People of the Morning Star (47 page)

The Red Wing, his expression grim, said, “Someone possessed of a terrible hate.”

“You, Red Wing?” Blue Heron asked, a desperate hope welling in her breast.

He shook his head, a flicker of pity there as he studied what had been done to Heavy Cane. “My hatred for the Four Winds Clan was born fully formed and true. Whoever did this? His hatred was born malformed, demented, and twisted with soul disease. As much as he hates you, he hates himself, and all of existence even more.”

“I suppose you’d be an expert on that,” Blue Heron scoffed.

“Keeper, only someone who once loved with all his heart could come to hate you this poisonously.”

Blue Heron took a deep breath, unable to stop the shiver that ran through her. The Red Wing’s words might have cut her like a lash, but to Night Shadow Star they came as a physical blow. She would have collapsed had not the Red Wing caught her.

“Call for oil,” Night Shadow Star’s voice had changed, gone hollow and coarse, as it did when she was possessed by the Piasa. “Burn this place. Burn it now.”

“We should inform the Morning Star before we—”

“I said,
burn it
!”

Then, in a weaker voice, she whispered, “Not Lace. Tell me he doesn’t have Lace.”

“Well, she’s not here. Perhaps she escaped. Like you did the night they attacked you. She’s just as smart—”

“Her terror whispers on the night wind, Aunt. I can feel him, ecstatic, joyous, and earth and sky tremble.” Night Shadow Star looked sick. “Red Wing? I need to leave here. Take me home.” And to Blue Heron’s surprise, she added, “Please.”

*   *   *

Fire Cat stepped in out of the rain and found Night Shadow Star’s diminished household staff huddled on blankets, eyes downcast. They looked any direction but toward him as he stopped long enough to pick up a piece of firewood and toss it on the dying flames in the central hearth.

Since the night he’d been captured, it seemed that there was no end to the spiraling madness. Not even the stories the barbarians told around northern winter fires of the Windigo could have prepared him for the impossibility of his current situation.

He straightened and walked back to Night Shadow Star’s sleeping quarters. He paused at the half-open door, calling, “Lady?”

“What is happening?” she demanded, a flat tone of defeat in her voice.

He stepped into her room, glancing at the small hickory oil lamp, its wick supporting a single wavering flame. She sat on her bed, legs drawn up to support her chin, her arms wound around her shins. The way her long black hair had fluffed out in the damp air seemed to frame her face. Her eyes appeared larger, darker, like bottomless pools that overshadowed her delicate chin, pursed full lips, and straight nose.

The sight of her stopped him short, stirring conflicting emotions within his breast. The image she conjured was of vulnerable beauty and femininity. Had he not known her, the impulse would have been to pull her close as he placed protective arms around her.

A response totally at odds with good sense given the influence of the Underworld creature that he knew hovered near her souls. Or the fact that she was a participating member of her pit-viper’s nest of family, drowning as it was, in blasphemy. If only someone else could have been inside that magnificent, charming, and sensual body.

“Lace’s palace is burning like a torch. Middle of the night like this, raining like it is, no alarm has been raised. The Keeper should be most of the way up the stairs to the Morning Star’s palace. Assuming she hasn’t slipped on the slick wood and tumbled…” He winced, immediately regretting the words.

“I suspect she’s more sure of foot than you give her credit for, Red Wing.” Night Shadow Star narrowed an eye as she shot him a hard look.

“The
Tonka’tzi
has already made the climb. She’ll be made aware of your sister’s disappearance—and what has happened—as soon as the Keeper can tell her.”

Night Shadow Star’s full lips twitched as if unspoken words lay behind them. Once again, her eyes fixed on the distance, visualizing something beyond the limits of this time and place. “For a lying Red Wing, you have a way of speaking truth.”

“It might have only been wishful thinking that the Keeper had slipped on the stairs.”

“I was referring to what you said in Lace’s room. To hate someone that much, and that violently, you once had to have loved them.”

“Something like that.” He paused. “Who loved the Four Winds that much? Unless you’re Four Winds, most people seem to bear a distinct dislike.”

He saw the barest reflection of pain in the set of her mouth, her gaze growing even more distant.

For long moments he stood there, silent, leaving her to roam the visions and memories in her head.

Finally she took a deep breath, a decision behind her eyes. “I need you to stand watch for me, Red Wing.”

“Stand watch? You think the monster is coming for you next?”

She nodded absently. “If I’m right, he has to. But it won’t be tonight. No, I need to dance with Sister Datura, I need her to help me see.”

“See what?”

“If I am right.”

“About?”

“About who the monster is.” She extended her long legs and stood from the bed, her hair falling over her shoulders like a mantle. “I need you to ensure that no one enters to slit my throat, and to call for Rides-the-Lightning if I lose my way back to my body.”

Standing face-to-face, he gave her a crooked grin. “You’re entrusting your life to me? Talk about a twisted and knotted understanding of the way things are.”

She gave him a conspiratorial smile, one filled with a sad irony only he could comprehend. “Maybe you’ll discover that you’re not the kind of man you think you are, Red Wing. You can cut my throat yourself, knowing when my body’s found he’ll get the blame. It will be easy to vanish into the night never to be heard from again. Maybe you’ll give in to your brutish male needs and rape me while I’m helpless? You’ll have ample opportunity to determine the best way to avenge yourself and redeem Red Wing honor.”

Her eyebrow raised in challenge.

Fire Cat took a deep breath and shook his head. “How do I tell if you can’t get your souls back from the Underworld? I’m not a priest.”

“If I stop breathing? Well, that’s usually a big clue. Assuming you’re not occupied stroking your rod to relieve your unfulfilled fantasies, or sound asleep when it happens.”

“Hadn’t thought of the former. But then, I haven’t seen a woman whose charms are worthy of a real man’s fantasies since I was taken from Red Wing town. In the end, I guess if your souls are lost in the Underworld for more than a day or two, you’ll eventually figure out I let you down.”

He could see the anger stirring behind her eyes, and said, “Good. Keep that rage. Hold on to it and use it like a weapon. I don’t know much about soul-flying Spirit journeys, but you’ve got a lot better chance of getting back when you’re mad than afraid.”

A flicker of a smile crossed her lips. She glanced away, then stepped over to one of the immaculately carved wooden boxes. Lifting the lid she reached in and removed a small brownware jar.

Setting it on the floor before the altar, she shook her hair back and undid the clasps at her shoulder. Her dress slipped down her athletic body.

Despite his taunts to the contrary, he wondered: How could a woman that perfect, sensuous, and gorgeous be home to such tortured and angry souls? And what was it in a man’s make-up that he could desire her so desperately at the same time he’d have liked nothing better than to drive a stiletto into her heart?

Reconciliation of opposites? Wasn’t that what the priests called it? And wasn’t that what he and Night Shadow Star were all about? Some curious mix, thrown together by Power in a misguided attempt at saving the world?

He watched her drop to her knees before the altar with its mirror-black well pot. She bowed her head, her fluffy black hair gleaming in the lamplight as it cascaded down her back to the twin globes of her rump. Almost reluctantly she extended her long fingers into the brownware pot and dipped out the greasy contents. She was praying under her breath as she rubbed the compound into her temples.

Taking a deep breath, she bowed her head over the well pot to stare down into its depths. Fire Cat slipped out of the doorway, and walked across the main room to the corner. There he knew a box of Makes Three’s old weapons were stored.

Dragging it out into the firelight, he opened the lid. One by one, he removed the contents. When he’d made his selection he returned the box to its place, settled the slightly-too-large armor on his shoulders, clapped the leather helmet to his head, and strung the heavy war bow. The quiver full of arrows, he set beside her door along with a leather-bound wicker shield he took down from the wall. When he checked, she was still singing softly to herself, staring intently into the well pot.

“All right, Lady,” he muttered to himself, “when you come back to your body, let’s see who’s more disgusted that I’m still here. You? Or me?”

Hate her, he might, but after what he’d seen in Lace’s sleeping quarters? The monster might indeed try to get Night Shadow Star. Pray he wouldn’t be coming tonight.

Forty-two

The way Smooth Pebble was looking at Seven Skull Shield, he wasn’t sure if it was outright hatred, or just simple loathing. The
berdache
had suggestively placed a war club just inside the door, but whether it was to intimidate him, or Black Swallow and his crew, he just couldn’t be sure.

Or maybe it was the song they were singing that upset her. To occupy themselves as they waited on the Keeper’s veranda they’d been singing the song called “Woman with a Cactus-Lined Sheath.” An old Trader’s song about … Well, the title actually did a pretty good job of describing the lyrics.

Why would Smooth Pebble care? She was
berdache,
and didn’t have a sheath, let alone one lined with cactus spines. And, well, it was just a song, right?

“Is that her?” Mud Foot asked. He pointed beyond the veranda’s drip line.

The song died away as they all climbed to their feet and stared at the warriors surrounding Blue Heron’s litter. The Keeper was born through the gray morning drizzle. A rain shield consisting of a square of matting on extended poles was being held over her by slaves following along behind.

“That’s her,” Seven Skull Shield agreed. He stepped out into the mist, bowed at the two guardian posts depicting fierce-looking birds, then made his way down the steps to where the canoe lay at the foot of the stairs. The craft was a pretty thing, thin-walled and light, and capable of seating four. He wondered if its owner had discovered it was missing yet.

Black Swallow and the others descended to stand behind him as the squadron second marched up and gave Seven Skull Shield and his companions a suspicious squint.

“Greetings, War Claw,” Seven Skull Shield touched his chin. “Yes, yes. I know. But this riff-raff is with me. We’ve got something for the Keeper.”

War Claw glanced around, gestured for his men to scatter and search the premises. Seven Skull Shield was surprised to see four grim-faced warriors trot up the stairs and into the palace, war clubs in hand, shields forward, as if expecting an ambush. Perhaps Smooth Pebble was more dangerous with a stew kettle than he’d thought?

“Don’t know how you scored such a win, thief. Weaseling your way in here,” War Claw muttered. “You know, the Keeper trusts you. I’d be very unhappy if I discovered that trust was misplaced.”

Black Swallow, who never took threats well, was giving the squadron second a predatory look as the man walked off. Seven Skull Shield gave him a “be patient” gesture. He looked back in time to see a couple of warriors rush out of the palace, bending their heads to discuss something with War Claw.

Meanwhile, Blue Heron’s litter was brought up and lowered by her wet and shivering porters. Seven Skull Shield stepped forward and took her hand, helping her to her feet. The look she gave him sent a spear through his breast. Instead of her normal plotting, composure, the woman looked exhausted, frightened, and defeated.

“What happened?” he asked.

“They got my niece, Lace, last night.” She swallowed hard, fighting for control. “
Right under our noses!
Murdered most of her household … and what they did to her husband? An abomination of death and disrespect! I had it burned, all of it. Didn’t you see the fire?”

“We only arrived a hand of time ago, Keeper.” He glanced toward Lace’s palace, hidden as it was in the misty gray predawn. “She dead?”

“Worse. Missing.” She gestured futility as War Claw came hurrying down the stairs. “We’ve organized search parties. Warriors are scouring in all directions.”

“Keeper?” War Claw called, still shooting suspicious glances at Black Swallow and his muddy henchmen. “There’s a man just inside the door on your floor, tied and gagged.”

She glanced at Seven Skull Shield, her haggard eyes lacking the sharp inquisitiveness. “Is it him?”

“Sorry, Keeper,” Seven Skull Shield told her. “Just a Tula. But before you go see him, I need you to look at this canoe. Tell me what a wonderful thing it is, inspect it carefully. Then I need you to have Smooth Pebble bring down some very valuable Trade for Black Swallow and his men, here.”