking everywhere. If necessary, we will turn all of Cahokia upside down.”
At the words, Blue Heron cocked her eyebrow. Brilliant at war, Spotted Wrist thought in terms of brute force. He still hadn’t figured out that being Clan Keeper required different skills. Granted, in the days following Rising Flame’s appointment, Spotted Wrist’s reputation—not to mention his veteran warriors—had been instrumental in restoring order throughout the city. The various ruling Houses had teetered on the verge of war when it seemed the Morning Star might have died. Spotted Wrist’s loyal squadrons squelched any such foolish notion on the part of the high chiefs and the matrons.
“Lord?” Rising Flame asked. “I have been in Serpent Woman Town for the past five days. While I may have heard vague rumors about this copper theft, I am unfamiliar with the details. Perhaps the Keeper could enlighten me?”
Blue Heron smothered a snort of delight, turned her eyes back to Spotted Wrist.
“The Koroa are a people who live on the Father Water’s west bank way down in the south. They occupy swampy land just north of the Gulf,” Spotted Wrist told the matron. “Eight days ago, a Koroa embassy was received by Tonka’tzi Wind in the Council House. They came with a wealth of conch shell, yaupon leaves, hanging moss, purple and red dyes made of snails, and batches of feathers from spoonbill, parakeet, white heron, and swans. Additionally, they offered a young woman as a bride to the Morning Star.”
Spotted Wrist, warrior to the end, kept his back straight and stood at full attention. “They proposed an alliance. One that would be of strategic advantage to us as it would give us a firm ally on the Tunica’s southern border. In return the Morning Star gifted the Koroa chief with two plates of thin-beaten copper. Good sheets, perfect for placing on a wooden mold to be pressed into a relief.”
“And it was stolen?” Rising Flame asked, her serious face slightly pinched.
“From the middle of their camp, Matron. Down at the canoe landing below River Mounds City. Seeking redress and the return of their property, the Koroa immediately stormed their way into High Chief War Duck’s palace. While they made the nature of the theft known to the chief through signs and river pidgin, they weren’t able to communicate all the details. It took a while for War Duck to get a message to Tonka’tzi Wind. By the time the Great Sky could get a translator to River Mounds City, it was the middle of the following day.”
Spotted Wrist made a pained face. “Suffice it to say that by that time, the situation had deteriorated, angry accusations being traded by all parties involved.”
Blue Heron had heard all of this before, witnessed most of the proceedings in Wind’s Council House.
“It seems,” Spotted Wrist said, “that it was probably a single thief. The Koroa were awakened as the thief was sneaking away into the night and said that the man had a bird’s head.”
“A bird’s head?” Rising Flame asked.
Morning Star, on his elevated chair, had adopted a subtle smile, his dark gaze evaluative as it fixed on Spotted Wrist.
“We think it was some sort of feathered headdress, Matron.” Spotted Wrist broke his pose just long enough to wave away a pesky fly. “That, and a dog may or may not have been involved.”
“A dog? The canoe landing is infested with the mongrels.”
“Yes, Matron. All the Koroa can confirm is that a big dog was slurping up the contents of their stewpot when the theft took place.”
The first tingle of premonition ran down Blue Heron’s spine.
Oh, no.
She straightened, grinding the few teeth left in her jaws.
“The Koroa who awakened,” Spotted Wrist continued, “raised an alarm. In the ensuing confusion, packs were overturned, people stepped on. Lots of shouting and thrashing about. Both thief and dog were seen disappearing in the direction of the warehouse district.”
“And you’ve made no progress in finding the copper or the culprit?” Morning Star asked softly from his raised dais.
“I have men searching all over the city, Lord,” Spotted Wrist insisted, his face grim. “I have an agent stationed every hundred paces at the canoe landing. They inspect every vessel that leaves. Those two pieces of copper would be worth a fortune in the south. The word is out that any Trader who accepts them, no matter what story he’s told, he’ll hang in a square.”
Blue Heron swallowed down her suddenly tight throat. The struggle to keep her expression bland remained ever more difficult.
“That’s all you’ve got?” Rising Flame demanded. “Keeper, this isn’t the theft of some wooden statue out of a dirt farmer’s shrine. This was a major embassy. The potential of brokering an alliance in the far south. Beyond the Tunica—”
“Matron, with respect.” Spotted Wrist inclined his head. “It’s a small chieftainship. A smattering of outlying villages around a single town with a couple of mounds and a palisade. Most of it lies in swamp. I had the recorders look it up. The fact that the copper was stolen out of the Koroa camp, from under their very noses, while they were camped in the midst of Traders from over half the known world, doesn’t reflect on us.”
“What would you tell the Koroa, Clan Keeper?” Morning Star asked softly. “That it’s their problem?”
Spotted Wrist shrugged. “Lord, we’re doing all we can. That’s the important thing. The Koroa can see that we’re searching every house, temple, and shrine in Cahokia.”
“And that’s all you have?” Rising Flame asked. “Just a bird-headed man, and maybe a dog, in the middle of the night?”
“And they might not even be the culprits.” Spotted Wrist shot her a placating glance. Then he hesitated. “There’s one other peculiarity that came out after my warriors started asking around in the surrounding camps. It doesn’t make much sense.”
Blue Heron was aware that Morning Star’s attention was now fixed fully on her, his gaze probing, almost conspiratorial. What was that all about? She’d been the center of the living god’s attention before. It never boded well.
She almost missed it when Spotted Wrist said, “It’s confusing. Just like everything relating to the theft. Something about passing gas.”
“Really?” Rising Flame asked emotionlessly. “We’re dealing with a major diplomatic in
cident, and you bring up breaking wind?”
“One of the Traders in a nearby camp heard the bird-headed thief shouting as he ran away. The man insists the thief was yelling, ‘Come on farts!’ over and over as he ran.”
Oh, no. Blue Heron’s stomach dropped. She knotted her jaws, desperate to keep her face straight.
On his dais, Morning Star was watching her with those knowing eyes; what might have been a flicker of amusement tightened his lips.
He turned his attention to Spotted Wrist, saying, “Orchestrate your own marriage, Clan Keeper. I would think a man of your capabilities could handle such a simple chore. But in the meantime, you would best be served recovering the Koroa copper.”
Then the living god’s gaze settled on Blue Heron, burning in its intensity, as if in warning. She tried to swallow, but it was as if a plum pit was stuck in her throat.
Three
Squadron First Blood Talon winced as he and the Hero of the North’s honor guard followed the new Keeper into his palace. For two decades now, Blood Talon had been one of Spotted Wrist’s most trusted commanders, confidants, and friends. But ever since their army’s triumphant return from the conquest of the north, Spotted Wrist hadn’t been the same.
Always cunning and politically astute, these days Spotted Wrist was like a different man—and it wasn’t subtle. In the past, the war leader had often spoken in jest: “After as hard as I’ve worked, when the Spirits and Power finally give me my just due, it will probably mean they wish to destroy me.”
Blood Talon now wondered if his friend’s words hadn’t been prophetic.
Storming into the palace—and out of sight of the passing crowds of gawking dirt farmers, Traders, and vendors—Spotted Wrist turned on his retinue, finger thrusting like a spear.
“Pus-rotted gods, can you believe that?” The man’s eyes burned. “I am chastised, embarrassed like a child, over a couple of sheets of copper stolen from some distant swamp rats’ camp?”
Star Path--People of Cahokia Page 2