Now that he had had time to really get a look at the dog, Seven Skull Shield wondered what that fool with the leash had been so proud of. This was a grizzly-bear-hunting pack dog?
The beast was somewhere between a puppy and dog, large-boned, with huge floppy feet, and an oversized bear-like head mostly made up of huge jaws. It stared up at Seven Skull Shield with one brown eye, one blue. The dog’s coat was a sort of messy brindle-brown with black speckles.
“Go on. You’re free.” Seven Skull Shield waved as he hurried down the Avenue. “I don’t have time to take care of a dog. People are hunting me. Beat it!”
The dog however, continued to follow as he had for the last finger of time.
Seven Skull Shield stepped out of the way to allow a gang of sweating men to stagger past. Perhaps thirty of them, they bore a long, red-cedar pole on their shoulders as they chanted and bulled their way east under the load. No doubt it would be raised as a new World Tree pole before some temple being constructed up on the bluffs.
He wondered if some hapless young woman was going to be strangled and sacrificially buried at its base as an offering to Old-Woman-Who-Never-Dies. While Seven Skull Shield had always been skeptical about the rituals, priests, and the ceremonies used to coerce people into acting against their own best interest, he had more than enough respect for the doings of Power. He just couldn’t convince himself that killing a girl and burying her under a pole was the best possible use a young woman could be put to.
The dog had seated himself, looking up with those peculiar eyes.
Seven Skull Shield bent down, getting on the dog’s level as he explained, “I don’t have time for a dog. I don’t need a dog. Dogs are trouble. I’m trouble. That’s two troubles in the same place where there should only be one. That means that you and I are not supposed to be together.”
The dog licked him in the face.
“Stop that. You’re supposed to be listening to me. I’m talking about the precarious world balance of Spirit Power and how you can’t be messing it up.” He pointed. “So, go away. Make a life. Just don’t end up in someone’s stew pot.”
The dog looked in the direction he pointed, seeming unconcerned that it was only toward a granary and a Deer Clan council house.
Seven Skull Shield stood, wiping the slobber from his nose and cheek, adding, “On the other hand, if you’re not smart enough to listen to me, maybe some dirt farmer’s stew pot is where you belong.”
With that he trotted off in the wake of the log bearers, knowing they’d clear the way for him. The dog gleefully bounded along at his side.
“You really don’t listen well.”
Saying it brought a smile to Seven Skull Shield’s lips. How could he condemn a mere puppy for something he didn’t do well himself?
“Actually, dog, I do listen well. And then I go ahead and do whatever I want.”
Which, to be fair, was just what the dog had done.
“All the more reason you should go away.”
As the sun rose higher and the midsummer heat drew a fine sheen of perspiration from Seven Skull Shield’s skin, the dog continued to follow. He might dart off to the side, or stop to sniff at something, but then he was right back, tongue lolling from his oversized mouth, ears flopping.
Seven Skull Shield had just reached the bend in the Avenue of the Sun near Black Tail’s tomb. The high ridge mound, charnel houses, and temples to Old-Woman-Who-Never-Dies stood just north of the road. Beyond that was an abandoned mound with the ruins of a burned temple and then the swampy bottoms and Marsh Elder Lake.
From here, the road ran straight past the foot of the Morning Star’s mound, up the distant bluffs, and clear to the Moon Mound complex a day’s travel to the east.
As Seven Skull Shield rounded the curve he saw Slick Rock coming toward him. Their eyes met. A triumphant smile bent the man’s lips as he raised his hand, gesturing three poorly dressed companions forward.
Slick Rock, perhaps thirty summers of age, had been cast out of Snapping Turtle Clan while still in his early teens. The story was that he’d beaten a cousin near to death over a coveted hardwood bow. Something about the man had never struck Seven Skull Shield as being quite right. When asked why he had battered a young woman on another occasion, Slick Rock had just shrugged, saying, “She brought me soup with a dead fly in it.”
It was the way he’d said it: emotionless. Cold and uncaring. Nor did it make sense as a reason. Cahokia—with its teeming tens of thousands, its charnel houses and countless open latrines, uncovered cook pots, and piles of garbage—swarmed with flies. The meddlesome beasts got into everything.
Slick Rock bent his lips into a ghastly grin, his eyes going slightly glassy with anticipation. The three scruffy men who accompanied him carried lengths of hardwood—the kind just right for beating someone senseless. And they were no more than a bowshot away.
Hesitation had never been one of Seven Skull Shield’s faults. He immediately darted behind a potter’s workshop, then dodged left, circling a sweat lodge before ducking behind a women’s house. When he would have hidden in the latrine out back, an old woman was already crouched over the pit, her skirt pulled up and bunched in her lap; she glanced up, eyes wide.
“Sorry!” Seven Skull Shield turned, feet hammering the ground as he charged back to the southeast. The trick was to stay among the dwellings, society houses, temples, and workshops where they clustered along the road. Stray too far north and he’d be exposed along the marshy banks of Cahokia Creek or visible in the open area around Black Tail’s tomb with its associated temples.
The joke he told was that his body was built for strength, not for speed. And that’s when he saw the Bear Clan charnel house atop its low mound. He pounded his way up the slope, around the corner of the plaster wall, and darted in the door, pulling it closed behind him.
The smell hit him first, and then the patter of flies as his passage disturbed them from their feasts.
Taking a moment, he blinked, trying to adjust his eyes to the gloom after the bright sun outside.
Had Slick Rock and his cronies seen him?
As his vision started to adjust, Seven Skull Shield began to make out the corpses laid in rows on plank benches in the center of the room. These were the newly dead. The ones the priests were still preparing. Ornately decorated pots holding the recently removed entrails were resting on the ground beneath the bodies.
As soon as he could see well enough, he wound among the corpses to the rear of the room. Shelves were built into the surrounding walls, and older corpses, either desiccated or stripped down to bare bone, had been placed on them for safe keeping.
More flies buzzed in the darkness, making him wonder why he’d thought of Slick Rock’s fly in the soup, only to end up covered with the little beasts.
In the rear he found the priest’s sacred box with its carved lid. He didn’t need to open it to know that it contained various flint and obsidian knives, chert scrapers, thread and needles, and the other sacred tools. Some were used to remove organs, others to scrape the bones of those whose flesh had softened to the point they could be stripped down.
What mattered was that the box was large enough that he could step on top of it and climb up to the highest shelf. There, an ancient woman’s corpse, long dried and partially mummified, lay on its back, arms at its sides.
“Excuse me, Grandmother,” Seven Skull Shield apologized. The rickety shelving creaked and swayed as he eased his bulk over the desiccated remains. “Won’t be here long, and if I’m the first man ever to lie beside you, your life must have been a tragedy.”
He settled behind her, shoving her out toward the edge to get more room. The shelving kept wobbling under his weight. He made a warding sign with his fingers in the hopes it would keep the whole thing from collapsing. The shelves had been built to support dried corpses, not flesh-thick and burly thieves.
He’d no more than taken a breath before a hollow thump was followed by a dog’s pained squeal. Then the door was jerked open. Slick Rock stood silhouetted by sunlight as he peered around. His cohorts crowded up behind him.
“He’s in there?” one asked.
“That dog of his was sniffing at this door.”
Seven Skull Shield strangled a groan deep in his throat. He turned his attention to the gap between the thatch and the wall. Way too thin to allow him to wiggle his bulk through.
“Seven Skull Shield?” Slick Rock called. “We know you’re in here. We can do this easy, or we can do it the hard way. We just want to talk.”
Seven Skull Shield forced himself to breathe deeply, stilling his desire to do something rash. By blood and spit, there was still a chance they wouldn’t see him. Maybe think the dog had just smelled the rotting meat?
“It’s the hard way then,” Slick Rock said through that flat and emotionless voice of his. “They just want you alive. They didn’t say we couldn’t mess you up a little in the process.” That flicker of empty smile bent his lips. “And I’ve never liked you. Thought you were a loud-mouthed braggart. You and that oversized rope you call a penis. You’re like duck shit in a lake … sinking ever lower to the bottom.”
Slick Rock had edged in, waving at his companions to spread out as they worked their way carefully through the benches and supine corpses.
“You sure he’s here?” asked the young one.
“Oh, he’s here.”
“I don’t like this,” another, older and nervous, said. “Only an idiot would anger the souls of the dead. You think he’d take that kind of chance?”
“This is Seven Skull Shield. He’d not only anger the dead, but brag about it later.” Slick Rock was squinting, his eyes starting to adjust. Louder he called, “Isn’t that right, you bit of worm-infested turd?”
“Hey! Look!” a big man blocking the door called. “The dog’s back!”
Seven Skull Shield heard a soft whine, not daring to raise his head.
By Horned Serpent’s hairy shaft, why had he ever let that fool dog off its leash?
Skull, this time your idiocy may have finally killed you!
He filled his lungs, trying not to inhale flies, as he sought to quell his rising anger with himself.
The shelving creaked in reply.
“There he is,” satisfaction filled Slick Rock’s voice. “Up on that high shelf. It’s over, thief. Come on down.”
Seven Skull Shield clamped his jaws against the curse that bubbled up from his throat. His hands knotted into frustrated fists.
“I’ll get him,” the closest man said, reaching up to grasp the high shelf and pulling himself up as if he were chinning on the pole rail.
With a crack the whole thing let loose and pulled away from the wall. In a mass, shelving, poles, corpses, and Seven Skull Shield went crashing down onto the benches where fresher bodies lay.
Beneath the mass, the erstwhile climber shrieked and wailed in pain.
Whatever the ghosts of the dead thought, they couldn’t have been too angry. Otherwise Seven Skull Shield wouldn’t have landed on top of Grandmother, a still-soft and rotting young man, and a plank platform that bowed on impact before giving way. With a loud crack it deposited him and his cushioning corpses gently on the ground.
In an instant, Seven Skull Shield was on his feet. Even as he started for Slick Rock, the anger was burning free.
“Call me duck shit? I’m gonna squeeze your neck until your head pops like a rotten gourd!”
The remaining two of Slick Rock’s companions, including the one afraid of the dead, had backed against the shelving on the far side, their eyes wide.
“Take him. Now!” Slick Rock started forward, his club slapping his free hand.
Seven Skull Shield let out a bellow and charged. As Slick Rock swung, Seven Skull Shield ducked. The club swished through his hair. Then he plowed into Slick Rock. The man backpedaled before crashing into another of the corpses atop its table. With a splintering of wood, they hit the floor.
Howling, Seven Skull Shield cried, “Gonna gut you! Gonna eat your balls! You shit-blood maggot sucker!”
He got one hand on Slick Rock’s throat, raging, “Gonna rip your lips off! Gut-eating pus maggot! Piece of filth!”
Slick Rock was clawing like a snared raccoon, his legs kicking in the wreckage of shelving and corpses. A mewling sound escaped his mouth as Seven Skull Shield clamped fingers deep. The windpipe and voice box collapsed under his grip.
Which was when a club thumped painfully into his back and his arms went numb. A second blow left him reeling, and a third blasted lights through his vision.
Breath seemed to stick in his lungs, leaving him gasping as he rolled to one side, unable to make his arms work.
“Got him.”
Seven Skull Shield barely managed a breath, glancing sidelong in agony at the third man. The big man raised the club again, but at Seven Skull Shield’s flinch, lowered it.
“Come on. Let’s get him out of here.” The big man grinned as he threatened Seven Skull Shield with his club. “See if Slick Rock’s going to make it.”
The wary older man, his eyes large as he stared in horror at the tangled mass of corpses and broken shelving, was making warding signs with his fingers as if to save himself from all the evil in the world.
The big man grabbed Seven Skull Shield by the hair, jerking his head up. He lifted his club, saying, “Slick Rock just said we had to get him to the Natchez alive.”
The blow wasn’t full strength or it would have crushed Seven Skull Shield’s cheek, broken his jaw, and knocked out half his teeth. It still blasted lights behind his eyes, rocked his head, and hurt like thunder in the morning.
Half dazed, but breathing, Seven Skull Shield watched the man’s club rise again for a better blow. Some part of his bruised souls read the glee in the big man’s eyes, the parting of his lips in anticipation.
This is gonna hurt.
A flash of brown flickered through Seven Skull Shield’s vision and fastened on the man’s arm.
It might have been a ghost of the dead given the sound it made: a squealing growl that was half yip.
The man uttered a horrified shriek as he was bowled over backwards. Seven Skull Shield identified the brindle-brown fury, amazed as the dog savaged the big man’s arm. The snap of crushed bones could be heard. Shrieking man and growling dog crashed down into the broken shelving and sprawled corpses.
Slick Rock had recovered, coughing, pulling himself upright and reaching for his club.
Seven Skull Shield clumsily laid hands on a large ceramic jar, its side decorated with some incised Bear Clan design. He raised it just as Slick Rock swung. The jar took the impact, shattering to cover them both with foul-smelling wet goo.
Something solid landed in Seven Skull Shield’s lap. He reached down; the thing had a texture like a slimy fish. Realizing it was a human heart, and the jar had been full of organs, he threw it at Slick Rock. The heart hit the man full in the face. Gathering up hands full of slithering and ropy intestines, he slopped them onto Slick Rock’s head, leaving the man to claw his way through the tangle.
Got to get out of here.
Seven Skull Shield staggered to his feet, hearing the wailing and horror-torn cries of the man beset by the ghost fury dog. He blinked. Realized his vision was doubled.
Slick Rock was coughing through his damaged throat as he struggled through the mass of ropy intestines.
Seven Skull Shield managed to catch the club as Slick Rock gave it a half-hearted swing. Wrenching it from the man’s hands, he took his own swing. Off balance as he was, the blow caught Slick Rock on the shoulder, skipped up, and glanced off the side of his head. The man dropped in the draping of guts as if his strings had been cut.
People were standing in the doorway, staring in, expressions aghast.
The last of Slick Rock’s men looked paralyzed, the club falling from his hands as he backed away. His terrified eyes flicked from the brown fury still mauling the shrieking man, to the screaming fellow buried in shelving and corpses, then to Slick Rock, now moaning in the tangle of half-rotted humans and the stench of necrotic organs.
Seven Skull Shield bulled his way to the door, wavering on his feet. “Get them!” he told the crowd as he pointed. “I caught them doing witchery on the dead! Tried to stop them, and they attacked me!”
For what seemed an eternity, the crowd just stared at him, eyes wide, mouths agape despite the smell.
Then, with a howl, they charged in, fists knotting, curses on their lips.
Seven Skull Shield gratefully slipped out the door, lost his footing and tumbled down the slight incline of the mound. He scrambled to his wobbly feet on the flat below. He was halfway to the nearest farmstead when a series of shouts caused him to look over his shoulder.
The dog emerged from the charnel house door, sniffed for his scent, and then came like a shot, his oddly colored eyes alight, tongue bloody and lolling out of the side of his mouth.
As Seven Skull Shield rounded the farmstead and out of sight of the charnel house, he paused, propping hands in his knees to pant. Blood was dripping down from his nose and coating his chin and chest. His head ached like a cracked walnut. He smelled worse than buzzard shit mixed with maggot puke.
He grinned despite his double vision.
“What do you think, dog? Was that fun, or what?”
And then Seven Skull Shield’s stomach pumped and he threw up.