“The only thing I’d truly love is to see your burned, sliced, and twisted corpse in a square, thief. Stop where you are. And if that misbegotten beast you call a dog sets so much as a paw in my yard, I’m using a club to brain him. Then I’m feeding him to the crows, his meat being unfit for human consumption.”
Seven Skull Shield looked down at Farts. “You might want to linger out here by the road. Stay.”
As he took a step toward the house, Farts cheerfully leaped past, raised his leg, and peed on one of the ramada poles, wetting a roll of nearby blankets in the process.
“Foul four-legged beast!” Mother Otter cried in dismay. In her passion, she threw her pot at the dog, missed. It hit one of the hearthstones on the big central firepit. With a loud pock it shattered into a hundred shards.
Farts, having ducked as the pot sailed past his head, paused only long enough to lift his leg on a second post, and then ran as Mother Otter charged his way, her hands clawing at the air in an attempt to grab him.
Like a shot arrow, the big-boned dog was gone, stretched out with each leap, his floppy ears flapping like wings.
“Well, don’t blame me,” Seven Skull Shield told her thoughtfully. “I did tell him to stay.”
The woman, panting with either rage, exertion, or both, just glared, her fingers working. “If I could have just one wish, it would be your polished skull tied above the doorframe. I would look up, smile, wave at it on occasion. A simple reminder of how much nicer the world was without you in it.”
“I know you just say these things. It’s a way to convince yourself that staying with Crazy Frog is in the children’s best interest.” He gave her a wink. “It will be our secret.”
The look of wild rage slowly faded in her eyes. Then she shook her head. “You never cease to amaze me. Every time I think I have finally observed the most incomprehensible of human behaviors, you have the ability to prove me wrong.”
“I just need to see Crazy Frog. I have something to give him … unless, of course, you’d like to run off with me.”
“And you’d give it all up? For an older married woman who’s getting thick in the hips? I’ve just got to hear how even you could delude yourself into desiring me.”
Seven Skull Shield cocked his head. “If you could take all the things that make a woman and roll them into one individual, it would be you: strong, maternal, provocative, self-possessed, and competent. Makes you the end-all to womanhood.”
She shook her head, sighed as she stared at the shattered angular bits of her pot. “They should have hanged you in a square years ago. Go on. Around back. I’ll send him your way as soon as he has finished breakfast and had his fill of playing with the children. Meanwhile, I don’t want you standing around out here. Gives the place a bad name.”
“I meant it. I’d run away for you.”
“Go. Before I change my mind.” A pause. “And if I see that dog, I will beat his brains out of that oversized skull.”
Never one to squander an opportunity, Seven Skull Shield beat a hasty retreat across the yard, past the firepit, along the wall, and into the narrow passage created by Crazy Frog’s house and the warehouse next door. The space was a small triangular yard culminating at the thick-walled storehouse where Crazy Frog kept his wealth.
A burly Fish Clan man stood back in the shadows, his body wrapped in bear hide. A battered and well-used war club hung from one scarred hand. The look in the man’s cold eyes suggested that he’d never been burdened by a sense of humor.
“Mother Otter sent me back. Said she’d send Crazy Frog out as soon as he finished breakfast.”
“I know you. The thief, right? Heard that rope maker was looking for you. Says you warmed your shaft where you shouldn’t have been keeping it warm.”
“I am so misunderstood.”
“Said he’d give a coil of good basswood rope to whoever turned you over to him.”
“Your boss might not approve.” Why was someone always looking for him? Robin Feather, Spotted Wrist, Rising Flame? The list went on and on.
“Seven Skull Shield,” a voice called from the storehouse door. “It’s all right, Six Claw, let him pass.”
The Fish Clan man, Six Claw, gestured with his club. “Go on. Just be glad I serve Crazy Frog first and my own wants second.”
“Got to say, you’re everything I could never be.” Seven Skull Shield gave the man a touch of the chin in salute as he passed. Not only was humor beyond Six Claw, apparently so was irony.
Seven Skull Shield almost missed the shadowed form in the doorway. He was looking man-height. The dwarf had hands propped on his hips, then he turned and led the way in past the hanging and into the storehouse proper. Here another guard sat with his butt on an oversized carved box, war club ready to hand while the man cradled a cup of steaming hot tea. A mound of coals glowed red in a ceramic bowl set on the bit of dirt floor that wasn’t covered with large wooden boxes, ornate storage baskets, large seed jars, sacks of shell, a stack of copper sheets, and carefully folded textiles. Remarkable wooden carvings and beautifully tanned hides of deer, elk, panther, and bear were belittled by an imposing pile of hair-on buffalo hides in the rear.
Best of all, the place was warm. Seven Skull Shield sighed, bending down to extend his hands to the heat rising from the coals.
The dwarf clambered up onto one of the boxes where the rising warmth bathed his feet.
“Word is that you created quite the scene up in the Morning Star’s palace,” the dwarf noted, his keen eyes gleaming in the firelight.
“Good to see you, too, Flat Stone Pipe. How’s the matron doing?”
“She’s made the biggest gamble of her life. Despite River House’s efforts, either Blue Heron replaces all the food within a half moon—which solidifies Columella’s position—or she’ll be lucky to get away with her life. Me, had I been there when Blue Heron made her plea, I would have advised that Columella respectfully turn it down.”
“I heard that Wind and Five Fists backed it.”
“And against them are Spotted Wrist, Rising Flame, and North Star and Horned Serpent Houses, all of whom would like to see a change in the leadership at Evening Star House. They want someone not so cozy with those overentitled and arrogant rulers of Morning Star House. By backing Evening Star, Round Pot and War Duck could be thrown out of their palace any day now.”
“That would be bad. Old War Duck is about as crooked as a sassafras root, but at least we know his game.”
“To say that their canoe-loads of food came as a surprise is an understatement. My lady was stunned. This sudden thawing of relations is uncomfortable, to say the least.” As if it itched, Flat Stone Pipe rubbed his nose. “But what is this rumor that Night Shadow Star fled in the night?”
“In the light of day, actually. She wished to avoid an unwelcome marriage to the Hero of the North, and, I don’t doubt, having to be in charge of that traveling festival of an expedition. I caught the merest of whispers that somehow Walking Smoke is at the bottom of it.”
“Thought he was dead.”
Seven Skull Shield gave a shrug of the shoulders. “Maybe. If she’s off to kill him, I pray that Power bless her. I still have nightmares after what I saw in that burning palace. I wouldn’t mind gouging the man’s eyeballs out myself. And I’d make sure my thumbs were dirty when I did it.”
“I’d Trade a copper plate just to watch,” Flat Stone Pipe mused, eyes half-lidded. “Odd, but he put us on this path. Set events in motion that brought us to this.” A pause. “You know that Spotted Wrist and Rising Smoke are both after your hide? And then there’s the matter of Robin Feather. I do hope that you have that delightful creature he was married to hidden away somewhere safe.”
“I might.”
“Thief, you need to get a message to Blue Heron for me. Tell her that if she, Wind, and Five Fists can’t get those granaries refilled, it will all come tumbling down. First, they will destroy Columella, then War Duck and Round Pot. After them comes Blue Heron, w
hose position is already tenuous, and then Wind.”
“I know.”
At that moment, Crazy Frog slipped past the hanging. The gambler wore only a hunter’s shirt. He had a hair-on elk hide wrapped around his narrow shoulders. The man prided himself on looking nondescript and valued the ability to disappear in a crowd more than most nobles valued copper, spoonbill feathers, and seashells.
“Mother Otter said you were infesting my property like hornworms in a tobacco crop. What brings you this way? Or do I take it that I need to help sneak you out of Cahokia before either Robin Feather or Spotted Wrist can catch you?”
“Tempting,” Seven Skull Shield told him, “but I came to give you this.” He handed over the sack. “It’s not what we initially agreed upon but should be fair compensation.”
Crazy Frog loosened the rope tie, reached inside, and removed a huge shell cup made from a conch shell as long as his arm. “Where did you get this?”
“I have a source.”
“And the original items?”
“You have to trust me on this, they are in a much better place for the time being. That cup, however, should be fair compensation.”
“You’d better be right about this.”
“Oh, I think you’ll be mildly entertained by the use I put the original items to.”
Flat Stone Pipe was watching from his box, his gaze fixed thoughtfully on the impressively large cup. “Thief, whatever stakes you are playing for, I hope they’re worth your life.”
Seven Skull Shield gave him a ribald wink. “You and your lady aren’t the only ones playing a deep and dangerous game. Besides, I’ve got a bet with Meander. A big basket of shell is at stake. But either way, I win.”
“How’s that?” Crazy Frog studied Seven Skull Shield with suspicious eyes.
“If I win, he hands over a small fortune in shell. If I lose, I don’t have to worry about paying up.”
“Oh? Figure to just bilk him out of his winnings?”
“I’d never bilk anyone I liked. It’s just that it is very hard to get a basket of shell out of a dead man.”
A Battering of Shell
These local Muskogee—despite having been occupied by Moon Blade’s warriors for all these years—are still mostly forest hunters and plant collectors despite their corn, bean, and squash fields.
At the time of my arrival in Cofitachequi, only two small mounds had been built in the town. First was the palace where Moon Blade’s eldest son, Streaming Stone, was orata, or town chief. The second had been the low platform mound where I magically appeared in the ruins of the burning charnel house.
Streaming Stone had been just as awed as the rest, and fortunately, along with most of his warriors, spoke Cahokian. He had agreed to anything I asked, including the addition of another layer of dirt to expand my mound before I had my temple built upon it.
Within weeks most of the locals had abandoned their houses within an arrow shot of my temple. The reasons they gave for leaving were some of the most facile and trite of excuses. Fact was, no one wanted to be that close to me.
How can I blame them? Being in the presence of Power unnerves people.
Not that it ever stops them if they need something. I cured Streaming Stone’s son by his first wife, Blanket, of snakebite. Drove the evil Spirits of infection from old Bobcat Ear’s swollen jaw and relieved the blockage of Turtle Woman’s sheath so she could finally pass her infant daughter.
But people are people. When Throat Caller gave me a slave girl in return for cursing his lifelong enemy, Scoot, I conjured a spell that left Scoot choking to death on his own blood. Scoot’s brother was found dead a couple of mornings later after a terrible storm. He’d been trying to sneak into my temple with a war club, only be struck dead by lightning in the middle of the night. The burn along the left side of his body, his popped-out eyes, and the thick white foam bubbling from his mouth were full proof of the manner of his death. Not to mention that deafening crack of lightning that had brought everyone bolt upright out of bed.
That the lightning killed him on my doorstep without marking my temple made an impression.
In addition, people who called me a witch, accused me of evil acts, and demanded my removal from the community kept winding up dead of unknown causes.
Oh, and there was Diamond Moccasin. He actually made it into my temple a couple of days after his little daughter mysteriously disappeared. He, too, had figured to brain me in my sleep, but the voices warned me that he was coming. From deep in the shadows I drove a spear into his side as he lifted his club high to strike my rumpled and stuffed bedding.
I flayed the hide off his body and draped it on a framework that I posted outside my front door.
Another couple of houses moved away after that. Odd of them, don’t you think? It’s not like I had anything against them.
I digress. When one is given a message by Power, as I was that day in the swamp, one shouldn’t ignore it. The Thunder Beings had told me about Joara. And I could feel Night Shadow Star. Sense her purpose—even across the distance that separated us.
Therefore, I made my preparations. I had packed my Power items, including the cup I’d made from Diamond Moccasin’s little daughter’s skull. By the way, that’s tougher to do than you might think. A child’s skull isn’t grown together as completely as an adult’s. Lot of work to glue those bones together in a way that will let them hold water. But using a little girl’s skull to drink out of carries a lot more weight than just any old adult’s.
And besides, when I used the child’s blood to fill a well pot, I was able to see visions of Cahokia, particularly Night Shadow Star’s departure from the canoe landing. Who’d have thought she’d leave in a single canoe instead of at the head of a large war party?
One doesn’t carelessly throw away body parts from a child who can grant that kind of vision, so I ate her heart, liver, and tiny little ovaries. I’ve been trying to craft a flute from her leg bone, but the sound just isn’t right. That project might have to be abandoned in the end.
So, with my box packed full of the more delicate of my possessions, and having folded my clothing and placed it in a large basket, I make my way across the plaza to Streaming Stone’s palace.
As a plaza, it’s not much. The obligatory World Tree pole stands in the center, though its bald cypress trunk hasn’t been carved. The stickball ground is relatively flat and groomed, but the poor excuse for the chunkey courts is laughable. Word is that Moon Blade was buried with his chunkey stone, so Streaming Stone uses one crafted out of wood. Nor does the local game have the religious majesty that it has at home. Here it is more of a recreation and excuse to gamble.
I lose sight of the fact that at home the dirt farmers are religious converts, and here the Muskogeans are effectively conquered. This is a colony, maintained by Streaming Stone’s warriors, his alliances through marriage, and the fact that most of the old mikkos, oratas, and their families were murdered in the aftermath of the conquest.
Stretching back into the surroundings are the local houses, mostly bent-pole construction, bark-sided and similarly roofed, although the occasional split-cane or thatch roof can be seen. In addition, a “summer house” or ramada is attached. Like I’m familiar with in Cahokia, each has a small garden, and the dwellings here are grouped by lineage. An elevated corn crib is shared by every ten or fifteen families. The cornfields lie just beyond the houses, a mosaic of different-sized and -shaped plots that surrender to the forest. All told, perhaps a thousand people live in town, and another couple of thousand in the surrounding villages.
The day is marvelous, and I can look down the rise to the canoe landing where sunlight sparkles on the breeze-stirred water. On the far bank, the trees are dark green where they dominate the floodplain and stretch off into the haze-filled distance. Off to the west, thunderheads are rising into the pale blue sky.
I don’t make the foot of Streaming Stone’s low mound before the chief emerges and stands between the two pathetic Hunga Ah
uito guardian posts at either side of the top of the stairs. He is in his late thirties, muscular, with keen eyes. He wears a cloak, Cahokian style, with the traditional apron that drops to a point between his knees. He has his hair done up in a bun secured by an arrow-split cloud headpiece. I can tell he rushed to pin it in place because it sits crooked.
“Greetings, Elder!” he calls in a much too jovial voice. “How may I be of service today?”
That he calls me Elder, seeing as how I’m at least ten years younger than he is, is a mark of the fear he has for me and my Powers.
“Great Mikko,” I tell him, “I gave you word of my need of transportation to Joara. I have made my arrangements and am ready to leave. Could you have a litter brought? My packs are waiting beside my door. Just a box and a basket.”
The conflict behind his eyes would be amusing if I were not in a hurry.
“Elder, with my deepest apologies. I’ve made the announcement—ordered it, in fact—but the people appointed seem to have vanished overnight. Gone.”
While not entirely unexpected, this infuriates me. “I thought you had this under control, Mikko. Call your squadron first. Have him assemble warriors to scour the town for able-bodied men. And if he can’t find any, I shall choose my own porters from among their ranks. If any hesitate, I shall initiate the growth of brown rot in their testicles and infect their shafts with pus. Those who carry me to Joara quickly and efficiently, I shall gift with the ability to win when gambling at hand game.”
I have to tell you, being considered dangerous and Powerful, for the most part, delights me.
There are other times when it is as bothersome as lice in pubic hair.
Twenty-five
The turgid floodwaters were dropping, leaving shallows and muddy lakes on the narrow floodplain that lined the Tenasee River’s winding banks. Fire Cat bent to his paddle, peering back into the trees.
This was all new. Everything he was seeing was like legend coming true. He’d heard about the Mother Water, the Tenasee, and the endless lands the rivers served. The effect was that his world was growing by the day, expanding into a larger universe with each bend in the river.
Star Path--People of Cahokia Page 14