So this was unjust defeat. He should have been used to treachery by now. One against five, his fate would be sealed the moment the Natchez rushed him. He would have laughed, bellowed his rage at the skies. So much gained, to be lost so foully.
“Hold!” the defiant order came from the head of the stairs behind Fire Cat.
The advancing Natchez stopped short, staring past Fire Cat. Then they seemed to slink back onto the veranda.
Fire Cat turned to see Five Fists as he strode uneasily past the guardian posts. The lop-jawed old warrior gave first Piasa and then Horned Serpent a sidelong glance, touching his forehead. Behind him came no less than ten warriors, dressed for battle.
At the last moment, Five Fists shot an uneasy glance at the Morning Star’s high palace, where a single individual watched from the high bastion.
You’d better take an interest, Chunkey Boy. It’s your hide I’m saving along with Night Shadow Star’s.
Stepping up to Fire Cat’s side, Five Fists glared at Horn Lance. “A challenge has been issued. The Morning Star values the sacred nature of individual combat. He would not see it profaned by foreign perfidy and cowardice. Keep your Natchez weasels back.”
A shout went up from the crowd as the old warrior’s words were passed from lip to lip.
Horn Lance inclined his head, eyes smoldering. “Thank you for backing me up on that, War Leader. Sometimes, in the heat of passion, men will do unconscionable things. Your presence is appreciated.”
“That’s a pus-dripping lie,” Fire Cat muttered.
“I’ll keep things fair, Red Wing.” Five Fists gave him a disdainful twitch of the lips. “Don’t know who’s more offensive, you or them, but orders are orders.”
“Your warm concern moves me.”
Five Fists barely cracked a smile before he hesitated and asked, “How do you accomplish what our best warriors couldn’t?”
“They are trained to fight as teams. Move fast and distract while another strikes from the side and retreats.”
“I hope you kill them all … and die of your wounds later.” And before Fire Cat could reply, he demanded, “Where is this Shaking Earth? Is he a coward?”
Fire Cat dropped into a crouch as Shaking Earth stepped down from the veranda porch, the man’s face a mixed mask of grief, rage, and vengeance. He advanced from behind a low-held macuahuitl, his round shield with its black-and-red concentric circles high on his arm.
A glitter lay behind Horn Lance’s eyes. His mouth worked. Behind him, the kukul glared in what seemed to be a growing malevolence.
Unlike the others, Shaking Earth didn’t make any mistakes, took his time. When he finally struck, it was to nick Fire Cat’s elbow, drawing blood.
“Careful, Red Wing,” the old woman called where she stood in Piasa’s shadow, the Tortoise Bundle in her hands. “This one is deadly.”
Then, in a blur, Shaking Earth struck again, the macuahuitl jabbing like a serpent’s tongue to vibrate along Fire Cat’s left shin protector. The man smiled, seeming to have found a weakness. His next strike shaved hair from the bison chaps, but the thick wool kept the wicked edge from Fire Cat’s leg.
On the veranda porch, Red Copal was calling instructions, to which Shaking Earth replied with a nod and smile. Then he began artfully, and slowly, backing Fire Cat toward the porch.
By Piasa’s balls, what are they planning?
Fire Cat ducked and bobbed, trying to circle away, only to have to leap back each time Shaking Earth’s macuahuitl flicked and darted.
Bit by bit, Fire Cat was being maneuvered into whatever position Red Copal and Shaking Earth had decided upon. And as soon as he was there, Fire Cat had no doubt that the end would come.
Shaking Earth’s victorious smile was the giveaway. With no alternative, Fire Cat pulled his arm back. Threw the ax. Blade over handle, it cut through the air. Shaking Earth froze, what had been a smile now a rictus. From instinct he ducked his head at the last instant. The copper blade made a hollow thock as it stuck full in the top of Shaking Earth’s head.
The man’s knees buckled, and he seemed to crumple, his face smacking into the rain-damp clay. The impact popped the ax loose, and it flopped on its side.
Fire Cat wasted no time skipping away from any proximity to Red Copal. Sunlight glittered on a long chert blade held low by the man’s side, and a look of cunning triumph faded to dismay as he stared at the dying body of his friend.
Fire Cat was drawing breath to issue his final challenge when Horn Lance, a timber of desperation in his voice, cried, “Red Copal challenges the slave Fire Cat to personal combat. One on one. All of his possessions, against those of Fire Cat. He challenges Fire Cat to face him, naked, ax to macuahuitl, with no shields, no armor! Does Fire Cat accept, or is he a coward?”
“Fire Cat accepts,” he shouted back over the crowd. “And he raises the stakes. Fire Cat offers to fight for Cahokia. For Piasa, Horned Serpent, and the Morning Star. Does Red Copal fight for the Itza lord, Thirteen Sacred Jaguar?”
“He does,” Horn Lance said, frowning.
Yes! The moment he’d been waiting for. “Then I wager all of my belongings, the winnings, my life, and honor against the kukul!”
Horn Lance’s mouth worked. He shot a disbelieving glance at the standard. “You can’t!”
“Are the Itza cowards?” Fire Cat bellowed with all of his might, his voice reaching the crowd. “Is the kukul Powerless? A false god brought here by men who do not believe in its Power?”
He pointed toward the guardian posts, shouting, “I believe in Piasa, in Horned Serpent! I believe in Old-Woman-Who-Never-Dies! Let the gods decide which is stronger! Wager!”
The shout from the crowd was deafening.
“Wager! Wager! Wager!”
Hands curled to fists, Horn Lance faced Red Copal, explaining. The Itza glanced at the kukul, then out at the crowd. His mouth worked, worried gaze fixing on Fire Cat, then going back to the kukul. Finally he nodded and began stripping off his clothing.
Fire Cat lowered his shield, untied the stays that held his body armor, and dropped the buffalo chaps. Stepping out of his breechcloth, he picked up his ax, only to watch the once-hafted blade drop free; the bindings had loosened when it stuck in the bone, and failed when Shaking Earth’s head hit the ground.
Red Copal was already approaching, his muscular body lean and agile. The macuahuitl seemed to dance in his practiced hands.
“Hold!” Fire Cat shouted, backing away, the worthless ax handle in his hand.
Horn Lance stood grinning, his arms crossed, saying nothing.
“It’s your precedent! Split Bone received a second weapon!”
“Let him rearm, Horn Lance,” Five Fists growled. “That or we’ll take a hand in this.”
From his expression, Horn Lance might have been chewing rancid meat. He barked something in Itza. Red Copal’s eyes narrowed as he took another step forward. Horn Lance stepped out, voice sharp as he repeated the command. Red Copal, trembling with rage, stopped short. The man almost bounced on his toes with suppressed energy.
“Where’s your weapon, Red Wing?” Five Fists asked from the sideline.
“There!” Fire Cat pointed. “That macuahuitl. It belonged to Shaking Earth. It’s now mine. Spoils of combat.”
Horn Lance was translating, a sudden animation in his eyes. Red Copal chattered something in reply, nodding in anticipation as he did so.
Fire Cat tossed the ax handle to the side, warily walking forward to retrieve the macuahuitl. Backing away, he tested the weapon’s balance, finding it lighter than he’d thought.
Naked in the morning sunlight, Red Copal flexed his muscles; the serpent tattoos on his limbs writhed as if alive. Occasional scars lined the man’s brown flesh. Long, white, and thin, they could have been nothing but old wounds inflicted by macuahuitls.
He is an expert, and this is the first time I’ve laid a finger on the weapon. The cold realization sank in that he was about to die.
The mocking kukul seemed to radiate anticipation, its green glare cold and hungry.
Fire Cat could feel its Power. An electric tension crackled in the air as the Bundle and kukul seemed to flex and shimmer. A serpent’s hiss sounded just at the edge of hearing, a cry of desperation fading beneath its sibilant triumph. In that instant, Fire Cat stood alone, vulnerable, and abandoned.
He’s going to kill me now.
At that instant, an eagle screamed. People gasped, looked up, and pointed. The eagle perched on the high center pole of Night Shadow Star’s roof, its talons gripping the thatch. Staring down, the big bird seemed to fix on the kukul and screamed its fury.
In that instant, Fire Cat felt the Bundle’s liquid-warm touch like the tips of feathers running along his skin.
“You have one chance.” He heard the Tortoise Bundle’s soft whisper between his souls. “Speed and agility.”
Was that Night Shadow Star’s voice?
“Learn. Watch him.”
He’d been hearing the same thing from Crazy Frog for the last quarter-moon. Fire Cat backed and circled. Adjusting his grip to mirror Red Copal’s, he tested the long wooden blade. Found it more supple. Each time he tentatively probed with the bitted blade, Red Copal instinctively shifted his edge from contact, as if protecting the glittering obsidian.
“He’s learning your moves. Notice how each time he finds it easier to avoid your thrust? Soon he’ll use that against you.”
Red Copal’s footwork was similar to that of a trained warrior wielding a war club. A smart man, however, would expect a surprise, some technique unique to the macuahuitl.
Red Copal feinted, lunged, and flicked his macuahuitl toward Fire Cat’s calf. With a half skip, Fire Cat barely avoided being maimed; a thin trickle of blood welled where the skin had been sliced open.
He’d hardly recovered when Red Copal rushed in an attempt to press his advantage. Fire Cat vaulted to the side, escaping with shallow cuts from a graze on his hip.
Red Copal’s predatory grin exposed the turquoise stones inset in his teeth as he stalked in pursuit.
“Now!”
Fire Cat lunged an instant before Red Copal. Splinters of obsidian exploded from the blades as Fire Cat batted Red Copal’s weapon aside. Dropping a shoulder, he would have rammed the Itza, only to have the warrior skip back.
Off balance himself, Fire Cat barely had time to recover before Red Copal planted a leg, twisted, and swung viciously at Fire Cat’s head.
Reflexes saved him as he parried, more obsidian shattering as the blades met. Fire Cat leaped back and crouched, finding his balance.
Red Copal was panting, sweat beading on his skin. He charged forward. Fire Cat ducked to the side, avoided the man’s quick blade, and feinted. Red Copal took the bait; his blade cut empty air where Fire Cat would have been.
“Work him. He’s soft.”
Of course. Red Copal had been riding in canoes, not paddling them. He’d been sitting in palaces, not practicing. He hadn’t been honed by endless chunkey, nor was he used to working himself into a sweat swinging a war club.
Fire Cat darted and ducked, feinting, skipping away, forcing Red Copal to follow, to retreat.
“Careful.
“Duck right.
“Duck left.
“Duck left.”
Each time, Red Copal’s blade would have laid him open.
Surrendering to the voice in his head, Fire Cat danced, turned, twisted, blocked a blow, or thrust.
“He protects his blade. You’ve seen the flinch each time the edges touch. That’s his weakness.”
Fire Cat lunged for Red Copal’s blade, then jabbed at the man’s flexed thigh as the Itza shifted his macuahuitl out of harm’s way.
With a cry of delight, Red Copal seemed to cock his wrists, the macuahuitl, like a thing alive, darting inside Fire Cat’s guard. Despite Fire Cat’s quick reflexes and better footwork, the Itza’s angry obsidian opened skin along Fire Cat’s ribs. A couple of fingers lower and it would have cut so deep his intestines would have spilled out.
“Time is now on his side.”
Fire Cat swallowed hard, the damp sheeting of blood sticky and cooling on his side and hips. The cuts in his elbow, shin and left hip continued to bleed.
He’d missed Thirteen Sacred Jaguar’s arrival on the porch, but now the Itza lord appeared stunned, alternately staring down at the bleeding corpses of his dead warriors to where Red Copal closed on Fire Cat.
Red Copal began singing in Itza, dancing and swinging his macuahuitl. A gleam filled his eyes, reflecting that of the kukul as it watched from atop its pole.
Fire Cat could feel the thing as it spun its Power and sent it to Red Copal. With blood in the air, the War Serpent sensed ultimate victory, gaining in presence.
“Hunch. Act weak.”
Fire Cat bent, favoring his wounded side. For the first time, he became aware of the crowd. The roar had stilled, people fixed on the terrible drama unfolding before them.
Fire Cat knew an instant before Red Copal lunged: the flexing of the man’s muscles, the anticipation in his eyes.
Fire Cat barely parried in time, but the Itza’s macuahuitl laid open another gash, this time in Fire Cat’s left thigh.
Singing high praise to Waxaklahun Kan, Red Copal vaulted back, recovering. Following his dance step, he twirled around, expression ecstatic.
“He’s done this before. Lived this moment. He knows how you will react. What your weaknesses are. He’s coming for the kill.”
When Red Copal’s muscles tensed, his excitement bursting, Fire Cat launched, his feet in a chunkey player’s start. Red Copal couldn’t have anticipated the speed, the audacity.
With a Powerful blow, Fire Cat smacked the Itza’s macuahuitl aside with a splintering of wood. This time he hurled himself into the Itza with a thud.
To his surprise, the man didn’t go down, but staggered backward. Fire Cat pressed close, howling his Red Wing war cry into the man’s stunned face. The cutting edge of the Itza’s macuahuitl slipped along the side of his leg.
Choking up on the handle, Fire Cat pulled his macuahuitl back and as Red Copal pulled away, jabbed it at the man’s gut.
To Fire Cat’s surprise, most of his blade was gone. Only a long splinter of the reddish wood and a short length of obsidian edge remained.
“Finish it.”
With all of his remaining strength, Fire Cat drove the splinter into Red Copal’s belly just above the navel. Grunting, he lifted the Itza warrior’s body off the ground, wood cracking loudly as the remaining razor edge sliced upward through the man’s intestines.
Face to face, Fire Cat stared into Red Copal’s incredulous eyes, felt and smelled his explosive exhale. Hot liquid and entrails burst from the Itza’s wound, running down Fire Cat’s belly, around his genitals, and down his legs to sting in the cuts. The Itza blinked, seeming to hang between worlds. His mouth worked—a fish’s empty gasping after it was pulled from safe waters.
With a final crack the wood gave way, allowing Red Copal’s gutted body to fall. The stench rolled up around Fire Cat.
Struggling for breath, his wounds bleeding and burning, Fire Cat tossed the ruined macuahuitl’s handle to the side.
He blinked at the crowd, seeing Blue Heron where she stood wide-eyed beside Five Fists. His mother and sisters flanked the Keeper. The old woman remained in Piasa’s shadow, standing erect, eyes closed; ancient hands cradled the Tortoise Bundle. Seven Skull Shield’s dog was watching him with those odd eyes. He could feel the Morning Star’s distant gaze from the high palisade.
On the veranda, Horn Lance stood rigid, eyes wide, lips clamped in a hard line. Beside him, Thirteen Sacred Jaguar had fixed his shocked and disbelieving eyes on Red Copal’s corpse. His hands reached out as if in supplication to an impossibility. Then they rose, recoiling as Fire Cat hobbled toward him. The man’s expression twisted as if he were seeing a monster come to life.
Thirteen Sacred Jaguar might very well take Fire Cat—bleeding, limping, the contents and stench of Red Copal’s guts dripping down his front—for one of the Lords of Death escaped from his fabled Xibalba.
As Fire Cat stepped up on the veranda porch, the remaining Natchez faded away. Fire Cat reached down, picking up Dead Teeth’s macuahuitl. His bloody fingers wrapped around the grip, and he hefted the deadly weapon. Horn Lance and Thirteen Sacred Jaguar backed away, hands out as if to ward away evil.
“I won,” Fire Cat rasped. He turned. Burning Ant held the kukul’s staff before him as if it were a protective shield. The man’s face mirrored white terror.
Shifting the macuahuitl to his right hand, Fire Cat laid his left on the kukul’s pole. “Mine!”
But only when he raised the macuahuitl did Burning Ant relinquish the standard.
From on high, the eagle’s victorious scream split the air, and the great bird dropped from the peak, gaining speed before leveling off and jetting across the yard. People ducked as the bird passed low over their heads then seemed to vanish into thin air.
A hollow wail burst from Thirteen Sacred Jaguar’s throat, and he dropped to his knees. Pain and terror—as if his souls were consumed by fire—reflected in his tormented and protruding eyes.
“Now,” Fire Cat rasped, fighting to keep from wavering on his feet. “Where’s my lady?”