Blue Heron stood in the doorway to Night Shadow Star’s personal quarters, arms crossed. The frail-looking old woman sat at the head of Night Shadow Star’s bed, her eyes closed, the Tortoise Bundle cradled in her bony hands. The crone’s reedy voice rose and fell in some ancient song as she prayed for Night Shadow Star.
Blue Heron’s niece lay on her back, a blanket covering her limp and cold body. Her face was slack, eyes more suggestive of a corpse’s than a young woman’s. Blue Heron had checked her for a pulse and found none. Nor had she seen so much as a hint of breath pass from Night Shadow Star’s motionless lungs.
Only the old woman’s assertion that her niece lived had kept Blue Heron from ordering the body carried to the Four Winds charnel house.
She turned, looking back into the main room.
Rides-the-Lightning was just finishing binding up Fire Cat’s wounds. The old blind soul flier had unerringly stitched up the worst of the hideous and gaping cuts. At the same time two of his acolytes had reverently sponged the vile-smelling gore from the Red Wing’s chest, belly, crotch, and legs.
Blood and guts everywhere. What a mess.
Thirteen Sacred Jaguar sat off to the side on one of the wall benches, gaze vacant. A man in a trance. His remaining companion, Burning Ant, knelt on the matting before him, speaking in low, reassuring tones.
The ahau didn’t seem to be listening.
Outside, Five Fists and his men guarded the kukul. Other warriors were chasing spectators off the side of the Morning Star’s great mound. The corpses of dead Itza warriors now littered the veranda porch. They’d have to be hauled off to be cremated. Who in their right mind would want lonely Itza souls harassing their clan ancestors in a charnel house? Patrols were ensuring that the jubilant crowd didn’t let enthusiasm get the best of good sense.
And then there was …
She straightened. By Piasa’s swinging balls, where was Horn Lance? Somehow, in the chaos following Fire Cat’s victory, she’d forgotten to have her old nemesis placed under guard.
And she wanted him more than anything. Notched Cane had to be answered for, let alone what Horn Lance had intended for her. And then there was Seven Skull Shield. Deep down, she knew that whatever had befallen the thief, Horn Lance lay behind it. Once she had her one-time husband, she’d strip the man’s intestines out of his body a finger-length at a time if that’s what it took to find Seven Skull Shield.
She signaled War Claw where he stood by the door. “I don’t care what you have to do, bring me Horn Lance.”
The war leader touched his forehead, pointing to various warriors to accompany him as he hurried out.
Nor was a single Natchez left on the palace mound; the last of them had filtered away along with the crowd of spectators who’d dared to scale the slopes to see the combat.
“The Natchez? Let them go,” she told herself. “And may each and every one survive the trip back to the Quigualtam Great Sun to tell the tale.”
“Let me up.” Fire Cat was trying to sit up.
“A moment, if you please. One last stitch.” Rides-the-Lighting placed a bone-thin hand over the Red Wing’s chest and pushed him down. “You have lost a lot of blood. You need to rest, heal, and drink tea. Good red meat is helpful to restore the—”
“Yes, yes.” Fire Cat made a face as Rides-the-Lightning looped the last of the threads around the cactus thorns and pulled them tight to close the wound. The Red Wing barely swallowed a pained grunt.
“Expect the wounds to leak a little pus. I can’t do anything about the scars.”
Fire Cat ground his teeth, rolled to the side, and climbed unsteadily to his feet. Expression fixed in determination, he walked unsteadily to Night Shadow Star’s door, one hand to his wounded side as if worried it would burst open. So much of his hide was stitched together he looked like he’d been assembled from parts.
“How is she?”
“Lost in the Spirit World.” Blue Heron cast a glance at where the old woman continued to sing, the Bundle extended over Night Shadow Star’s slack face.
“I know something that might help.” Fire Cat started to shrug, only to gasp and grimace at the pain.
“Anything,” Blue Heron told him.
The Red Wing eased past and lowered himself at Night Shadow Star’s side. He bent down into a position that had to have pulled and shot fire through his wounds.
Blue Heron straightened in alarm, watched his chest swell. He placed his mouth over her niece’s, pinching her nostrils. As he exhaled Night Shadow Star’s lungs filled. When Fire Cat pulled away, breath purled from her slack lips.
Softly he whispered, “Lady? Come back to me.”
Again Fire Cat took a breath, exhaling his soul into her body. And again. And again.
All the while the old woman sang, holding the Bundle against the top of Night Shadow Star’s head.
For what seemed an eternity Blue Heron waited. Enough was enough. Dead was dead. The Red Wing was just fooling himself.
She stepped forward, hesitant to dash his hopes.
“Fire Cat,” she whispered. “Sometimes, no matter how hard we hope, the souls just can’t be…”
As if to mock her, Night Shadow Star sucked a breath of her own, chest rising in slow, deep breaths.
“Welcome back, Lady,” Fire Cat said wearily. “It’s been quite the time while you’ve been gone.”
Night Shadow Star’s eyes flickered, and she clamped them tight as if they hurt. After swallowing dryly, she said, “We came so close to losing, Fire Cat. The Waxaklahun Kan … I’ve never known such Power,” she whispered. “We came so very close. You have no idea.”
Fire Cat smiled. “But we won, Lady.”
“What are you talking about?” Blue Heron demanded. “Pus and blood, Niece. Do I have to have you watched day and night to keep you out of the datura?”
“It was the Bundle, Aunt. It let me talk to Fire Cat. Warn him at the last instant. The War Serpent thought us weak and foolish. To it we were simple barbarians. It didn’t understand.”
“And where is the War Serpent now?” Blue Heron asked.
“Sulking in the kukul.” Night Shadow Star stared up at Fire Cat. “You know what to do?”
He nodded.
She placed a weak hand on his bare arm. “Don’t let my husband interfere. We’re not out of this yet.”
“Of course, Lady.”
“Good. Someone find a leather bag. A large one.” She sat up, swayed, one hand to her stomach. Fire Cat scrambled for a ceramic pot and held it as Night Shadow Star’s body was racked by dry heaves. When she recovered, her expression mirrored abject misery.
“Get my litter.” Night Shadow Star turned then, staring into the old woman’s fiery brown eyes. “And order a litter for the priestess Lichen, too.”
At the name, Blue Heron’s jaw dropped.