Lightning Shell--A People of Cahokia Novel, page 52
“Thrown pot. Good trick I learned from Mother Otter,” she told him. “Works like magic when it comes to getting that mongrel out of the stew.”
“Hard on pots, though.” Seven Skull Shield reached for her pipe.
“I might hit you with more than a thrown pot. You take chances, Thief. Asking the Clan Keeper for her personal pipe? You never seem to remember that I can have you hung in a square with a single word. Can’t you steal your own pipe from some unlucky dirt farmer who looks at you the wrong way?”
“Somehow, it keeps slipping my mind,” Seven Skull Shield told her. He took a puff, expanded his chest, and exhaled the smoke through his nose with a sigh. “And even if you did, I’d just ask Morning Star for clemency. He thinks kindly of me for some reason.”
She shot him a warning glance. “You know we don’t talk about that.”
“’Course not.” The thief couldn’t suppress a smile as Farts came sneaking warily back, floppy ears pricked, nose quivering as he slunk his way back toward the stairs. “I figure another finger of time, another pot.”
“One of these days Smooth Pebble will hit him.”
“I think she just likes breaking your pots.”
“She does have a soft spot for you and that dog.” Blue Heron shot him a disdainful stare. “What is it with you, anyway?”
“I grow on people.” He took another draw on her pipe and handed it back. “You heard about that new chunkey player down at River City? Calls himself Red Wing Black, paints his entire body in secret before he steps out onto the court? It’s a guy with a lot of scars. Looks like he fought an Itza or something. Wins with uncanny frequency.”
“Huh. Thought Five Fists and Blood Talon were putting a stop to that.”
“I think they tried. Gave it up as a lost cause. That, and well, what’re they supposed to do when the living god gives them an order?”
She pointed the pipe at him in a warning gesture. “You’re to keep your mouth shut. No one—”
“Crazy Frog knows.”
“Pus, rot, and spit! I thought it was too good to last. By the end of the quarter moon, half the city will—”
“Not a word is being said.” Seven Skull Shield pulled his knobby knee up, clasping it with his callused hands. “For one thing, Crazy Frog owes you and Wind for saving his family. For another, he’s as anxious as anyone to keep Cahokia’s prosperity and peace. He’s winning a lot of bets when Red Wing Black plays. And, if the day ever comes when Morning Star is found out, it will bring even greater fame to the River City chunkey courts. Crazy Frog’s no one’s fool.”
“Haven’t seen you for a couple of days. Where you been?”
“Canoe landing. Around. Had to do something sneaky for Lady Sun Wing. She needed someone … um, discreet.”
Blue Heron felt her heart skip and sink. “Don’t tell me you’ve been sneaking into Sun Wing’s bed and—”
“Pus and snot, no!” Seven Skull Shield gave her a disgusted look. “The lady asked me to get her to the canoe landing without anyone knowing. Wanted to meet up with some people Winder brought upriver. A holy man and woman. Names are Spots and Cactus Flower, from down south, or out west, or whatever. Bundle business. That’s all.”
He grinned. “Not that the lady is without charms, assuming you might be into all those empty-eyed spooky stares and the real chance that she’d wind the souls out of your body just as you slid your—”
“That’s more than I need to hear. Or even want to try and imagine, thank you.”
“Besides—” Seven Skull Shield gave her a shrug—“it’s different these days. Wooden Doll and me, something’s changed. Maybe it was seeing how the Red Wing was with Night Shadow Star. I realized something about myself, about what I wanted.”
“Not supposed to use my niece’s name. You could call her Spirit from whichever afterlife she’s in.”
“You know I don’t believe that stuff the priests spew out.” He nodded as he squinted into the setting sun. “Besides, of all the people I’ve ever known, she was the most remarkable. Soul possession and all. If I could go back…”
When he couldn’t finish, she shot him an evaluative look. “Yes?”
“Nothing. It’s silly.” Then he gave her a saucy wink. “Actually, I had too much fun spending time with you.” He sighed. “And it was fun, wasn’t it? Outfoxing all those dangerous foes, rescuing friends, defeating enemies, all the sneaking, and thieving, and burning palaces? The howling fights, the—”
“Gods, if I never have to hear you fight again, it’ll be a plea to the Spirits of Earth, Sky, and Underworld come true.”
He tugged on his uplifted knee, then reached over for her pipe. After drawing and puffing out a blue cloud, he studied the stone tube. “Maybe you’re right. My fighting days are over. But I can still Sing. I was down at Meander’s while I was at the canoe landing, had him and his people weeping just with the Power of my voice.”
“No surprise there. Your Singing would bring a rock to tears.”
He knocked out the dottle, pinched up tobacco from her little bowl, and repacked the pipe. Then, lifting the pot of glowing embers, he bent down, sucked, and managed to light the pipe. This, he handed to her.
At that moment, calls broke out, screams followed by curses.
Blue Heron craned her neck, staring down at the Avenue of the Sun where people were diving out of the way. Farts went charging through them like a thrown boulder, ears flapping, big paws hammering on the packed sand. The dog was stretched out in full flight; a catfish was clamped in his massive jaws, the fish’s head and tail flipping up and down with each bound as if it were still alive.
“Someone!” a Deer Clan fish Trader called as he pounded past in pursuit. “Stop that foul dog! He stole my fish!”
“Guess he didn’t try for Smooth Pebble’s stew. Saves you another pot.” Seven Skull Shield leaned back to grab his knee again and bask in the setting sun. “That Deer Clan fellow doesn’t have a chance.”
“Might as well save his effort,” Blue Heron agreed.
“Spirit dog, don’t you know?” Seven Skull Shield told her.
She lifted the pipe, drew, and exhaled. “Thanks for refilling my pipe.”
The thief shrugged his thick shoulders. “What are friends for?”
Ninety-three
The equinox sun seemed to peer out from beneath the thick blanket of clouds that cloaked the sky. All through the day, people had worried that the overcast would obscure the yellow orb as it illuminated the Avenue of the Sun and marked the beginning of spring.
Then, at the last minute, it burned free on the western horizon to illuminate the bottoms of the clouds in fiery yellows, shimmering orange, iridescent crimson, glowing blue and purple.
Dressed in finery, wearing the quetzal-feather cloak he’d seen the Itza present Morning Star, his hair pulled up in a severe bun and supporting a heavy burnished-copper headdress, Fire Cat stood at the head of the Council Terrace stairs overlooking the Great Plaza. He lifted Morning Star’s heavy copper mace high in his right hand as if in benediction to the dying light.
Four Winds Clan Matron Rising Flame and Tonka’tzi Wind—wearing their finest ceremonial robes—stood to either side and a step behind.
A half year had passed, and the irony remained just as biting and acidic as it had that day he had agreed to take Morning Star’s place. He, who had doubted and fought the Morning Star myth all his life, now perpetuated the hoax.
I become the lie.
He raised his arms to the sunset, mace held up to reflect the hot red light. The roar that began with the crowd in the Great Plaza stretched out on the Avenue of the Sun; it hit him like a physical wave. Almost made him step back in shock, but he held his ground, staring into the setting sun where it dropped behind the distant silhouette of Evening Star Town.
“It’s not for you, you know,” Wind—who seemed to read his discomfort—said just loud enough to be heard over the roar of the crowd. “It’s for them.”
“No,” he answered. “It’s for my lady.”
As the last sliver of sun vanished behind the far western horizon, he turned to face the crowd, arms still spread wide. He then slowly drew his arms closed, as if personally embracing the thousands upon thousands who crowded the Great Plaza. As a final gesture, he bowed as low as he dared with the heavy headdress and touched his forehead with the mace.
The resulting roar must have been heard in the Underworld, for it surely shook the Sky World.
“You are so much better at this than he was,” Rising Flame told him. “It’s as if you own them.”
Fire Cat turned and—Wind and Rising Flame following—walked back through the double gate and into the relative sanctuary of the Council Terrace. The Earth Clans high chiefs and matrons stood packed shoulder-to-shoulder to either side, held back by Blood Talon’s warriors. No one who might have known Morning Star from the old days got within so much as four paces of Fire Cat. Even with the thick makeup and face paint.
At the foot of the stairs, Blood Talon and Five Fists—each in their polished armor—stepped in behind, climbing the high stairs. The crowds below Sang and Danced; bonfires were set here and there, and feasts were laid out to mark the end of equinox.
Fire Cat stepped to the side as the rest filed through the high palisade gate, saying, “Give me a moment. I’ll be right in.”
Only Blood Talon hesitated, standing in the recess of the gate to keep an eye on Fire Cat. “Are you all right?”
Fire Cat smiled, feeling the resistance of the thick face paint. “Squadron First, I doubt I’ll ever be all right again.”
He looked out over the masses who now Danced to the sound of pot drums, saw the flicking fires, and extended his left hand. He could feel the Power radiating from the crowd.
What he believed didn’t matter. It was what they did. And they had changed the world. Would continue to change the world. More than even Morning Star, he had lived it from the North to the far East. And here, in this central place where the Underworld and Sky World met, he had found magic.
“I still serve you, Lady.”
Epilogue
All across the Great Plaza, people burst into cheers as those who stood on the Avenue of the Sun and those gathered behind the posts in the Great Observatory marked the location of the setting sun. The celebration culminated the seven-day countdown to Spring Equinox.
Where she stood at the foot of the Great Staircase, Sun Wing turned, looking up to see Morning Star at the head of the stairs. Standing before the double gates that led into the Council Terrace, the living god faced west. In the rays of golden, glowing light, he lifted his arms, the action spreading an eagle-wing cloak as if to take flight. Sunset burned red-gold as it reflected from the polished copper headdress. And even from where she stood, Sun Wing could make out the black forked-eye design contrasting with the white face paint.
The crowd erupted into a frenzy of applause, whistles, and shouts. Behind her on the Great Plaza, the thumping of drums, the rising lilt of the flutes, and the shuffling of thousands of feet marked the beginning of the Dance. As the sun dipped behind the uplands on the far side of the river, the great bonfires were being lit.
On all sides, the Traders and vendors were doing a booming business in food, trinkets, drinks, and Trade.
“I’ve never even imagined such a place could exist,” the gray-haired man beside her said in heavily accented Cahokian. His name was Spots—a holy man from the far Southwest who had known the legendary Nightshade. His wife, a spare woman called Cactus Flower, had pulled her white hair back in a severe bun, the foreign design of her zig-zag black-and-white blanket standing out in the crowd.
Sun Wing—a curious throbbing in her chest—turned. “The Bundle tells me the time has come. I must let it go.” She steeled herself. “Power is a terrible master. I have done things, horrible things. Some I have atoned for. But the others? Some debts cannot be repaid, and I have to live with the memory.”
Spots studied her in the growing twilight. “We have a saying in our land: ‘No one wants to become a Dreamer.’”
With a quavering smile, she handed the Bundle across, felt its Song change as Spots took it.
“Take it home.” She closed her eyes, swayed on her feet, a confusion of grief, guilt, and relief filling her. A part of her suddenly went missing, opening a gaping hole within her. The sensation was akin to half of her souls vanishing in an instant. She was no longer whole.
“Are you all right?” Cactus Flower reached out and steadied her.
Sun Wing swallowed hard, the welling emptiness expanding below her heart. Memories, like bats, came fluttering up from deep down in the eye of her souls. Images of her mutilated sister, Lace, and the dissected remains of the fetus she had carried. Fragments of her madness, of the despair. The endless remorse and self-disgust. Memories of the battle she’d fought for her souls, and how the Tortoise Bundle had absorbed her pain and granted her peace. All for a price. One that had to be paid the night she’d hit Night Shadow Star in the back of the head with a hoe handle.
Power used me for its own purposes.
The knowledge struck her like a physical blow. And again, Cactus Flower kept her from staggering.
“I am so sorry, sister,” she whispered, blinked at tears, and stared up at where Morning Star still stood at the head of the Great Staircase, arms outstretched to the glow that burned along the bottoms of the low clouds.
Spots and Cactus Flower were watching her with knowing eyes. He told her, “Lady of Cahokia, Power wouldn’t have chosen you if you couldn’t bear the burden.”
She smiled weakly. “I have the rest of my life to try to come to terms with the things I did.” She gestured at where Morning Star lowered his arms and turned, surveying the crowd that called his name, Dancing, and celebrating in the miracle of his reincarnation on Earth. “And as he served my sister, I shall serve him. I owe him nothing less.”
She took a breath, stiffening her resolve. “And what about you? Will you stay in the city for a while?”
“Off tomorrow,” Cactus Flower told her, those knowing eyes shifting from Sun Wing to Spots. “Winder said he’d leave by midday. Something about spending time with a wife among the Quiz Quiz. From there we can Trade for transportation to Yellow Star Mounds. After that we will make the crossing to our lands.”
“And the Bundle?” Sun Wing asked. Not that she needed to. The Bundle would ensure that no mishap befell them.
Spots lifted it, staring hard at the blue wolf Sun Wing had painted on the worn leather. “Yes, I know,” he said in response to something the Bundle had asked.
Then he gave Sun Wing a weary smile. Told her, “The Bundle tells me we have a cannibal to kill and a soul to set free.”
Cactus Flower wrapped her black-and-white blanket tighter around her shoulders, and bowed in the Cahokian fashion, touching her forehead. “It has been an honor, Lady.”
“Mine, too,” Sun Wing replied, with a bow of her own. “Now, you’d better be going. The bonfires will light your way to River City Mounds. They’ll be feasting and Dancing all night at the canoe landing as it is.”
She watched them turn and thread their way through the jostling crowds to vanish in the growing gloom.
“Gods and rot, I am so alone,” she whispered. Then taking a deep breath, she turned and started up the steps. Morning Star would need her. Tomorrow morning he would be receiving an embassy from the Koroa.
She would have to tell him why the Koroa were so important, and why they would be interested in what happened regarding the theft of some of their copper.
If she was lucky, Farts and the thief might even be in the palace at the same time. The story was always so much more interesting to tell when they were present.
Bibliography
In addition to below, we refer the reader to the extensive bibliography on Cahokia and the Mississippian world included in People of the Morning Star. Please consult that source for the nonfiction information we relied upon during the writing of the People of Cahokia series.
Since the publication of People of the Morning Star, remarkable research has been conducted at Cahokia. The following titles should be read as an introduction to the latest Cahokian archaeology by anyone interested in understanding Cahokia, its religion and culture.
Alt, Susan M. Cahokia’s Complexities: Ceremonies and Politics of the First Mississippian Farmers. Tuscaloosa: University of Alabama Press, 2018.
Baires, Sarah E. Land of Water, City of the Dead: Religion and Cahokia’s Emergence. Tuscaloosa: University of Alabama Press, 2017.
Deter-Wolf, Aaron, and Carol Diaz-Granados. Drawing with Great Needles: Ancient Tattoo Traditions of North America. Austin: University of Texas Press, 2013.
Diaz-Granados, Carol, James R. Duncan, and Kent F. Reilly III. Picture Cave: Unraveling the Mysteries of the Mississippian Cosmos. Austin: University of Texas Press, 2015.
Emerson, Thomas E., Brad H. Koldehoff, and Tamira K. Brennan. Revealing Greater Cahokia, North America’s First Native City: Rediscovery and Large-Scale Excavations of the East St. Louis Precinct. Illinois State Archaeology Survey, Prairie Research Institute; Illinois Department of Transportation, University of Illinois at Urbana-Champaign, 2018.
Fritz, Gayle J. Feeding Cahokia: Early Agriculture in the North American Heartland. Tuscaloosa: University of Alabama Press, 2019.
McNutt, Charles H., and Ryan M. Parish, eds. Cahokia in Context: Hegemony and Diaspora. Gainesville: University of Florida Press, 2020.
Pauketat, Timothy R. An Archaeology of the Cosmos. London: Routledge, 2013.
Pauketat, Timothy R., and Susan Alt. Medieval Mississippians: The Cahokian World. Santa Fe, NM: School for Advanced Research Press, 2015.
Acknowledgments
With special appreciation for the Chamberlain Inn in scenic Cody, Wyoming, for providing our getaway when we need to brainstorm plot twists, character motivation, and “what happens next.” Our thanks to Elizabeth Scaccia for keeping our glasses full and pizza warm. The Chamberlain is a true jewel when it comes to creativity.
