Lightning Shell--A People of Cahokia Novel, page 24
And just maybe, Matron, I’ll burn your palace in retaliation for your burning of River House’s.
At the bottom of the stairs, the crowd was thick along the Avenue of the Sun. Held back by the Morning Star guards, the wall of humanity was packed shoulder-to-shoulder and spilling out onto the plaza. This was the second evening of the Busk, after all. That seething ocean of people—porters, litters, servants, and runners belonging to the nobles on the Council Terrace and those up at Morning Star’s palace. And then there were the entourages from the foreign embassies, the pilgrims, the Traders, and the crush of dirt farmers all come to central Cahokia in hopes of seeing Morning Star, or just to share in the celebration.
As Spotted Wrist stepped onto the Avenue of the Sun, Cut Weasel, at the head of Spotted Wrist’s escort, bellowed an order. The warriors, having more or less held a position at the edge of the stairs, shoved and butted a hollow out of the masses so that Spotted Wrist could mount his litter.
Then, calling, “Make way! Make way for Clan Keeper Spotted Wrist!” they battered their way through the press.
Somehow, they pushed through the sea of bodies, eliciting the occasional scream from some individual who didn’t move fast enough. From his high seat atop the litter, the sight reminded Spotted Wrist of a log propelled through thick flood debris.
And then they were free of the massed humanity, able to make progress on the still-crowded avenue as people had room to at least get out of the way.
Rounding the southeastern corner of Morning Star’s great mound, Spotted Wrist’s warriors carried him north past the various palaces, dwellings, temples, and society houses to his relatively modest abode atop its low mound on the margins of the eastern plaza. This had traditionally been Morning Star House territory; his own palace mound had once belonged to Lady Lace. But then, this was only supposed to have been a temporary dwelling. By now he should have been living in Night Shadow Star’s opulent dwelling, with its commanding view of the Great Plaza.
When Spotted Wrist’s litter was lowered before his short flight of stairs, he noticed that a glow was coming from inside, that a fire had been lit for the night. A group of warriors on his veranda rose to their feet.
Pounding up his steps, Spotted Wrist took the warriors’ salutes, and called, “Who comes?”
A dark form stepped out. “Squadron Second Sharp Twig, Keeper. I come with a message from Squadron First Heart Warrior.”
“Well, praise to Morning Star,” Spotted Wrist growled. “At least something has gone right. Come, enter, Squadron Second. Can I get you anything to drink? Tea perhaps?”
“No, Keeper.” Sharp Twig bowed respectfully before following Spotted Wrist into the palace great room, such as it was. The matting had, of course, been stripped out to leave the floor bare dirt. Each of the wall benches was piled with his personal guard’s blankets, their possessions shoved beneath. With all the war trophies on his walls, the place looked more like a Men’s House than a palace.
Which gave his stomach another sour twist.
Marching to the dais behind the fire, Spotted Wrist seated himself, asking, “Very well. What news?”
Sharp Twig pulled himself up, his armor looking grimy, sweat-stained, and unkempt. “I have just returned with another five canoes from downriver, Clan Keeper. Squadron First Heart Warrior wishes you to know that he continues to pursue canoes down past the confluence with the Mother Water. He wants you to know—”
“The Mother Water?” Spotted Wrist cried. “What’s he doing down there?”
“Why, retrieving the stolen canoes, Lord Keeper.” Sharp Twig looked confused. “Following the Keeper’s orders. That he was not to return until he had recovered every single—”
“He’s supposed to be forming ranks of warriors three-days’ march south of Evening Star town! Ready to occupy it while the Evening Star House clans are squabbling over who should replace Columella!”
“Keeper, sir?” Sharp Twig looked totally mystified.
Spotted Wrist clamped his eyes shut, pinched his nose. “I sent two messengers by canoe. Dispatched them but a half moon past. You’re telling me that my commander remains unaware that he is supposed to be assembling Forest Squadron three-days’ march downriver of Evening Star Town? That instead of preparing to attack Evening Star Town, he is blithely chasing down the Father Water collecting ever fewer canoes? Let’s see, with your five, I now have recovered twenty-eight of the eighty-some missing canoes. Twenty-eight!”
Sharp Twig winced.
“And how far is Heart Warrior taking his squadron in this mad quest? All the way to the Gulf?” Spotted Wrist thundered.
“I don’t know, Lord Keeper. The Squadron First’s last orders were not to return until every single canoe—”
“I gods-rotted know the orders, Second. I gave them.” Spotted Wrist gulped for air, tried to slow his pounding heart. “But what you’re telling me is that no squadron of warriors is being quietly assembled? That we have no ability to take the disorganized Evening Star forces by surprise? That any hope of that possibility is paddling gaily down the Father Water until who knows when?”
Sharp Twig pulled himself upright, finding some remnant of a spine that might have turned to water. “After all these years, the Lord Keeper knows that if Squadron First Heart Warrior had received orders to give up the hunt for the canoes and assemble a squadron three days’ march south of Evening Star Town, he would have done so.”
Spotted Wrist clamped his eyes shut, making himself breathe. Just breathe. That’s it. Breathe in, breathe out. Breathe in, breathe out. Yes, my heart. Slow. Steady. Get control. Think rationally.
But what did this mean?
He could almost believe that Power was making a mockery of him. This was the perfect time to strike at Evening Star Town. Columella would be dead by morning. Her people would have no clue until it was too late.
Gone. The chance has vanished like morning mist on a hot day.
“Squadron Second,” Spotted Wrist snapped.
“Lord Keeper,” Sharp Twig cried, slapping a hand to his chest.
“You will turn right around, collect your warriors, and fly your canoe downriver until you find Heart Warrior. You will order the squadron first to immediately collect all his warriors and whatever canoes he has. That he will … he will…”
“Assemble the squadron three days’ march south of—”
“No! Rot you! We’re too late for that!” Spotted Wrist struggled for control. “Pus and blood, let me think.”
So, what was the move? Given the time it would take for Sharp Twig to find the squadron and then to paddle back upriver, Heart Warrior couldn’t make his return to Cahokia in less than a half moon. Maybe longer than that. Indeed, figure longer.
Meanwhile, Evening Star Town will be in chaos.
Didn’t matter that Columella would be dead, Rising Flame was willing to make peace with Evening Star House. Spotted Wrist could no longer consider the clan matron a solid ally. At this stage, it was every man and woman for his or herself.
A full moon. That’s how long he’d have to hold Cahokia with what was left of North Star and Wolverine Squadrons. Though he could, if necessary, call up the Earth Clans squadrons that were subordinated to North Star House. But only as a last resort. Doing so would trigger a call-up from every other House in the city.
I play a most dangerous game.
But ultimately he had to hold central Cahokia, and with it, Morning Star. He could accomplish that with just his two remaining squadrons and North Star House to back him. If he had Horned Serpent House—or what was left of it—he’d still control enough warriors to prevail. But he’d have to have a guarantee that Horned Serpent House would back him.
“Squadron Second,” he said at last, “you will find Squadron First Heart Warrior and order him to assemble his squadron and proceed as rapidly as he can. He is to land at the Horned Serpent Town’s canoe landing. The squadron will assemble and proceed at fast march to Horned Serpent Town. There it will be supported by High Chief Green Chunkey. And, if the high chief has been replaced, Forest Squadron will find additional orders awaiting its arrival. But tell Heart Warrior to prepare for the fact that he might have to seize the House on my orders.”
Sharp Twig blinked. “Seize Horned Serpent—”
“Did I stutter, Squadron Second?”
“No, Lord Keeper!”
“Well? Why are you still standing here? Get your sorry chafed carcass out of my palace and back on the river. The sooner you find Heart Warrior, the sooner my pus-dripping squadron is in Horned Serpent Town. Do you understand?”
“Yes, Clan Keeper!” Sharp Twig hammered off a salute, turned on his heel, and ran from the palace.
For a moment the room hung in stunned silence, then Cut Weasel asked, “Horned Serpent Town?” He raised an inquiring brow. “In a moon or so?”
In the eye of his soul, Spotted Wrist thought he saw how the parts could come together. “My friend, the only thing that will save us in the long run is ourselves. We just need to buy ourselves enough time for Heart Warrior to get back. Assuming the worst, that Green Chunkey is deposed, we’ll need Heart Warrior to secure Horned Serpent Town in the south. After that, I think we’re going to have to take sterner measures.”
“And if Clan Matron Rising Flame objects?” Cut Weasel asked uncertainly.
“At first sign of that, the good Matron might have an unlucky fire.”
“Sort of like Blue Heron had?”
“That’s right, Squadron Second. Seems like that happens a lot to the women who stand against me.”
Thirty-eight
To Fire Cat’s amazement, it worked. Partly because of the gray day, the drizzle, the late hour, and half-light, they marched right through the middle of Canyon Town, their heads down, features half-hidden in the soggy blankets draped over their heads and shoulders.
He and Night Shadow Star held the Trader’s staffs at half mast, the feathers dripping. Plodding between the Cahokian shelters, they skirted smoldering fires surrounded by knots of warriors, Earth Clans farmers, tradesmen and their families. All looking miserable. None casting more than a dismissive glance their way.
The nobles, of course, had commandeered all the bent-pole dwellings, displacing the locals, and to no one’s surprise the Trade House at the edge of the plaza was packed.
Fire Cat caught Night Shadow Star’s sidelong glance at the building, knew that lining of her brow, the mocking twist to her lips. “Wife?”
“They can have it,” she told him. “Not a place where a decent female Trader can sleep in peace. Power of Trade or no.”
“Could have been worse,” Winder called from behind. “I might have stumbled upon some gorgeous young woman willing to share her blankets for the night in return for a string of shell beads. Wouldn’t have known you were missing until the next morning.”
“You and Seven Skull Shield.” Night Shadow Star made a wry face, then winced as it pulled at the scab on her cut cheek. “Is that all you think about?”
Winder—burdened by the disguised box of Trade—kept a straight face. “Well, there’s also food.”
“And making a nuisance of yourselves,” Fire Cat added.
“Ah, yes, there’s that.” Winder grinned in a most satisfied way.
They passed along the side of the plaza; the low-humped shape of the Tchkofa resembled a wet turtle’s back—though a thread of blue rose from the smoke hole, vanishing into the drizzle.
“Would you look at that?” Blood Talon said in awe. “War Leader, would you recognize those as the same chunkey courts you played on?”
Fire Cat allowed a faint shake of the head, told Night Shadow Star, “They were just strips of dirt. Now look, graded flat with packed sand, and someone spent a lot of labor leveling them. Even Crazy Frog would approve.”
Night Shadow Star shifted her pack on her back. “I’d say that Squadron First Tall Dancer is planning on leaving a garrison here. Maybe a detachment of warriors and a bunch of priests. They wouldn’t put that much effort into the courts otherwise. I think, whether the locals like it or not, Canyon Town just became a Cahokian colony.”
“Makes sense,” Blood Talon agreed. “My bet is that Cahokia might have come here under the Power of Trade, but it’s going to stay under the power of might. Same with White Chief Town on the other side of the Suck and Rage. Both towns are strategically important when it comes to controlling the river Trade. From here on out, Cahokia can use the portage as a chokepoint.”
Winder vented a wistful sigh, plodding along at the back of the Trade box.
“That bothers you, Trader?” Fire Cat asked.
“Aye, Red Wing. The Power of Trade gives way before the might of Cahokia.” A pause. “Nothing will be the same. Some of the river’s charm dies with each new colony. We can say that we were among the last to travel the old river, who knew it as it was. By the time this grand expedition of Spotted Wrist’s has run its course, the Tenasee will be nothing more than a Cahokian creek from its confluence with the Mother Water to the Wide Fast. And maybe all the way to Cofitachequi.”
“And that saddens you?” Night Shadow Star asked. “You’re Cahokian.”
“Doesn’t mean I don’t have a fondness for the variety, Lady. An appreciation for all these different peoples with their varied ways, languages, and quaint customs.”
“So much for their quaint customs,” Blood Talon muttered. “A bunch of them just down from here were going to hack me into roasted pieces because a tree fell on a house.” He made a growling noise. “I’m not sympathetic. Let the Cahokians come. Civilize the whole lot of them.”
“After my brush with the Catawba, Squadron First, the idea has a certain appeal,” Night Shadow Star agreed. “What’s the Power of Trade worth if just anyone can ambush a canoe, murder its occupants, and use them for sacrificial revenge? Not that Walking Smoke didn’t commit an atrocity in their village, but why take it out on the innocent? So much for the Power of Trade among the barbarians. Say what you will about Cahokia, where it goes, peace follows.”
Fire Cat bit his lip, let his eyes linger on the chunkey grounds as he and the rest continued past.
The Cahokians would build a palace dedicated to the worship of Morning Star next, priests expounding upon the miracle of the living god. Religion, Trade, and conquest—all with the military strength to back them up—marching hand-in-hand up the Tenasee. Tying together the colonies all the way to Cofitachequi.
Winder, however, wasn’t about to give it a rest. “What about you, Red Wing? You’re not Cahokian. Do you see it the same way?”
Fire Cat bit his lip harder, but to his surprise it was Blood Talon who said, “Leave it be, Trader. The War Leader has more than enough reason to hate Cahokia and all that it stands for. I was there, I was responsible. I know what it cost him at Red Wing Town, and what it costs him every day of his life.”
“And yet he saved the city, even saved the living god, if the stories can be believed.” Winder continued to worry it as they marched past the far end of the court.
The mountain wall was just visible under the low-hanging curtain of drizzling clouds. As they passed the last of the bent-pole dwellings, they saw a small cluster of warriors standing under a ramada at the trail head.
Night Shadow Star took a deep breath. “What Fire Cat did, he did in service to me,” she told them. “First with Walking Smoke, then with the Itza, and finally in the Underworld. That was honor. Not a love for Cahokia.”
“Quiet now. Finish this conversation later,” Fire Cat said as they followed the sloppy path to the trailhead. “We’re just Traders. If they ask, we’re headed to White Chief Town. Just traveling under the Power of Trade.”
One of the warriors stepped out, called in horribly accented Trade pidgin, “Who comes?”
“Traders,” Fire Cat called back. “Headed downriver to White Chief Town. Hope to hire a canoe. Been over Cofitachequi way. We have Trade that will fetch us a profit downriver.”
The warrior squinted at them. “It’s getting dark. A bit late to leave town, isn’t it?”
Night Shadow Star, in pidgin, asked, “You been to the Trade House? Not a bed to be had.”
“Unless you want to sleep three-deep on the ground,” Winder added. “We know where there’s a shelter a hand’s journey down the path. Off the trail and half a stone’s throw up the slope. Bark-sided. Hunters from town built it. It’ll keep us dry for the night.”
“Not anymore.” The warrior was peering intently at Blood Talon. “Don’t I know you?”
“Maybe. Been Trading up by Joara, have you?” Blood Talon shrugged.
The warrior turned, “Jay Tail. Come over here. Something about this one—”
“Oh, come,” Fire Cat offered in a jovial voice. “We’re just Traders. It’s getting dark. That shelter—”
“Is gone.” The warrior slicked the water from his hair, his beaded forelock swinging. “They used it for material when they upgraded the portage. You think the War Leader wanted to carry all those canoes over that original rut you people call a trail?”
Jay Tail—who by the cut of the single feather stuck in his hair must have been a squadron third—emerged from the ramada’s shelter to ask, “What’s this about?”
“Something not right. These Traders—”
“Want to get on about our business,” Night Shadow Star snapped. “It’s going to be dark soon, and we need to find someplace to stay out of the weather.”
“What’s wrong with Canyon Town?” The squadron third bristled at the authoritative tone that had crept into Night Shadow Star’s voice.
“No room,” Winder said easily. “Even fewer beds if we stay the night. For all we know, we’d have to sneak into the Tchkofa to find a dry place, and you know they take a really dim view of that sort of thing here.”
