Star Path--People of Cahokia

by W. Michael Gear

  And the people? So many of them. Red Reed had passed the cluster of settlements that dominated the heights above the confluence of the Tenasee with the Mother Water. Along the banks, people had built farmsteads atop every levee. Passing dugouts—most of them crude hollowed-out logs—carried fishermen and local waterfowl hunters as well as the occasional family.

  The smell of the Tenasee had a subtle tang that differed from both the Father and Mother Water rivers. And the Tenasee moved with a different character, as though it had a more serene soul.

  The low, tree-lined knolls in the distance indicated bluffs beyond the thickly forested floodplain. The first greening of spring was coming to the forest, a land ready to burst into life. They’d cheered at the sight of the first great blue herons as they winged north, their twittering and flute-hollow cries carrying across the land.

  Even as a boy Fire Cat had understood that rivers were the lifelines of his world; then he’d seen the swarms of vessels, people, and Trade that clogged the canoe landing below River Mounds City. Traffic on the Tenasee wasn’t as heavy as it had been since leaving Cahokia, but as the broad channel began to narrow, they passed closer to the oncoming canoes, calling greetings.

  Another of the giant Vs of migratory birds passed overhead, their calls echoing over the land. Said fowl, along with fish, freshwater clams, and mussels, were offered for Trade at any stop the Red Reed made—not to mention bartered from one passing canoe to another, often for the simplest of Trade such as a small hank of wooden Cahokian Trade beads.

  They also Traded such fare upon reaching shore in the evening, exchanging the raw fish or plucked birds for whatever was in the village stewpot where they landed.

  Despite plenty to eat, even White Mat was looking weary. The one who bore the brunt most, however, was Night Shadow Star. As fit as she might have been as a runner and stickball player, paddling was a different proposition.

  They had put in for the night at a small settlement that consisted of a cluster of huts back from a canoe landing. The five bent-pole structures were grandiosely called Great White Wolf village. The people—local fishermen, hunters, and part-time river Traders—consisted of a small displaced Michigamea band who’d come down from the north a generation ago to escape the constant raiding and warring in the northern forests.

  While their language was incomprehensible to Night Shadow Star and Fire Cat when the Michigamea were talking among themselves, they were fluent in Trade pidgin.

  As morning broke, Fire Cat forced himself awake. Wincing, he stretched, thankful that his own sore muscles were beginning to harden.

  He sat up in his blankets, stared around at the bent-pole hut. The construction was simple: Dig an oval-shaped series of post holes that enclosed a space about four paces long and two across. Set the butts of green-cut saplings in the post holes, then bend their still-pliable tops over and tie them to their opposite across the oval. Doing so created a series of bows. Lace them all together with vines or smaller saplings to make a framework, and then cover the whole with peeled sections of overlapping bark.

  Fire Cat rose, walked out among the trees beyond the village to the small glade that served as the local latrine, and watched his urine steam in the chill air. Overhead, the branches showed the faintest trace of frost. A couple of the buds had opened, the first flowers peeking out.

  Next, he walked down to the river, stooped, and washed his face in the cold water. Fingers of mist were rising from the swirling, sucking, and swelling surface of the Tenasee; the graying dawn gave the water a dull silver gleam that reminded him of galena.

  Ducks, geese, and morning birds were calling across the restless river, the morning oddly peaceful. He enjoyed the moment, knowing he should have been headed back to wake Night Shadow Star and the rest. Weary enough to simply enjoy the peace and solitude, he let it soothe the deep-seated fatigue that came from hard days of travel.

  Night Shadow Star’s words from a couple of days past returned to his memory: “You feel it, don’t you? The Power of the river? It’s alive, watching us, wondering.”

  “Wondering what?” he’d asked.

  “Wondering which faction it will finally side with. Walking Smoke’s or ours.”

  As he looked out at the endlessly moving water, he could feel the river’s energy—something momentarily restrained, but impatiently awaiting that inevitable moment when it would unleash its physical and spiritual might.

  He had grown up on the upper Father Water, had known its unique Power and moods. Had marveled at how it changed personality from the clear green waters of his home in the north to the murky expanse it exhibited at Cahokia.

  The Tenasee had a completely different feel, as if it carried a long memory of pain and struggle. The sensations it stirred in his souls were anything but reassuring.

  “Who are you?” Fire Cat asked. “Whose side are you on?”

  He would have thought Piasa’s, since rivers were the province of the fearsome Underworld beast and the lair of Tie Snakes, Snapping Turtle, and the depths.

  The roiling lead-gray surface sent him no answers.

  That’s when he heard the distant voices. But for the morning’s stillness and the way sound carried over water, he would have missed them. Even then, he was about to discount the faint chatter. There was no shortage of human beings crowding the Tenasee’s populated shores. The words, however, were Cahokian in a land where most people spoke their own tongues or Trade pidgin.

  “The squadron first says it’s time to get your lazy carcasses out of your blankets. Today we catch them!”

  Faint and incomprehensible complaints barely carried across from the far bank to where Fire Cat hunched.

  The Tenasee curved here, a long loop that curled back on itself. With the next flood, the current would finally chew through the narrow neck of land across from him, effectively cutting off the ox-bow loop and eventually leaving it as an isolated lake.

  The voices came from the other side of the narrow neck of land.

  The camp might have been no more than ten, maybe twenty bow-shots away to the north on the opposite side of the loop, but perhaps a couple of hands’ time to travel by following the river’s channel.

  Fire Cat was on his feet, pounding up the trail to the Michigamea village. He stopped only long enough to kick White Mat and Shedding Bird awake, then he ducked into Night Shadow Star’s hut.

  Dropping, he shook her. “Lady? We have to get up. Now. I think they’re right behind us.”

  “Who?”

  “Someone called ‘squadron first.’ That name conjure any memories for you? And it was uttered in good Cahokian. The sort of wake-up a war party would get.”

  “Where?”

  “Remember that loop we rounded last night? Just across that neck of land.”

  She threw her blankets back. Combed long black strands of hair out of her face, then pulled her cloak on, saying, “Get these things rolled up and get them in the Red Reed. By the time you do, I’ll be ready.”

  After rolling up her bedding, he stepped out, finding the Traders blinking, still sleep-bleary.

  “You’re sure you heard this war chief you’ve been talking about?” Half Root asked, her face wrinkled where she’d slept with it pillowed by a wad of cloth.

  “Pretty sure. Nothing would make me happier than to get us out on the river, race Red Reed south, and discover later that it was all a mistake, a curious echo across the water.” Fire Cat chuckled dryly. “But that’s not the kind of break I get in my life. On your feet, people, we’re leaving.”

  “You really think this is worth an extra piece of copper?” Mixed Shell asked White Mat. “I’m thinking maybe I’ll sleep for another couple of hands of time and stay a poor man—but well rested—for the rest of my life.”

  The Michigamea were rising from their own blankets, curious about the visitors’ rush to get on the river. Talking warily among themselves, they watched suspiciously. Fire Cat Traded the last of the ducks they’d bartered for on the r
iver for all the lotus and cattail-root bread the Michigamea had.

  Night Shadow Star was as good as her word. Fire Cat was securing the last of their belongings down inside Red Reed’s hull when she emerged from the forest trail leading back to the latrine area. She looked oddly fresh, almost nervous.

  “You all right?”

  A smile died on her lips. “Piasa tells me I’m a fool. That I’d sleep through my own abduction.”

  “How far behind us would you say they are?” White Mat asked.

  “Maybe two, three hands. Other side of that narrow neck of land and screened from seeing us by that growth of willows. Oh, and keep your voices down. If I could hear them, they could hear us.”

  Together they pushed the Red Reed out into the silt-laden water, dipped paddles, brought the slim vessel around and into the current.

  “You ask me,” Mixed Shell grumbled softly, “the warrior here has an active imagination.”

  “Better awakened to a hard day and endless paddling than having to face down a war party.” Fire Cat shot the man a knowing wink. “We’d lose.”

  “We’ve made outstanding time,” White Mat muttered over his shoulder, digging deep with his paddle to send them forward. “Catching up with us? This must be some bunch of warriors.”

  “They’d be the best of Spotted Wrist’s people—and his squadron is the best in Cahokia. You know what that means?”

  “Not really,” Shedding Bird shot back over his shoulder. He paused only long enough to stuff a piece of root bread in his mouth.

  “It means the best in the world,” Night Shadow Star told him.

  “Assuming Fire Cat didn’t hear something echo, maybe a turkey call he mistook for a voice. Sound does funny things on the river.”

  “If I mistook what I—”

  “Hey!” The call carried from behind.

  Fire Cat craned his neck, searched, saw a man break out from the willows. Across the distance he could still recognize a Cahokian warrior by the distinctive cut of the man’s war shirt. The fellow carried a bow and arrows, looked more like he was hunting than anything else.

  “Stop!” the man shouted, stumbling out onto the bank. “It’s them! Night Shadow Star! Hurry. This way, all of you!”

  As Fire Cat watched, five more warriors came crashing through the willows, all stopping at the edge of the water to watch Red Reed as the narrow canoe sliced along the bank opposite from them.

  “Bring us Night Shadow Star. We only want to talk!” the lead warrior called. “Come back here!”

  Shedding Bird was putting his back into the paddle. “So, that’s the enemy, huh?”

  “That’s them,” Night Shadow Star said wearily. “Piasa? Where were you? Why didn’t you warn me?”

  Fire Cat saw the absent look in her eyes as the Spirit Beast told her something she apparently wasn’t keen to hear.

  “Stop, or we’ll shoot!” one of the warriors shouted from the far bank.

  “Good luck with that,” Fire Cat growled to himself, driving the paddle deep, matching his stroke with the rest.

  Red Reed leapt forward, water splitting at her bow.

  “They’re shooting,” White Mat said, taking a glance in the warriors’ direction.

  “The river here’s a long shot across. We’re at the limits of range,” Fire Cat told him. “And as fast as we’re moving? It would be a miracle if any of them even came close.”

  An arrow made a thook sound as it speared the water a stone’s throw to their left, its passage marked by a trail of bubbles.

  A flight of arrows hit the water in a staccato of thook thooks.

  “Stop shooting, you fools!” an angry order carried across the water. “You’ll hit Night Shadow Star!”

  Across the distance Fire Cat could make out another warrior as he bulled his way through the thick screen of willows and charged out on the narrow beach. He drew up, fist knotted, berating his warriors.

  “What will they do next?” Night Shadow Star asked.

  “Depends,” White Mat replied. “My suspicion is that they’ll pile back in their canoe and put out, figuring they can eventually catch us.”

  “That or they’ll unload it.” Half Root was driving her paddle into the water with grim purpose. “Portage the hull over the neck, toss everything back in, and foam water trying to catch us.”

  Mixed Shell shrugged between strokes. “Lot of downed timber and brush in there to wrestle a war canoe through.”

  “Wait,” Fire Cat noted. “Look, they’re coming on at a trot. Following along the far bank. What’s that all about?”

  In the bow, White Mat glanced back. Considered. “I think I understand. For the moment the thread is on their side, which means the strongest current is running against their shore. But just up ahead, the river turns back on itself. They’re figuring that we’ll have to cross the current to keep headway. That or wear ourselves out tackling the river’s full force head-on in an attempt to stay out of their range.”

  Fire Cat rose slightly, staring ahead. Indeed, the next curve was a tight one where the river looped back on itself. Maybe, fresh as they were, they could power Red Reed against the full strength of the current. That, or perhaps walk the boat along the shoreline if the bank didn’t drop off?

  “Got any ideas?” Fire Cat asked. “Or should we stop so I can don my armor and try a valiant rearguard action?”

  “These are warriors,” Shedding Bird told him, seemingly unconcerned. “We’re Traders. They might be unleashed terror on the battlefield. But we’re on the river.”

  “You’ll notice,” Made Man said from where he stroked behind Fire Cat, “that they’re still a bit behind us on the outside of the curve, climbing over brush, slogging through the mud. Probably figuring that they’ll catch us at the next loop.”

  “Shouldn’t bet against a Trader,” Half Root added. “Not on the river, anyway.”

  Fire Cat could see the ripple where the current cut across the river ahead of them, the water moving faster, not sucking and swelling like in the slower eddies next to the bank.

  It wouldn’t be long now, just another canoe length, and they’d be in the main force where it ran close to the curving bank.

  White Mat and the rest took a couple of vigorous bites with their paddles, driving them into the bank.

  “Let’s move, people,” White Mat ordered, bailing over the side and holding Red Reed against the river’s pull.

  Shedding Bird, Mixed Shell, and Made Man splashed over the side, Made Man retrieving a coil of basswood rope from under his seat and calling, “Fire Cat? You and the lady are with us.”

  “What are we doing?” Fire Cat asked as he and Night Shadow Star clambered over the gunwale. Across the river shouts of victory sang out from the pursuers. The Cahokians must have thought they’d won if Red Reed was no longer moving. In Fire Cat’s mind, the smart thing would be to send four or five warriors ahead to swim the river, bottle up both sides, and hunt them down in a pincer movement.

  “Half Root steers,” White Mat said, lining out the rope that Mixed Shell was tying around his waist. “Mixed Shell uses his paddle to keep Red Reed off the bank, and the rest of us pull the canoe around the bend against the current.”

  “We’re towing the canoe?” Night Shadow Star asked as she took a grip on the rope.

  “And we’re not taking our time about it either,” Half Root said tersely, as she glanced across at the closing warriors.

  “Let’s go,” White Mat called, getting a good grip and slinging the rope over his shoulder. Then the man bulled his way up the incline and started along the high bank, the rope lining out behind him.

  “What do you think, Lady?” Fire Cat asked as he threw his own muscle into the task and tramped forward in White Mat’s tracks. The whole weight of Red Reed, the current, and cargo made the rope strain. “Enjoying the coddled life of a noble these days?”

  Struggling along behind him, Night Shadow Star laughed. “Can you imagine Rising Flame in this situation?”


  Across the river, shouts of anger accompanied the Cahokians’ realization of what their prey was doing.

  Tossing a glance past the taut rope over his shoulder, Fire Cat watched in amazement as foam curled around Red Reed’s bow. Half Root had her paddle wedged against the hull, water angrily curling as she steered the canoe outward. Mixed Shell was using his paddle as a pole, forcing the craft away from the bank.

  Now all the rest of them had to do was clamber across the roots, through the brush, over the logs and crumbling bank, and keep moving as the tow rope dragged Red Reed forward.

  Within moments, Fire Cat began to pant, his hands biting into the rope. He, Made Man, and Night Shadow Star took the load as White Mat and Shedding Bird clambered over a deadfall and then took the rope while Night Shadow Star, he, and Made Man followed.

  Sweat began to build despite the cool morning. The tow rope chewed painfully into his shoulder, the weight of the canoe, its load, people, and current’s pull trying to topple him backward.

  Crossing a shallow stream, Night Shadow Star slipped, fell face-first into the muck, clambered back onto her feet, and took her place again.

  Past that, the bank was open along the river, thick with last year’s grass. The pace picked up, coupled with their heaving and panting as they struggled forward.

  And as White Mat had said, across the river, the pursuers were having their own problems where they splashed through the shallows.

  All bends have to end, and as the current’s pull faded, White Mat—panting and grinning—slowed, began coiling the rope. “We’re there. Everyone back in the canoe. Now, let’s make time.”

  Mud-spattered, scratched from branches, gasping for breath, Night Shadow Star shot one last wary glance back across the river. There, the warriors were even farther behind, bellowing threats, some stomping as they slogged through swampy low ground. One bent his bow back, aimed high, and sent a futile arrow to spear the water a half bowshot behind them.

  Night Shadow Star seated herself, asking, “Do you think they’ll keep up the pursuit on foot?”