Blue Heron knew she was dreaming. Dream or not, the sensation of impending doom continued to grow. Her heart now pounded in her chest. A tickle played through her guts.
In the dream the wedding was her sole responsibility, and to her horror, the feast had been presented half raw, half burned. The people lining the room, eating the stuff, were making faces. Then they began to vomit, and worms wriggled in the goo they expelled onto the floor.
Through it all, the Morning Star sat, silent, no expression on his painted face. All he did was watch her, his dark eyes seething with rage.
She kept fidgeting, pulling on her fingers. The bride and groom sat before the fire, looks of disgust on their faces as they watched the guests averting their faces.
In the back, musicians played poorly, hammering on drums, tooting on flutes, and plucking bowstrings. Someone was singing an off-key song about raccoon kits. Raccoon was a harbinger of the dead, so the song reeked of sacrilege and poor taste.
At the other end of the room, the tonka’tzi stood, arms crossed, shaking her head as she gave Blue Heron an outraged glare.
Blue Heron wheeled about, appalled to see the Itza dressed in his gaudy regalia. With one hand, he ripped off the colorful loincloth with its feathered and tasseled ends. His penis jutted stiff and proud as he grabbed Night Shadow Star by the hair, pulling her through the plates of half-eaten food spread before them.
With one hand he held her by the throat, his other ripping the black wedding skirt from her hips. As she struggled among the plates, Thirteen Sacred Jaguar screamed to one of his alien gods and used a knee to spread Night Shadow Star’s thighs. With a final cry, he dropped onto her struggling body and rammed his shaft into her.…
At which moment, Blue Heron blinked wide awake.
For a time, she stared up at her dark ceiling, heart pounding. She couldn’t seem to catch her breath.
It had been a long and miserable day spent in planning. They had two days left. The wedding—given the Itza’s status and the Morning Star’s interest—had to be extravagant and without flaw. A statement of Cahokia’s grandeur for their exalted guest.
And, while it wasn’t her sole responsibility—that fell to Wind—she’d take part of the blame if anything went wrong.
She filled her lungs, wishing her souls would still and allow her to sleep. Resettling, she lay there, a thousand thoughts vying for attention.
Something clunked in the night.
She froze.
After what seemed like an eternity, she was just drifting off when a sandal scuffed the matting beside her bed.
Images of the assassin who’d tried to slit her throat mere months ago returned, and terror washed through her.
She could see the dark form as it shifted, bending over one of her storage boxes. The lid was back, the stealthy figure reaching inside, fingering her folded skirts and capes within.
Enough is enough!
She angrily threw her blanket back, lurched to her feet, shouting, “Thief! I’ve had it! If I ever catch you in my—”
The dark shadow moved like a blur, twisting around toward her. Something seemed to leap at her face. Lights blasted behind her eyes, pain, like lightning in her head.
She remembered falling, hitting the side rails on her bed before slamming onto the floor. Dancing dots of light filled her vision, her ears ringing. She tasted blood in her mouth.
Stunned, she was finally able to gasp a breath.
“Keeper?” Smooth Pebble’s panicked voice penetrated her dazed pain.
The next thing she knew, the berdache leaned next to her, lifted her, and asked, “Blood and dung, Keeper, are you all right?”
“Did you see…?”
“Just a shadow running across the room and out the door. Did he hurt you? Are you all right?”
She forced herself to wipe the blood from her lips and nose. They were stinging with that numbing pain. Arms, legs, everything still seemed to work. “He just hit me. In the face! The pus-licking maggot hit me in the face!”
Smooth Pebble, her expression hidden in the darkness, was looking around. “Who hit you? What was he after? Was it my imagination, or did I hear you say it was the thief?”
“No. Not Seven Skull Shield.” She pushed herself out of Smooth Pebble’s lap. “Somebody else.”
“Who would dare?”
“Someone with a great deal to lose,” she whispered, wishing her nose would stop leaking blood.