Lightning, twisting like knotted threads of tortured silver, throbbed in the clouds to the south. Batting gusts of breeze buffeted Seven Skull Shield as he helped the Keeper make her tired way up the steps—as if the very air itself were fleeing the white flashes of light that illuminated the squared logs sunk into the steep stairway.
In Seven Skull Shield’s grasp, Keeper Blue Heron’s arm felt oddly delicate for as tough a lady as he knew her to be. She almost tottered, yawning despite the panting effort she expended on the climb.
Another of the eerie white flashes illuminated the great city in a contrast of colorless highlight and opaque shadow. Temples, clan houses, circular council houses, and mound-top edifices all cast in actinic miniature, as if the great city were the construct of a warped and fevered imagination.
At the top, the two guards passed Blue Heron on sight, reserving their suspicious and hard-eyed stares for Seven Skull Shield. He shot them a vacuous smile, lit by a distant strobe of lightning, and followed the Keeper into the palace courtyard. The high palisade gave them a little relief from the wind.
At the Morning Star’s carved-plank door, another guard saw them inside. He gestured for them to stay before stepping over to Five Fist’s bed, where he murmured to the old warrior and retreated back outside.
Five Fists pulled on a breechcloth, yawned with his crooked jaw, blinked, and padded over, asking, “Keeper? What brings you at this time of night? And what are you doing with this two-legged maggot?”
Seven Skull Shield met the man’s distasteful glance with an exaggerated smile that exposed his teeth. The mocking rictus either hit home—given the old warrior’s slight wince—or something gruesome was stuck between his incisors.
Blue Heron tapped the rolled cape under Seven Skull Shield’s arm. “We’ve got the cape.”
“And the Little Sun’s murderer?”
“That gets a bit more complicated. We need to see the Morning Star.”
Five Fists rubbed a scarred knuckle down the long-faded tattoos on his misaligned cheek. “I’ll see. Wait here.”
“As if we’d go anywhere else,” Seven Skull Shield muttered, the prickly sensation of unease starting to claw its way along his bones. Had he really been so gullible as to boast to the Anilco Trader that he enjoyed the Morning Star’s company? Just being in the palace pulled the slipknot in his pucker string tight.
A particularly virulent gust of wind made a hissing sound in the high thatch overhead.
The great central fire, burned down to coals, left the room and its splendid furnishings ruddy and shadowed. Taking stock, Seven Skull Shield figured that maybe half of the sleeping benches were occupied by the Morning Star’s staff and servants.
Five Fists emerged from the rear door, beckoning.
Blue Heron led the way back into the living god’s forbidden space. Seven Skull Shield cast one final longing glance at the double doors that led out to freedom and safety.
“He’ll see you in his quarters,” Five Fists said with obvious reluctance. Then, his eyes boring into Seven Skull Shield’s, he added pointedly, “I’ll be right outside.”
Blue Heron, her body gone tense, swallowed hard, nodded, and hesitantly stepped through the door.
In spite of his trepidation, Seven Skull Shield looked around the Morning Star’s bedroom with no little curiosity. Three hickory-oil lamps placed on wooden chests illuminated the room. The bed built into the back wall was covered with the finest blankets and furs, most of them rolled up against the back wall given the midsummer heat.
The usual storage boxes and ceramic jars were stowed beneath the bed. An elaborate paint palette, paints, and a collection of jewelry, headdresses, feather splays, cloaks, maces, and other exotica were laid ready to hand on a series of magnificently carved boxes, each as high as Seven Skull Shield’s hip. To one side of the door stood the Morning Star’s copper chunkey lances and a wooden rack with his variously colored stones.
The living god himself sat on the edge of his bed, a white cloth wrap around his narrow waist. His muscular arms were propped, his hair falling down his back in a black wave.
Seven Skull Shield had never seen him without facial paint, his face-shaped ear covering, or headdress. In the glow of the hickory lamps, he looked remarkably human. A handsome young man with a strong face, the Four Winds Clan tattoos looking pristine on his smooth cheeks.
Chunkey Boy’s face.
The resemblance to his sister Night Shadow Star couldn’t be missed.
“What news, Keeper?” he asked, his cautious gaze going to Seven Skull Shield, though he didn’t offer him so much as a nod in recognition.
“The cloak,” she said softly, taking it from Seven Skull Shield’s grasp and unrolling it so the brilliant red-dyed eagle feathers could be seen. “The thief recovered it from the Natchez called Swirling Cloud. It was hidden in the man’s possessions. It appears that Nine Strikes’ murder was political, a means of keeping him from assuming his brother’s place as Great Sun.”
“Of course.” The Morning Star barely shifted, his dark eyes fixed on Blue Heron’s.
“How do you wish to handle this?”
Morning Star’s face remained expressionless. “Let them proceed.”
Seven Skull Shield noticed the bunching of muscles in the Keeper’s jaw, watched her shoulders rise in confusion. “Let them proceed? We’ve got the proof! They killed the Little Sun. They’re either playing the Itza, or he’s playing them. Whatever they’re here for, it’s not for our benefit. And this marriage to Night Shadow Star? We’re cradling a nest of water moccasins to our breast and pretending that they won’t bite us.”
“I failed the Itza’s test.”
“What test?”
He smiled enigmatically. “I expect you to continue doing what you do so well.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Of course not. Thank you, Keeper. I suggest you get your rest. The coming days will prove most trying. You will need all of your resources. Sleep well.”
He barely lifted a hand in dismissal.
“What about the cloak?” she asked.
“You know what it means … and how to use it best.” His smile wasn’t pleasant. “No need to send Five Fists in. Oh, and do be careful on the stairs. For the moment I’m not sure we could do without you.”
It wasn’t until they were outside, buffeted by the balmy air swirling over the palisades that Seven Skull Shield asked, “What just happened in there? I mean, did any of that make sense?”
Blue Heron stopped short, glancing back at the dark palace. “Phlegm and spit. I’m cursed if I know.”
Lightning flashed overhead as the first drops of rain, large and cold, spattered the ground.
“This Itza and the Natchez are plotting right under our noses. He doesn’t even seem concerned, does he?”
She looked up at him through night-shadowed eyes. “That sends a colder chill down my back than that caused by the Natchez.”
The rain began with a vengeance, slashing down from the lightning-riven sky as if the fury of the Thunderbirds could not be contained.