Matron Columella wondered if she shouldn’t have made the journey to the Morning Star’s palace in central Cahokia so that she might be present at the arrival of the Itza lord. Not going might have been a mistake. But she still had nightmares about the last time she’d been in the Morning Star’s presence. Not only had her fate hung by a thread, but so, too, had her children’s and her dead brother’s children.
Being anywhere close to the Morning Star’s physical presence always carried an element of risk. Living gods, she’d discovered, were capricious things.
She ran her gaze around her palace, fully aware of the impression it would make. The walls were freshly plastered, still smelling of damp clay. A sweet smell of fresh-cut grass perfumed the air since the last of the new thatch had only been tied to the center pole six days ago. Looking up, she could see the new peeled-pole rafters, bindings, and honey-colored ridge pole. Smoke and soot had barely fingered them, let alone darkened the wood.
Everything, down to the tamped clay underfoot, was fresh and new, which only partially excused the stark white plaster covering the bare walls that left the room looking huge, cavernous, and unfurnished.
But then all of her old furnishings had been burnt. Right down to the statuary. Victims of Walking Smoke’s madness. The ashes of her lineage’s trophies, carvings, and mementos were now irrevocably buried beneath her feet, covered by the thick layer of clay that capped her old mound.
She glanced around at her household staff, all busy with their usual duties. Her children, nieces, and nephews were gone. She’d insisted they accompany Burned Bone, acting in his new role as high chief, as he led a pilgrimage to the Sacred Caves two days’ travel to the west. Her hope was that getting out, seeing the world, would help settle their souls, heal the scars and soothe the nightmares left by the things they’d witnessed as Walking Smoke conducted his perverted rituals.
“Worried about the children?” Flat Stone Pipe asked from where he sat beside her seat on the dais. He’d always been too good at reading her facial expressions.
“They’ll be fine. An entire squadron of Deer Clan warriors is accompanying them. And Burned Bone is fully aware of the importance of caring for them.”
Flat Stone Pipe leaned his head back, staring up at the new ceiling. “We were told when Horn Lance’s canoe landed. What’s taking him so long?”
“Plotting treason should never have been done in haste. Though I find it fascinating that he comes to me immediately after paying his respects to Green Chunkey. Are we really that transparent?”
Flat Stone Pipe glanced sidelong at her. “You have something of a reputation for causing trouble, my love.”
The corners of her lips twitched. “By coming straight to me, he might as well wave a burning torch, jump up and down, and shout out to Blue Heron, ‘Hey! I’m plotting with your enemies!’ Or is the man no smarter than a stone in a creek?”
“Hard to say until I can actually take his measure.” He shot her a smile.
Cracking Clamshell, one of her cousins bound in service, hurried in, stating, “His litter is at the foot of the stairs, Lady. Shall I escort him in?”
“Please. Bid our visitor welcome.”
“And now we shall see,” Flat Stone Pipe whispered.
“The rest of you”—Columella raised her voice—“find something to do outside, if you please. I would speak to the Itza’s emissary alone.”
As they scurried out, Flat Stone Pipe asked, “Should I be in my hole?”
He referred to the hollow under her dais, a place from which he could hear but not be seen.
“No, stay where you are. I want you to see his expressions, watch the movements of his body. If I desire your counsel, I want it ready at hand.”
“Gladly.”
Cracking Clamshell appeared at the double doors leading out onto the veranda, announcing, “Lord Horn Lance of Horned Serpent House seeks your counsel, Lady. A man of the Four Winds Clan, now in service to the Itza Lord, he asks that you might receive him.”
“Send him in.”
She lifted an eyebrow as he strode in. So this is the banished lord? The exotic outfit with its crimson feathers, peculiar breastplate, and breechcloth, the interesting arm guards and feathers, gave the man a gaudy and outlandish look. That he hadn’t painted his face struck her as alien.
His stride was arrogant as he approached, stopping just before the central hearth, bowing, and touching his forehead.
“Welcome, Horn Lance, of the Horned Serpent House, of the Four Winds Clan.” And she pointedly added, “Servant of the Itza.”
“Matron,” he replied with a smile. “I thank you for receiving me.” He glanced around at the huge empty room. “Have I come at a bad time? It seems that no one is here? I would have thought the renowned Evening Star House would be thronging with household servants and supplicants from the Earth Clans you administer.”
She smiled. Arrogant bit of two-legged trouble, aren’t you? “Your timing is perfect, Horn Lance. The high chief is off on a pilgrimage to First Woman’s caves. Evening Star Town and the lands it administers is a well-run and efficient concern. The Earth Clan chiefs who serve me know their jobs well. My business with them was concluded in a short session this morning. As for the household staff, I dismissed them in order that we might speak more freely.”
She purposefully did not introduce Flat Stone Pipe. If Horn Lance knew who he was, Flat Stone Pipe needed no introduction. If he hadn’t a clue, he’d no doubt pass the dwarf off as ornamental. In which case, all the better.
“I see.” Horn Lance continued his inspection of her new palace, the action an insolent breach of protocol.
“If you’d like I could summon one of the engineers. We’re still completing the construction. He could show you the details.” She allowed just the right bite to her words.
“No, but thank you.” He turned his attention to her, apparently having achieved exactly the effect he’d wanted. “I would rather discuss the arrival of the Itza, and what it might mean for Evening Star House.”
“And what might that be?” She leaned forward, fingers steepled.
Horn Lance, ignoring Flat Stone Pipe, inclined his head in the slightest. “The opening of a whole new world, Lady. With the arrival of the Itza, opportunities present themselves before your very eyes.”
“What sort of opportunities?”
He fixed her with his clever dark eyes, a faint smile on his lips. “Why, High Matron, anything you might have imagined—even if it seemed impossible—might suddenly be within your reach.” His smile widened. “Assuming you make the proper choices and alliances.”
“Anything I might imagine?” She lifted an eyebrow. “That covers a lot of territory.”
“Matron, for all intents and purposes, with the arrival of Thirteen Sacred Jaguar in Cahokia, the size of our world just doubled. There’s now a great deal more territory, and Trade, and prestige, and those with the means are going to wield their will like mighty fists.”
“Presuming those in authority seize the opportunity,” she added.
If Horn Lance’s grin grew any wider it was going to split his face. “Your reputation is that you are a remarkably clever woman, Matron. I’m delighted to discover that was no exaggeration.”
She tapped her fingertips together, giving him a prolonged inspection before asking, “Then perhaps I’m at a loss. My sources have informed me that the Itza lord is marrying into the Morning Star House. It would seem the chance to capitalize on your claimed opportunities has already been offered to others.”
He nodded, took a couple of paces to the right, and shot her a sidelong glance. “I should not take this liberty, Matron. And hopefully it will not turn out to be the case, but what would happen if the living god was demonstrated to have some … shall we say, questionable attributes?”
He pressed his palms together as he took another step. “What if he were questioned by someone knowledgeable about the Beginning Times, and the Morning Star couldn’t answer the questions correctly? If it turned out there was a different, more accurate chronicle of the Morning Star’s activities in the Beginning Times?”
“I don’t follow you.”
He shrugged. “It probably doesn’t matter, Matron. If different stories exist, surely a living god will know all of the variations told about him. Even in far-off Nations.”
Interest piqued, she shifted. “You suddenly have my full attention. And yes, surely a Spirit Being as Powerful as the Morning Star would know all the stories, no matter which people told them. But what if he didn’t? Such a thing could eventually lead to the collapse of his rule.”
“Unless an alternative were provided,” Horn Lance admitted. “A different miracle. Something the people could marvel over. Perhaps a miracle from the distant and exotic south. An Itza miracle, like a soaring stone pyramid carved into the shape of Hunga Ahuito, or Horned Serpent. Perhaps something built on this side of the river, and administered by a different House than the Morning Star’s?”
Columella settled back in her seat atop the dais. “A most fascinating concept, Lord Horn Lance. Fascinating indeed.”
She glanced down at Flat Stone Pipe, seeing the thousand thoughts that now possessed his souls.
How, she wondered, should a smart woman play this?
And if she bet wrong?
The last time, she’d sidestepped the Morning Star’s wrath by the narrowest of margins. The memory of her terror as she knelt before the Morning Star’s dais, her fate and her family’s hanging by a thread, sent a shiver through her. More than anything, she’d love to turn the tables on Morning Star House, see the living god trembling as disaster, pain, and hideous death seemed inevitable.
“Lord Horn Lance,” she said, coming to her decision, “Evening Star House is delighted to offer its support to the Itza high chief. Please do not hesitate to ask if there’s any service we might offer.”
Horn Lance bowed his head low, touching his forehead.
At her side, Flat Stone Pipe stared up at her in disbelief.
Yes, this would have to be played very, very carefully.