Star Path--People of Cahokia

by W. Michael Gear

  Then the rain had increased.

  If anyone was alive, Blood Talon figured he’d find them upstream. He’d tried slogging along the bank, but as the river rose, he’d been forced ever farther from its shore. Inland, into the inundating floodplain.

  Now, here he was, up to his testicles in water, lost in the trees, and as miserable and broken as he’d ever been. The rain did not let up, nor the thunder cease. It just kept on, and on, and on.

  Was the Red Wing a lunatic? He’d killed them all, and himself in the process.

  Another snake slithered across the water, a copperhead this time, its body forming sinuous waves as it swam. The thing didn’t even slow when it encountered floating wood; it just glided right over.

  A chill shivered its way up Blood Talon’s back, his skin crawling as a black-and-yellow spider as big around as a plum leaped from a floating leaf onto his war shirt.

  Blood Talon batted the creature into the water and whacked it with his club. Looked, didn’t see the body floating anywhere, was horrified that it might have splashed back onto him in the aftermath. He almost dislocated his neck in the frantic search of his person.

  Spiders had never bothered him before. They were everywhere in Cahokia. Encouraged, as they helped to keep the endless plague of flies at bay. But here, in this floating morass of horrors? And especially a monster like that?

  It’s just being here. You’re unnerved.

  How right that was!

  “Think.” He looked around at the water and floating scum that ringed the flooded trees. “Use your smarts. There’s got to be an end to this.”

  But which way? Here, under the thick forest canopy, he had no idea which direction was which. No stream flowing toward the river. All he could do was face a direction at random. Walk in a straight line for as far as he could see. Stop. Make sure he was still facing the same way. Walk in a straight line for as far as he could.

  He did, slogging through the muck, feet slipping on the goop underneath, tripping over roots and submerged obstacles. With his hickory branch he fended off the worst of the floating debris.

  Just as his confidence began to build, he encountered brush sticking up from the flood, oriented himself on the surrounding tree trunks, and sloshed his way into an opening between the brush.

  He took a step, found no bottom, and sank up past his ears.

  Panicked and thrashing, he fought his way back to good footing. Fighting for breath, he pulled at the sticks and flotsam that stuck in his hair. Realized that he’d lost his orientation, that the open space in the brush had been a creek of some sort.

  But which way did it run?

  And was he on the same side as when he stepped off, or had he crossed to the other side while he floundered about in the water? The club was floating out in the middle where he’d dropped it in his panic.

  Pus and blood!

  Not since he was a little boy had he ever wanted so much to simply sit down in the mud and bawl. Would have, but the water was too deep.

  I am a warrior!

  But that had been back in the world of men. Here, in this flooded forest, he was nothing.

  Tears streaking down his face, he tried to catch his breath. Turned, followed just in from the brush that marked the creek. Water continued to cascade from the canopy, and the thunder boomed and banged.

  Fifty-two

  For two days rain fell in sheets; lightning blasted the long and forested ridges on either side of the Tenasee River valley. Funnel clouds hovered over the land, dropping to tear through timber like it was kindling. The Powers of the Sky World unleashed their full fury.

  One of the great black oak trees behind Black Clay Bank village was sundered in two, half of the forest giant falling to crush one of the huts, killing four men, five women, and seven children who huddled inside.

  By day Night Shadow Star alternately watched the flood-swollen river and then the Trade trail that led down the northern bank and back toward the narrow channel where Fire Cat had disappeared in his attempt to deal with Blood Talon’s pursuing canoe.

  With the coming of full darkness, she would retreat to the house: a bent-pole frame structure, bark-sided, with a thick thatch roof. Mostly dry inside, it sheltered two families, and was warmed by a smoke-spewing fire that gnawed slowly through the wet wood it was fed.

  When she rolled out in her mostly dried blankets it was to remember that look on Fire Cat’s face as he slipped over the side and into the river. A calm confidence laced with desperation. Not for him, but for her. His insistence that she not follow him. That she trust him to complete this one last mission. That he would either catch up or meet her in Cofitachequi.

  She’d watched him swim to the tangle of floating driftwood, latch onto the log. She had scrambled to her knees to peer back at the raft as the current whipped it toward the Cahokian war canoe.

  After that the details blurred. She’d seen the Cahokians scramble toward one side, watched them fending off something hidden by the rain. Then she’d barely made out the melee as the canoe rolled onto its side.

  Despite her pleas, the Albaamaha had doggedly continued to paddle upriver. Only Winder’s hard hand clasping her upper arm had stayed her from leaping over the side and swimming in pursuit. She had ached to ride that current down, to discover for herself if Fire Cat lived.

  “Don’t do it, Lady.” Winder had sounded so sure of himself. “He said he’d catch up. He will.”

  “You don’t understand! That’s Fire Cat! What if he—”

  “You go after him, you’ll undo everything he’s done! You understand that?” He’d glared into her eyes. “Do you trust that man, or not?”

  Numbly, she’d nodded, sank down to stare over the stern as the rain pounded them. The rest of that journey remained blurred in her memory. Just an endless jumble of shivering cold, pounding rain, and disbelief that Fire Cat was gone. She had kept her gaze on the river, the rain, and the distance. Shiver she might, but her imagination kept conjuring Fire Cat. That each bobble of the current, each bit of twirling flotsam or bobbing bit of wood, had to be Fire Cat, swimming strongly in pursuit.

  They’d carried her up from the canoe, her flesh as senseless and inert as the clay for which the village had been named. She dully remembered sitting in the doorway, a warm fire at her back, watching the flooding river, knowing that Fire Cat would appear.

  That had been two long days ago. Now she made her way back to the hut, wrung out her wet hair, and shook off her cape before entering the low doorway.

  The smell of hominy boiling, roasting squirrel, and acorn bread sent pangs through her empty stomach.

  “Lady,” Winder greeted her where he sat in the visitors’ place just inside the door; their Koasati hosts were seated in their places just behind the fire. “If he landed on the other side of the river, it will take him a time to catch up. And the lowlands will be flooded. Don’t lose hope.”

  She ducked in, settled herself in her place opposite him by the door, and extended her hands to the fire. “He wouldn’t have drowned. He’s Red Wing. Raised on the river. He told me how he used to dive, how his uncle insisted he be able to swim across the river by the time he was seven. It would have taken more than Blood Talon to drown him.”

  Winder gave her that emotionless look she’d grown used to. The one he adopted when he wanted to remain completely neutral.

  “Storm’s going to break in the morning. I know you want to wait, to go in search of him, but I need you to think this through. Yes, your man Two Coups is back there. But so are any surviving warriors. And you can bet that this Blood Talon you talk about isn’t going to give up. If you choose to wait here, I will not stand in their way when they take you prisoner. I’m not hired to do so.”

  She took a deep breath. “No, you’re not.”

  “You heard your warrior. He said to continue, that he would catch up. There is no telling what he’s going to have to do to avoid those selfsame surviving warriors. Maybe loop wide of the river. He may alre
ady be on his way to Cofitachequi, and you’ll be here, waiting, while he travels on.”

  That was indeed a possibility.

  Winder continued. “I don’t know what your goal is once you reach Cofitachequi, but for you to have traveled this far, being the kind of Trader you are, it must be an important mission. Do you want to simply abandon it? Sit here in Black Clay Bank village, waiting? If so, for how long? A couple of moons? A year? What if Two Coups never comes? If the worst happened and Blood Talon’s warriors killed him that day in the river, what then?”

  She clenched her teeth, eyes going out to the growing darkness and the roiling flood beyond.

  “Cofitachequi,” Piasa whispered.

  “Is he alive?” she asked the air around her.

  “He lives for Cofitachequi.”

  “How do I know you’re telling the truth?”

  “Our new bargain. Your brother for Fire Cat.”

  Night Shadow Star stiffened. Realized what the Underwater Panther had done. “He was in the river, your domain.”

  The Spirit Beast hissed his amusement. Two words formed in the air around her. “The price.”

  For daring to consummate her love for Fire Cat?

  She closed her eyes, heart pounding in her chest. Her master had just been biding his time, letting her fall ever deeper into her love, knowing that when the beast took him away from her, she’d be totally at Piasa’s command.

  “So,” she mused, “the only way to get him back is to finish what I started?”

  She could imagine Piasa’s gleaming eyes, the feral smile, a half snarl that bent the beast’s cougar-shaped muzzle.

  “We go as soon as it’s safe to travel the river,” she told Winder. “And the faster we get to Cofitachequi, the better.”

  “And Two Coups?”

  “He will find us there.”

  As if the Trader had heard Piasa himself, a contented smile, almost triumphant, seemed to animate the man’s square face.

  “In the morning, Lady,” Winder told her. “Now, get a good night’s sleep. We can make the downriver end of the Suck and Rage by tomorrow night if we’re on the river by first light.”

  As she laid out her bedding, she pleaded, Fire Cat, tell me I’m doing the right thing.

  Because if she got to Cofitachequi, killed Walking Smoke, and her Spirit master didn’t produce Fire Cat? Well, should that be the case, her lord had better prepare for war.

  Fifty-three

  “Make way! Make way!” Blue Heron’s porters called as they steered her litter through the cramped back ways just off the Avenue of the Sun in River Mounds City. This was a warren of warehouses, workshops, and craft specialists, all packed together in the close confines that made up the area just back from the canoe landing and River House’s elongated plaza.

  All Blue Heron had to do was crane her neck, and she could see the River Mounds palace roof between the spaces as she was carried through the maze. That her people could find the way was a sort of miracle in itself.

  She had worked for days to set up this meet. Sent stealthy runners off in the night to ensure that all the pieces were in place. And now she would discover if she still had the old touch.

  The way led past an old weaver’s; the woman was sitting out in the sun, squinting at her work as she ran weft through the stays of her loom. She glanced up, shot a sour smile Blue Heron’s way that exposed pink gums long bereft of teeth.

  And then Blue Heron’s litter rounded the old woman’s house and into a small yard bounded on one side by the weaver’s, by a ramada on the second, and by a prosperous-looking house and ramada on the third. A young woman waited beside the door, a pretty thing, with long glossy hair, a triangular face, and large eyes. She rose, displaying a pregnant belly, as Blue Heron’s litter was deposited in the yard.

  Bones aching, Blue Heron climbed to her feet and grabbed up the sack she’d brought with her.

  “Lady?” her head porter asked. “Can I be of assistance?”

  “No. I don’t think I’ll be long. You and the rest, relax. Enjoy the shade in the ramada. I’m told that those jars contain water and there’s a latrine around the back.”

  “Yes, Lady.”

  Blue Heron walked over to the young woman. “Whispering Dawn. You’ve changed since you first appeared before me with a leash around your ankle.”

  “Keeper?”

  “Not anymore. I need to see Wooden Doll. She knows I’m coming.”

  “This way.” Whispering Dawn opened the door, asking shyly, “How is Seven Skull Shield?”

  “In trouble, if I was to guess. But then, what’s new about that? He been here recently?”

  “Haven’t seen him.”

  “That makes two of us.” She stepped into a well-furnished room, a stack of firewood by the door. Thick rugs and hair-on hides partially obscured an intricately woven floor mat. Wall benches were opulently furnished with blankets, robes, and fine furs.

  A small fire, just enough to provide illumination, burned in the central hearth. Several corrugated pots steamed on stones at the side of the coals. The smells were delightful—mint, black drink, and something made from boiled flower petals.

  In the rear an ample bed had been built into the wall and was thick with pillows, blankets, and soft furs.

  Wooden Doll rose from the bed, a warm smile on her full lips as she strode across the floor. She took Blue Heron’s hand in her own. Keeping her grip, she bowed low, touching her forehead respectfully, and said, “Lady. I bid you a most warm welcome. Please, have a seat. Dawn? Pour the Keeper a cup of that black drink.”

  To Blue Heron she added, “I’ve brewed it specially for you. If you’re hungry, I can lay a feast for you in less than a finger’s time. I have roast venison, stuffed duck, acorn bread seasoned with blueberries, or stewed buffalo tongue in onions and tender goosefoot leaves.”

  “I thought times were lean, given the near-empty storehouses in River Mounds.”

  “They are.” She smiled, leading Blue Heron to one of the benches. “For those who can’t afford it. Your preference?”

  “Buffalo tongue?”

  “Dawn? Please?”

  “Yes, Matron.” And the young woman was out the door, shutting it behind her to give them privacy.

  “Thanks for seeing me.”

  Wooden Doll seated herself a respectful but intimate distance from Blue Heron, her keen brown eyes measuring. “What can I help you with?”

  “I take it that I don’t have to explain the political situation in River Mounds. You are aware that Three Fingers and Broken Stone are about to move on War Duck and Round Pot. Broken Stone’s faction is using the opening of the storehouses to replenish Columella’s stores as a rallying point to topple his brother and sister.”

  Wooden Doll’s arched brow indicated the obvious. “I don’t take sides.”

  “We both know better than that. I’m here to do business, and I think you’re the key to River Mounds City and River House.”

  “Me? I’m just a woman who sells herself.”

  “And I’m just a has-been Clan Keeper.” Blue Heron grinned. “Kind of nice being dismissed as irrelevant by the rest of the world, isn’t it?”

  Wooden Doll’s almost deadly smile proved more eloquent than words. “What exactly do you need from me?”

  “Three Fingers, using Broken Stone, wants to ascend to the high chair. I don’t want to see him do it.”

  “Why should I care which side wins? War Duck, bless his sordid soul, takes a portion of what I make. Tribute, he calls it. Broken Stone might not take any, assuming he even knows who passes what to River House when it comes to wealth.”

  “What if I could put in a good word for you? You see, War Duck is in need of friends these days. He might be persuaded to forget any ‘tribute’ his few friends might owe. Given the right circumstances.”

  “Neither War Duck nor Round Pot have ever been friends of yours. I’d think, Keeper, that you’d want them gone, as many headaches as they’ve gi
ven you over the years.”

  “You know Three Fingers.” She pointed. “He’s been in that bed of yours a time or two.”

  “So has War Duck. What’s your point?”

  “My point is that you know that if Three Fingers ultimately takes over, he’s going to go about shaking things up. What’s the point of suddenly having all that authority and prestige you’ve longed for all your life if you can’t flaunt it? And there are paybacks that will need to be made. People, lineages that have stood in his way in the past, need to be dispatched. Additional purges on top of the ones Rising Flame just made prior to sending that expedition off to the south. The old familiar structure is going to be turned on its head. A major disruption of business.

  “Might even drive some of the Trade to other places. Perhaps Evening Star Town, or worse, Horned Serpent Town, despite the lack of a close canoe landing there.

  “Not to mention that keeping War Duck and Round Pot in control lets me deal with the enemy I know. It would take time, effort, and distasteful means to educate either Broken Stone—if he’s left alive—or Three Fingers as to where his best interests lie.”

  Wooden Doll laughed. “I thought Rising Flame knocked you off your pedestal as Clan Keeper.”

  “Oh, she did. Cut me right off at the ankles and left me impotent, as you can see. Poor me.”

  “Why do you care who controls River House? You could sit back, enjoy good food, sleep late, and be lazy. Watch from afar, saying, ‘Told you so.’”

  Blue Heron sighed. “The problem with Cahokia, from the very beginning, is that it has the fundamental impulse to tear itself apart. It did in the days of Tharon and Petaga, and it does now, despite the living god. I’ve worked all my life to keep the city together, and now we’re building an empire. After all these years, all the sacrifice and blood, I don’t want to see Spotted Wrist lose it because he doesn’t know his job.”

  Wooden Doll considered. “I didn’t know you were such a starry-headed idealist.”

  “I’m more of a self-centered pragmatist, actually.”