Star Path--People of Cahokia

by W. Michael Gear

  Winder was giving her that now familiar I’m-really-concerned-about-you look. “You sure you want to go through with this?”

  “This is why you don’t want anything to do with me. I told you I was headed toward a dark fate.”

  His voice was filled with unease as he reshouldered his pack. “I guess I’ll take my chances.”

  “Get me to Joara. Then you leave. I told you, I don’t want to have to tell Seven Skull Shield that I got you killed. Especially by Walking Smoke. It would hurt something deep in the thief’s soul if your skin was hung on a frame.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind.”

  “Good. How far to Joara?”

  “Maybe three days.”

  “Let’s get about it, then.” And as they started up the trail again, she mused, “Hung his skin on a frame? Wonder what my charming brother did with the rest of the poor man?”

  But she thought she knew.

  Seventy-four

  “War Leader?” The words brought Five Fists to full wakefulness. He opened his eyes to the faint glow of the eternal fire; it illuminated the high ceiling of Morning Star’s palace with its reddish glow.

  He sat up in his bed, feeling Foxweed stir beside him. The Panther Clan woman—perhaps to the surprise of both of them—had been in Five Fists’ bed now for more than a year. As if, different though they might be, some long-hidden parts of their souls had fit together.

  “War Claw?” Five Fists placed the dimly lit shape standing at attention. He tossed the blankets to the side, swinging his legs out of bed. “What’s wrong?”

  He kept his voice low so as not to disturb the others who slept on the ornate benches surrounding the walls.

  “Warriors are moving in the Great Plaza, War Leader. Small squads. The guards at the bottom of the Great Staircase just sent me word. I came straight here. What do you want to do?”

  “Call up the Morning Star squadron? No, I need more information. Who they are? What are they doing? Could just be one of the Earth Clans running a training drill they forgot to tell us about.” Five Fists rubbed his face, feeling his crooked jaw. “That’s all you know? Just small squads of warriors?”

  “That’s all the guards reported, they…”

  The palace door was set aside, one of the guards from the Morning Star Gate hurrying into the great room. He came straight for Five Fists’ bed, tapping his chin in salute. “War Leader? There’s a fire. Lady Blue Heron’s palace.”

  “What?” War Claw cried.

  “Let’s go look,” Five Fists growled. To the guard, he said, “I want you back on the gate. Something rotten is afoot.”

  Pulling his breechcloth on and grabbing up his old war ax, Five Fists got to his feet. He hated the feeling of stiffness from old bones and injuries. War Claw close on his heels, he hurried out the double doors and into the palace courtyard.

  The night was warm and humid, the sky washed with patterns of stars. Picking his way past some of the litters, he hurried to the southwest bastion, quickly climbing the ladder. Poking his head through the access hole, he stopped short.

  “Lord? Is that…” Yes. He knew Morning Star’s silhouette where it blotted the stars. “Excuse me, Lord. Something’s—”

  “Tell War Claw to have the Morning Star squadron stand down.”

  “Yes, Lord.” Bending his head to peer down the ladder, he asked, “You heard?”

  “Yes, War Leader.” War Claw banged out a formal salute. “Any other instructions?”

  “Tell your warriors that I don’t want them starting trouble. They are not to interfere,” Morning Star’s voice called down. “Tell them to be patient, and to follow orders.”

  “Yes, Lord!” War Claw called, bowing his head low and touching his forehead respectfully. Then he whirled, leaving for the gate at a run.

  Five Fists hesitated. “Lord? A guard reports that Lady Blue Heron’s—”

  “Step up here, War Leader. We must talk.”

  Five Fists, warily, climbed the rest of the way up into the bastion. His heart hammered as he stared down at Blue Heron’s palace, the roof a fountain of flame. He could see warriors, in battle armor, standing in a semicircle at the foot of the old Keeper’s stairs.

  “We should get someone down there to see—”

  “Too late,” Morning Star said softly, his face given a reddish cast by the burning palace. “Events will unfold as they must.”

  “Lord?”

  Morning Star turned, his attention to the distant southeast as if he could see beyond the horizon. “When Power employs a human, it is always a gamble. Will they succeed, or fail? Most are never strong enough to win. And, ultimately, they are so fragile. Death being what it is, humans are at best a short-term and unreliable resource.”

  Five Fists experienced an unusual churning in his stomach as he cast another glance at the burning palace below. “Lord, those warriors down at Blue Heron’s aren’t even trying to help. They’re just standing there, more like they’re ensuring the place burns along with anyone inside.”

  “Power is shifting. The game—if you will—is about to change. Some players sacrificed, new ones added to the play. Everything is about to be different.”

  “Lord?”

  “Your job in the coming days, War Leader, is to follow my orders without question. Nothing more, nothing less.”

  “Yes, Lord. But what if these warriors try and take the palace? You could be in great—”

  “All of existence, Cahokia itself, is a gamble. The gaming pieces are cast. Let them fall where they will.” Morning Star’s eyes remained focused on the southeast. “One could almost pity them, you know. It’s not going to work out like any of them anticipate.”

  “Who, Lord? You mean Lady Night Shadow Star and her party? The expedition?”

  “I mean for any of them,” Morning Star said with a curious resignation, as if awaiting some—

  The flash of light burned out of the southeastern night, brilliant to the point of blinding. Trailing yellow-green fire, it streaked across the sky like a bizarre flaming arrow as it hurtled toward Cahokia.

  Five Fists experienced that old queasiness that came at the launch of an enemy attack. Almost ducked out of instinct, and watched the light flicker out as it passed directly overhead.

  “So, it begins,” Morning Star whispered. “I’m so sorry.”

  Five Fists stared down at the fire consuming Blue Heron’s palace, wondered at the distress in his gut, disturbed that she was burning alive in there.

  Warriors on the move, orders to stand down, Blue Heron’s palace burning, the meteor streaking the skies—he placed a hand to his suddenly sick stomach.

  “Lord, can’t you give me something to hope for?”

  Morning Star continued to gaze off toward the southeast as he said, “Chaos and death.”

  Final Steps

  The Casqui is back. I have just listened to his story. Of how he carefully abducted Night Shadow Star from Canyon Town. Was pushing out onto the river in his canoe when he was attacked at the last minute by a band of heavily armed warriors.

  How he struggled to get away, clamping his hand over Night Shadow Star’s mouth. How he couldn’t fight off the last of the attackers, while his “war hand” was on her mouth.

  So, he tells me, he has hurried upriver, waited at Cane Town, and upon the arrival of Night Shadow Star’s imposing party, has hastened here to warn me. Hopes that in some small way, that will entice me to reward him.

  Oh, staggering joy.

  I yawn.

  Instead of beating his head in on the spot, I smile, telling him, “These things happen.”

  And oh yes, I will “reward” him. One should always get due compensation for being an idiot.

  And knowing she was in Cane Town? That tells me which direction she is coming from.

  I knew it had to be through Joara. The only question was which trail she would arrive on. West or north?

  West it is.

  I glance around my little “palace,�
�� see it for what it is: a Clan House filled with shrines I have built from people’s bones, the Power designs I have painted on the walls with their blood. My sleeping bench in the back.

  Nothing here to save.

  And it will serve its purpose.

  Night Shadow Star will have heard of it. People talk. And I am thrilled down to my bones to be one of their most-discussed topics. My doings passing from lip to lip. She expects to find me here. At the center of my Power. In my lair.

  If all my other measures fail, she will come to this final place, step through that door.

  If all my other measures fail.

  Time to go see Fire Light. Tell him that the wait is over. Now he will have to step up. Earn his way back to Cahokia. Not that he has much to do. Just lend me some of his warriors.

  Traps must have layers within layers. Snap. Snap. Snap.

  So, if one doesn’t work and seems to have been avoided, the next is ready to be sprung.

  She must be led to think she’s winning.

  And, who knows? Perhaps Fire Light’s warriors will ambush her party on the trail, kill her protector, and bring her to me all trussed up, ready for our Blessed reunion?

  Seventy-five

  Cane Town stood on the Wide Fast’s south bank, a collection of bent-pole dwellings around a square with its Tchkofa. Behind the town, the forest rose like a majestic wall to roll up the sides of the hills like a lumpy green blanket. From the open ground in town, Fire Cat could see west toward the bulk of the mountains, great heaves of rock and soil that rose in successive waves, each bluer and fainter as they receded into the distance.

  He had ceased to be amazed that the surface of the world could be mounded so high, or that there seemingly was no end to it.

  “Thoughts?” Blood Talon asked, stepping up beside him.

  Fire Cat smiled wearily. “Just thinking about what a fool I’ve been.”

  “How’s that, War Leader?”

  “War leader?”

  “I think it’s time I address you as such. Especially since I haven’t seen you act like much of a fool since you pulled me off that scaffold back downriver. So, what exactly do you refer to?”

  Fire Cat gestured toward the distant mountains, and then at the world around them. “As a young man I considered Red Wing Town the center of the world. Then the world expanded to Cahokia, which humbled me. Surely that was all the people in the world. And now I have traveled this far, past the Blue Mountains, and still the world continues. I was arrogant in my knowledge of my place and my city’s place at the center of things. Now, considering the vastness, I understand just how insignificant I really am.”

  Blood Talon squinted up at the high peaks, nodded. “I think we both have learned. I have Traded for dried corn, pawpaws, and mulberries. I also found a fisherman down at the canoe landing who will carry us across the river to the Herosihachi trail that will take us to the divide.”

  “Even better than that,” Fire Cat told him, “I talked with a family of farmers who just arrived from Joara. My lady and Winder are just over a day ahead of us. Now, let’s go find your fisherman. It might be a hard run, and we might have to eat those supplies of yours cold, but I think we can catch them before they reach the divide.”

  Blood Talon tapped his chin in salute. “Then let’s be about it. It will be my chance to show you just how far and fast a Snapping Turtle Clan squadron first can run.”

  Fire Cat grinned. Gave him a slap on the back. “Faster and farther than a fat, lazy Red Wing, no doubt. But, Blood Talon. Once we catch up with Night Shadow Star and discover where Walking Smoke is, I don’t want you involved. You’ve heard the stories about the Lightning Shell witch? It’s him. I know it.”

  “I owe you my life.” Blood Talon looked down at his tanned, callused hands. “Even more so since I destroyed so much of yours. What do I care about some witch?”

  “Look at me. Yes, right in the eyes. You still don’t understand about the Power—that this is Piasa against the Thunderers. Sky Power opposed to Underworld Power. Something terrible is going to happen when Night Shadow Star faces Walking Smoke. Last time she almost died.”

  “Doesn’t matter, I’ll be at your side and—”

  “Whoever goes into that final confrontation, they’re not coming out of it alive.”

  Blood Talon shifted, stubbornly scuffed his foot on the hard-packed soil. “The way you put it? Sounds like the kind of fight a true warrior was born for. Maintaining the balance of Power? Me, I’m born of Snapping Turtle Clan, we’re earth people. This Lightning Shell witch we’ve been hearing about? A warrior could find no better death than helping to end such a thing.”

  Blood Talon extended his arm in the direction of the canoe landing. “Lead forth. Let’s go catch the lady and kill the witch.”

  “You do my lady and me honor.”

  “Funny you’d say that. Most everything I’ve learned of honor, it seems, I’ve learned from you.”

  Fire Cat kept his expression blank, turned on his heel, and led the way to the canoe landing.

  In his head he kept seeing the inside of Columella’s palace that day Night Shadow Star had interrupted Walking Smoke’s abominable ceremony. The severed body parts, arms, legs, torsos, arranged in such a precise pattern on the blood-soaked matting.

  My friend, you don’t know the depths of his depravity. Or how cunning and clever he is.

  Seventy-six

  Fire roared up the angle of the roof, consuming the thatch, dropping sparks and bits of burning grass that landed on the sleeping benches. There, within moments, they set fire to the blankets, the folded fabrics. The same with the beautifully dyed textiles that hung from the front walls. Flames now curled up their colorful patterns, turning them black.

  Blue Heron kept a grip on Smooth Pebble’s arm, pulled her backward, past the fire, and then past her dais.

  “I don’t want to die like this,” Smooth Pebble told her, a tremble running through her body.

  “Wasn’t exactly my plan, either,” Blue Heron admitted.

  Still, it was masterfully done. Of course, everyone would suspect she’d been murdered, but there was always doubt. She’d relied on that herself over the years as she’d eliminated rivals, destroyed opposition. That was how politics worked.

  Tomorrow, while Wind and her people sorted through the ashes, assuming she had the time to do so, Spotted Wrist would present himself to offer his most solemn condolences. “Such a terrible accident. If only it hadn’t happened in the middle of the night! Poor Blue Heron and Smooth Pebble. Must have been sound asleep. From where their burned remains were found, they’d awakened, tried to fight their way to the door, but, alas, it was too late!”

  “You are a vindictive bit of walking vomit,” she said, addressing Spotted Wrist as if he were in the room. “If I could go back? My first act would be to poison you the day you returned from Red Wing Town.”

  “Bit late for that,” Smooth Pebble said. Then she caught a lungful of smoke and started coughing.

  “Getting a bit warm in here,” Blue Heron said, retreating to the door to her personal quarters. “You really want to burn to death?”

  “Have your souls taken leave of your senses?”

  “There’s a way, you know.”

  “What way?”

  “A way to turn this back on Spotted Wrist. A way where you and I don’t die in agony. A quick way that will drive a thorn right through Spotted Wrist’s heart.”

  Smooth Pebble gave in to a fit of coughing again as a portion of the thatch over the door collapsed into the room to leave a blizzard of twirling and angry sparks in its wake. Open to the outside now, the fire drafted hotter as it burned its way up past the ridgepole.

  “What way?” Smooth Pebble asked.

  Blue Heron beckoned her. “We’ll do it back here.”

  “What are we doing?”

  Blue Heron found the old stone-headed war club. Lifted it in the gaudy firelight that shone through her door. Over the roaring fire,
she shouted, “Suppose they found you at the foot of my bed with your head smashed in? And suppose they found me in my bed, with a long chert blade sticking out of my ribs?”

  “They’d think someone burned the place to cover your murder.”

  “They would, wouldn’t they?”

  “And who’s going to do this?” Smooth Pebble bellowed over the increasing roar of the fire.

  “I’ll kill you,” Blue Heron shouted back. “It’ll be quick. I promise. You won’t feel a thing.”

  “And then what?”

  Blue Heron reached into the box where she kept the long brown chert blade, the one Walking Smoke’s assassin had once tried to cut her throat with. “I drive this in.” She pointed. “Right here, under my breast. I can cut the lung and slice the heart. Won’t take me but a few heartbeats to die.”

  Smooth Pebble’s eyes were wide with disbelief, her breath coming in panicked gasps. “You’re insane!”

  Blue Heron gestured at the fire. “Describe insane.”

  Smooth Pebble was having trouble swallowing, sweat beading on her skin. She was shaking now, the rising fear gleaming in her eyes as she stared out at the great room. More burning roof thatch fell in a cascade of fire.

  “I guess … I guess…” Smooth Pebble blinked, tears streaking down her cheeks. “Just … Yes. Do it.” And so saying, she dropped to her knees, bending her head down to give Blue Heron a clean strike at the back of her skull.

  “You have been a good and dear friend to me,” Blue Heron told her as she tightened her grip on the club. “I will see you on the other side.”

  She tried to steady her arms and hands. She’d never done anything like this. At least, not the cold-blooded execution of a beloved friend.

  “Will you hurry!” Smooth Pebble pleaded, her hands clenched at her sides.

  Blue Heron gritted her few teeth, took a breath, and …

  “Hey!” the bellowed cry came from the corner of her room. “What in Piasa’s name are you doing?”