Star Path--People of Cahokia

by W. Michael Gear

  Fire Cat tightened his grip on his war club, hearing a stealthy foot as it rasped in the sumac behind him. He turned his head to see Night Shadow Star as she eased along the creek-side trail. He made room, allowing her a seat on the grass beside him. The patch of wild cherry that screened him from the river was just on the verge of blooming, leaving enough openings that he could see without being seen.

  “How are you this morning?” He kept his voice at a whisper. “Feeling better?”

  “I’ll live,” she whispered back, tucking her blanket around her. “I wouldn’t have. I had that deep bone-cold chill. By myself, in my wet blankets, I’d have died.”

  “That might be an overstatement.”

  “As it was, I was warm. Slept well.”

  That was a lie, but he smiled at her attempt to put the best face on it that she could.

  Then she surprised him. “Actually, it was a hard night. But not from the cold or that unforgiving gravel.” She drew a breath. “What are we going to do?”

  “Go to Cofitachequi and kill Walking Smoke.”

  She shook her head sadly. “This is torturing me. I want you as a woman wants a man.”

  “What does Piasa say to that?”

  “He’s out there,” she gestured aimlessly at the forest. “He knows how I ache to live with you as a normal woman does with the man she loves.”

  “We paid a price, more than once, you’ll recall, to save Cahokia. Doesn’t matter that we don’t understand the why of it, that’s the bargain we made. Power doesn’t like it when you break your word.”

  She glanced sidelong at the forest. “What if I ordered you? Right now. Told you to take me, here, on this little patch of grass?”

  He smothered a chuckle. “I swore to serve you, so I’d decline.”

  “You’d disobey a direct order? You swore that night—”

  “I swore I’d serve you without reservation. Violating a promise you gave to Piasa isn’t acting in your best interest.”

  “Wrong. You swore that you’d follow my orders, no matter what they were. I don’t remember your memory being so clouded.”

  “Are we really having this discussion? I am only a servant. You do remember that, don’t you? You’re the lady, I’m the one who’s bound to you.”

  A saucy glint filled her dark eyes. “I free you. Absolve you of your oath. Now what are you going to do?”

  He blinked, lifted an eyebrow. A curious unease filled his chest. “You mean that?”

  She nodded sadly, rubbing her shins with nervous hands. “I’m tired, Fire Cat. I hurt all over. I’m afraid of what’s going to happen to us upriver, let alone in Cofitachequi if we ever get that far. For the first time in my life, I am no longer Night Shadow Star, only a lone woman without station or privilege. Blood Talon is out here somewhere ready to kill you and the others and take me back.”

  She took a breath. “I’m possessed by voices telling me terrible things. I see flickers of light. Bits of movement that aren’t there when I look twice. I don’t know who I am anymore. I’m … I’m scared.”

  He reached out, laid his arm around her shoulders, and pulled her close. “Then it’s no time to be making the kind of decisions you can’t take back.”

  “In Cahokia, everything was … how do I say this? Familiar? Comfortable? Established? I knew who I was, what I had to do, and who I had to be.”

  “Ah, I see.”

  “Do you?”

  “I’ve been there, remember? War chief to bound servant in the space of a single turning of the moon. One minute I’m a noble war chief, a hero, the next my wives are enslaved and my children are dead, my world conquered, and I’m oath-bound to serve a people I hate. Unlike your journey now, I spent that journey bound, in the bottom of a canoe, weeping.”

  She smiled wearily, her eyes losing their focus as they did when Piasa was talking in her ear.

  When her expression cleared, she said, “Are you always so wise and courageous?”

  “No. Remember when we began our journey to the Underworld in the Spirit Cave? I was a shivering, frightened wreck. Too terrified to move. I would have died there, consumed by my fear. You were like a pillar of stone, unwavering and strong.”

  “You were just in a place where you didn’t understand the rules. In the end, you saved us all.”

  “And now the roles are reversed, that’s all. For once in your life, you’re cast loose without roots. You’re cold, physically exhausted, in a totally unknown place, on a strange river, and you’ve just discovered the hunters are hard on your trail.”

  “So, let’s run.”

  “Everyone has doubts in their moments of trial, Lady. For the moment you don’t think you know who you are, but you will find that solid core again, and be all the stronger for it. Meanwhile, take the moment, live as someone besides yourself for once. Trust me on this.”

  She nodded, and he thought he could feel the resolve building inside her again.

  She glanced at him. “I meant it. You are free. I take back your oath of service.”

  He tried to exhale around the sudden tension in his chest. “Let us see where the future takes us, Lady. For absolving me of my oath, I deeply and sincerely thank you. But for now, let it be our secret.”

  “Why?”

  “Because while it might not have consequences here, it would anywhere else. What would they say in Cahokia? He’s free, yet he still lives in her palace, orders her household staff around, stomps around behind her like her personal servant in his armor. Or do you wish me to remove myself from your life?”

  “Yes, I see. Very well, we…”

  He gestured for silence, withdrew his arm, and leaned forward.

  It was the sound that tipped him off: soft voices carrying over the water, then the hollow thunk of a paddle on a canoe gunwale. The morning had brightened to the point that the leaden reflection off the water had turned silver where the current eddied and flowed.

  He caught the first movement, watched as the war canoe’s shape formed behind the mat of cherry stems and branches. The warriors were bent to the paddles, all stroking in unison as the sleek war canoe cut water like some mythical predator. The craft slipped cleanly past as it sliced crisp Vs of wake. The hull’s bright red color looked dull in the predawn light.

  For a moment, Fire Cat considered pulling up his bow, standing, and taking a shot. Blood Talon was passing no more than twenty paces away. With a single arrow, he could kill the squadron first. Pull a second and kill Nutcracker as the man stumbled to his feet in surprise.

  After that, the rest of the warriors would be in a panic. As Fire Cat’s arrows took them one by one, they’d break, turn, paddle like the Spirit-possessed to get out of range.

  More than enough time to gather the Traders and slip away into the forest.

  As if she shared his thoughts, Night Shadow Star’s hand reached out, settled on his arm.

  She barely whispered, “Piasa says ‘Don’t do it.’”

  “It would solve so many problems, Lady.”

  By then it was too late. The canoe had moved on.

  Night Shadow Star exhaled wearily, staring empty-eyed off to the side. “You had better be right, Lord. I’m unhappy enough with this whole situation.”

  Fire Cat made a face, really uncomfortable with the tone in her voice as she said, “I give you this, you give me something in return.”

  She cocked her head, shot a questioning glance to one side, and said, “That woman isn’t here. This woman is, and she will make new terms.” A pause. “I will kill him.”

  “What just happened here?”

  “Hush, I’m bargaining,” she told him.

  “About what?”

  “I’ll know that when I finally make the bargain.”

  “Great.” A person could never tell when it came to Power.

  Blood Talon should be so lucky.

  On the Trail

  I love this country. I am carried along what’s called The War Path between Cofitachequi and Joa
ra. It’s an old route, used by Traders, travelers, war parties, and peace embassies for generations. In places the path is worn into the ground, in others it winds around sections where the rut grew too deep. Here and there it now makes detours around the corpses of huge fallen trees.

  I love this forest, given that it’s filled with huge flocks of passenger pigeons that feed on the towering mulberry trees, the flocks of turkeys, the wary black bears, and the colorful tribes of parakeets. Topping a low ridge, we pass beneath the first great chestnut tree, its branches laden with flowers that—now at the end of their lives—drop a rain of petals upon us.

  I can stare up by the hand of time as I am carried west through the vast immensity of forest. I never tire of the remarkable height. In some places, the lowest of the mighty branches are almost a bowshot above my head. The boles of the great black oak, hickory, ash, elms, and maples are so large a person could hollow them out to make a reasonable dwelling, provided he cared to invest the labor.

  And then there are the vines, giant grapes, greenbrier, walking stick, honeysuckle, the list goes on. All of them, as ageless as the trees that support them. Huge, they twine up the bark, or hang free, like ropes for the gods dropped from high in the Sky World.

  And up in those trees? A hundred hundred birds call, flit through the shadows, and dart from branch to branch. The squirrels mock us from above, barely visible as tiny darting shapes, so far are they above our heads.

  The forest floor that we cross is knotted in places by great roots that trace lightning patterns across the ground. The leaf mat is thick, as deep as my arm where I tried to dig down through the black, molding compost. It gives the air a curious pungency that mixes with the scent of verdure and aerial flowers that floats down from above.

  I don’t think I’ve ever known such forest. Even in the southern nations that surround the lower Father Water.

  Here I am surrounded by a massive pulsing of life, as if the forest transpires an eternal Spirit that echoes the Beginning Times.

  While I am carried away in poetic rapture, my porters are as skittish as barefoot Dancers in a storage cist full of water moccasins.

  Last night an owl hooted. If I hadn’t already been on my feet and close to their fire, the whole lot of them might have bolted into the night before I could stop them.

  My bellowed “Don’t you dare run!” barely held them in place. I had to stalk into the light of their fire and pin them, one by one, with my glare and threaten to maim their souls if they ever showed such cowardice again.

  You see, I took something from each of them: a lock of hair, a bit of cloth, a personal token. Took it with the admonition that if they didn’t get me to Joara, I would wreak my revenge on their souls through that item. That they couldn’t run, couldn’t hide, and certainly couldn’t protect themselves as long as I held that Spiritual link to them.

  Needless to say, we make excellent time on the trail. Not a single one of them cares to linger even a moment longer than need be to get me to Joara.

  And I must get to Joara.

  Night Shadow Star is coming. The lightning has told me.

  Thirty

  If Seven Skull Shield had a weakness, it was Farts. Cahokia was lousy with dogs. Big dogs, little dogs, pack dogs, hairy dogs, dogs of all colors, they were everywhere. Some, like the big pack dogs, were prized bearers of burdens. Others, like the little dogs, were kept by families for their company. Some were bred specifically for the stewpot, and others were handy to have around as trash disposal to keep the garbage, old bones, and discarded food from piling up and drawing flies.

  Had anyone asked Seven Skull Shield to explain his relationship with Farts, he’d have been hard-pressed. He told people, truthfully, that Farts was a Spirit Dog. A gift from Power. And in the past, Farts had kept him company during some of his most memorable adventures.

  But above and beyond that, Farts had saved Seven Skull Shield’s life. On numerous occasions. A man didn’t forget a thing like that. Well, some men did, men not being the brightest of creatures, after all. But not Seven Skull Shield.

  All of which made Farts something of a problem for the moment. For most of his life, Seven Skull Shield had made a habit of not being noticed. That was one of the prerequisites of being a thief. Thieves who got noticed got killed. A really simple relationship when one got right down to it.

  In the matter of a moon’s time, Seven Skull Shield had become what he always loathed: noticed. It hadn’t been so bad when he was skulking along in the Keeper’s shadow. After all, he could always just slip away, vanish into Cahokia’s hidden nooks and crannies. Live off what he could stick in his belt pouch when no one was looking, perhaps beguile a warm bed from some young woman whose husband was off hunting or Trading. Then he’d move on. Catch a ride across the river to Evening Star Town, or perhaps down to Horned Serpent Town where he could renew old acquaintances, Trade for a warm spot by the fire in one workshop or another.

  All that had been before Night Shadow Star had sent him up to deliver her message to the Morning Star. Before he’d made a mockery of Spotted Wrist, and more or less thrown it all in Rising Flame’s face in front of half the nobles in Cahokia.

  The only reason he was still alive was that he’d been painted up, dressed like a lord, and looked nothing like he usually looked. For that reason, like today, he could pack a bundle of sticks over his shoulder and pass for a dirt farmer carrying a load of firewood. Like this, he could march right past Spotted Wrist’s warriors, as he’d just done, without a sideways glance.

  Robin Feather, however, posed another problem. He was looking for that same old Seven Skull Shield everyone knew. The one dressed in a hemp-fiber hunting shirt who wandered around among the common folk with a big, thick-boned brindle dog. Worse, a special dog with floppy ears, a bearlike snout, and odd brown and blue eyes.

  A dog that looked just like the one pacing at Seven Skull Shield’s side, its tongue lolling out, nose working as it sniffed at every cook fire in every farmstead they passed.

  “So, what do I do with you?” Seven Skull Shield asked. “That wooden-brained Robin Feather has now raised his offer to two coils of basswood rope. He has half of River Mounds looking for us.”

  Seven Skull Shield averted his face as a group of Panther Clan warriors with the traditional four-pointed star emblem of North Star House came clattering past, their shields over their shoulders. They barely spared him a look, their attention on the story the one who waved his arms about was telling.

  “And that’s another problem. You heard what that thatch Trader said at the plaza? Slender Fox has been in a rage. See, that’s the thing. Now, you and me? We get caught in compromising positions all the time. Granted, not while we’re sticking the old plug in our sisters, but you get my point here. We’ve got the ability to laugh it off. That woman I saw huddled down under the blanket with her brother? She’s not the kind to just let it go. These Four Winds nobles are a bit finicky about things like that.”

  Farts glanced up, his tail slashing back and forth in time to his pace.

  “I heard that first thing, when the household staff arrived the following morning, they found all the cooking pots smashed on the ground in front of the palace. Had to go find replacements. Which made breakfast late. Word is that enraged the matron even more. And when Wolverine heard about the food being shipped to Evening Star Town, he left the tonka’tzi’s at a run. That when he got to Serpent Woman Town, he and Slender Fox got into a downright brawl over it.”

  Seven Skull Shield turned off the Avenue of the Sun, fixed the widest and stupidest smile on his face that he could, and slightly crossed his eyes as he bobbed a nod in the direction of Spotted Wrist’s supposedly unobtrusive warriors. The two men were still standing at the corner of the Morning Star’s mound where they could keep an eye on Night Shadow Star’s palace on the off chance that the notorious Seven Skull Shield might appear on the steps and announce himself.

  They ignored him.

  Seven Skull Shiel
d sighed, plodded on down to where one of the warriors Fire Claw had assigned to guard Blue Heron’s mound now stood. Seven Skull Shield wasn’t familiar with this one. A completely new face.

  “Got firewood for the Keeper. Um, ex-Keeper. Uh, you know, the Lady Blue Heron.”

  “Go. But not past the veranda. And show a little respect. You dirt farmers need to mind your place. And keep that dog away from the guardian posts. He pees on them, it’ll be the last thing he does.”

  Of course, Farts had peed on them so many times already that Blue Heron had thrown her hands up in despair, calling on Sky Eagle and Falcon to wreak their revenge on the beast as they would.

  To Seven Skull Shield’s amusement, the Sky gods must not have cared. Farts remained hale, hearty, and unconcerned that he might be struck down at any moment by an enraged Sky Spirit. A fact that continued to irritate Blue Heron to no end. Where were the Spirits when you really needed them?

  Seven Skull Shield looked back as they topped the stairs. The guard had turned his attention to the avenue; he completely missed seeing Farts pee on the base of Sky Eagle’s post.

  At the veranda, Seven Skull Shield dropped his load of sticks and sauntered into the palace great room. Smooth Pebble fussed over a pot of hominy that steamed by the fire. She glanced up, eyes narrowing. “If that foul creature takes so much as a sniff of this, I’m beating him with a cudgel!”

  “Farts, maybe you better sit and stay.” Seven Skull Shield pointed to a blanket beside the door. Then, as a way of making amends, he reached out a crusted half loaf of goosefoot bread and tossed it to the dog. Farts caught it in midair, the mighty jaws shearing the dried bread into gulpable hunks.

  “Keeper?” Smooth Pebble called. “The thief’s here. Miracle of miracles, he came in the front door in the middle of the day for once.”

  Blue Heron appeared in the doorway to her personal quarters. Her eyes had a puffy look, her hair mussed on one side. She wore a simple white skirt embroidered with the Four Winds spirals. A cape made of twisted strips of rabbit hide hung from her shoulders.