The sweetened tea she had drunk during her ride to the top of the Morning Star’s mound eased the pain and nausea in Night Shadow Star’s belly. She hurriedly washed down the last of the walnut-rich acorn bread she’d been given. Though still weak and unsteady—and with a stabbing headache—she felt remarkably good given this latest brush with death.
Afterimages of the Underworld and the desperate conflict with the War Serpent would haunt her for the rest of her life. The kukul’s smoldering Power still radiated from the carved effigy like heat from a white-hot rock. She glanced down at the large leather bag folded in her lap and then back at old Lichen, who rode in a litter behind her.
Who would have thought? Such an old enemy appearing as if by magic in her moment of greatest need? Cahokia’s greatest need?
The Tortoise Bundle’s presence was almost tangible, as if the threads that bound her to the Bundle’s Power could be grasped by the hand and stroked.
So many voices—old voices—whispered just below the threshold of her hearing.
“Do you understand?” Piasa asked from behind her right ear.
She turned her head, catching a flicker as he vanished in the hot sunlight.
“Of course, Lord. I am dragged even deeper into the Spirit World. Like drowning in swamp muck, the harder I fight, the faster I am dragged down.”
Disembodied laughter sounded from the air around her. Sister Datura’s fading caress lingered like lines crisscrossing her souls.
She closed her eyes, taking a deep breath as she was carried through the high palace gates. To find herself, she concentrated on Fire Cat, the way his breath and souls had once again filled her lungs, swelling them with life.
The memory of his body leaning over hers, his mouth fitted against her lips, conjured an erotic tingle deep in her loins.
“He can never leave your service. That is the price of his life.”
“I know.”
She swiveled on the litter as she was borne past the lightning-scarred World Tree and glanced back to where Fire Cat limped along beside Blue Heron. As his eyes met hers, he smiled, belying the pain that had to scream from every cut.
Her souls seemed to melt into a warm reassurance.
He could never know the depth of her feelings for him. Were he to find out, it would destroy them both.
“Am I strong enough to make that promise?”
Unsure, she watched the kukul through slitted eyes. Five Fists hesitantly let it droop as he waited beside the intricately carved reliefs in the Morning Star’s door.
As soon as her porters had lowered her litter, Night Shadow Star climbed wearily to her feet. Fire Cat hobbled up to help. She waved him off, granting him a conspiratorial smile. “You forgot your armor.”
“Will I need it, Lady?”
“For at least this day, Red Wing, the Morning Star and I find ourselves with allied interests. But please, see to Lichen if you would.”
He considered the old woman being lifted from her litter, and shivered. “It’s like a legend come alive. I still can’t believe it’s her.”
“For a while longer.” She girded herself as she picked up the large leather sack. Fragments of the Spirit Dreams conjured by Thirteen Sacred Jaguar’s potions clung to her souls like old spiderweb. The world seemed to shimmer in aftereffect, the Waxaklahun Kan’s angry spirit imparting a violet-and-yellow haze to the carved and painted image it inhabited.
“Yes, it knows. It awaits the moment of its release with a promise of unrestrained mayhem.”
“Are you with us, Lord?” she asked Piasa.
“For the moment. My master’s attentions are elsewhere.”
“You will have to act at exactly the right instant.”
“I know the danger better than you. Waxaklahun Kan is a Sky Being.”
She led the way into the Morning Star’s palace, surprised that her eyes, so recently in the Underworld, didn’t need to adjust from the bright sunlight outside.
As she’d anticipated, the Morning Star sat on his altar, his dress immaculate. He studied her through knowing dark eyes surrounded by the two-forked pattern that was his calling. She could feel the three-forked design glow to life around her own eyes, though she’d not taken the time to paint it. Was it really there, visible to him, or did the lingering Dream visions in her bloodstream trick her into believing it?
She gestured, and Five Fists entered, the kukul held low so the terrible serpent stared at the matting with its enraged green eyes.
Fire Cat led Lichen in, holding the old woman steady on her sticklike legs. It might have been a trick of the light—the flicker of the leaping flames in the eternal fire that burned brightly in the central hearth—but for an instant Lichen looked just like Old-Woman-Who-Never-Dies. From her parchment-wrinkled face to the bone-thin arms and swollen joints of her fingers, she might have been the image Night Shadow Star had seen seated on the green-moss dais with its interwoven tie snakes.
Lichen seemed to steady as she clasped the Tortoise Bundle to her chest; First Woman’s Power radiated from her eyes as she glanced Night Shadow Star’s way and smiled toothlessly as if in acknowledgment.
Blue Heron and the tonka’tzi, with an escort of warriors, took positions in the back of the room.
The Morning Star sat regally, back straight, head erect with a soul-bundle box tied into his tightly coiled hair. He fixed his gaze on Night Shadow Star’s. “Are the Spirits of the Underworld satisfied?”
“For the most part, Lord. One last thing remains to be taken care of.” She turned. “Red Wing, take the kukul from War Leader Five Fists if you would.” She handed Five Fists the sack. “Face the kukul at the floor so it can’t see what’s happening. Then have the war leader encase it in the sack.”
She felt the War Serpent’s rage quiet as Fire Cat, the man who’d taken it in combat, laid hands on the staff.
Five Fists was no one’s fool. With a single deft motion, he slipped the heavy leather bag over the foreign Spirit Beast’s head, blinding the angry green eyes.
With a trembling arm, she pointed at the fire. “Fire Cat, burn it.”
He gave her a quick questioning glance, then lowered the covered totem into the snapping and crackling fire. As it dropped into the flames, Fire Cat cried out, letting loose of the staff as it if were searing hot. Jumping back, he worked his fingers the way he would if they were coated by some sticky substance.
Night Shadow Star staggered at the earth-shattering scream. Clapping hands to her head, she winced. On his high litter, the Morning Star hunched forward, his head cocked as if in searing pain. The human-head shell ear coverings seemed to grimace under the assault.
A gout of yellow flame shot up from the burning effigy. It seemed to curl, twisting into the shape of a mythical snake. The head-like tongues of flame snapped this way and that, in the manner of a striking serpent.
An instant later, smoke, in the shape of a winged panther, curled up and wrapped around it. At the same time, a catlike wail devoured the deafening scream. Then whirling flame and smoke grayed into invisibility and vanished.
In the ensuing silence, Night Shadow Star lowered her hands, still fearful of a resumption of the scream. The Morning Star gasped in relief, straightening.
The fire now burned normally, crackled and spit sparks as it consumed the leather and ate into the kukul’s carved wood.
Night Shadow Star’s gaze turned to Lichen. The old woman had crumpled to the matting, eyes dazed. She sat up slowly, jaw rocking as if she were clearing her hearing. Fire Cat bent to help her.
“Bring the priestess to me,” the Morning Star ordered.
“No.” Lichen’s expression pinched, her eyes uncommonly dim.
“Very well,” the Morning Star said easily. “War Leader, bring me the Bundle the old woman holds.”
As if with a final effort, Lichen pushed to her feet and faced the Morning Star. “I told you only that I would bring the Tortoise Bundle to your House. It is time for another to take responsibility for the Bundle.”
“You force me to—”
Lichen extended a trembling arm. “I was once asked, ‘Would you give up, or would you fly for your people?’ If part of you can remember that, you’ll remember my answer … and what transpired as a result. The Bundle has found another, my wings are outspread, and the Dance awaits me.”
“Do not cross me, Priestess, or I—”
“You’ll do nothing! Not as you are now, bound by mortal flesh.” The mass of wrinkles realigned into a mirthful grimace. “Where are your Dancers? Where’s your beak, Bird Man? I dare you to reach out with your talons, locked as you are in that pitiful body. You and I both know the truth of this existence of yours.”
The Morning Star partially rose, his hand outstretched. “It has to come to me, here, where it once—”
The old woman turned, her eyes burning and alive as she thrust the Bundle into Night Shadow Star’s arms. “For the moment it has chosen you, daughter of the Underworld.”
Night Shadow Star’s flesh seemed to curl on contact with the Bundle. A thousand voices chattered at the edge of her hearing.
“Me?” she asked as she stared down at the charred and scuffed leather. Was it the aftereffects of Sister Datura and the Itza’s Spirit plants, or did a golden glow suffuse the ancient leather?
Lichen’s voice was almost a whisper. “You have her soul.”
“Whose soul?”
“After she left with Badgertail, things just weren’t the…”
The old woman’s eyes went dull and fixed. Her relieved smile exposed pink gums and tongue. A rattling gasp uttered from deep in her throat. Fire Cat leaped forward and caught her as she collapsed. He eased her to the floor.
The thief’s bearlike mongrel let out a low and mournful howl. The beast turned, shot away, and bolted out the door at a full run as if desperate to escape.
“Pus and blood,” Fire Cat whispered, looking up to meet Night Shadow Star’s eyes. “She’s dead.”
“Carry her to Rides-the-Lighting,” the Morning Star ordered wearily as he stopped beside them and stared sadly down. To Night Shadow Star he said, “Out of appreciation I would have spared you the burden. But you have the Bundle now.” A bitter smile turned his lips. “My deepest sympathies.”
She ran her hands over the Bundle, feeling its Power.
“Are we finished here, Sky Lord?”
He considered her through pensive and gleaming brown eyes, a thousand thoughts and emotions reflected in his deep gaze. “For the moment the city is safe, the Power is balanced.”
“For the moment,” she agreed. The Bundle’s thousand voices, like the hiss of insects, rose in warning. “It won’t last.” She paused. “Not for the city. Not for the two of us.”
“No,” he told her darkly. “It won’t.”
“Come, Red Wing,” she snapped, turning on her heel. “A storm is rising in the distant south, and the scent of blood is on the wind.”
Fire Cat limping along behind, she cast one last glance at the Morning Star. He stood as if frozen, a satisfied smile on his lips as he watched the Itzan effigy burn.
You knew how it would end all along, didn’t you?