The only way Fire Cat could stand it was by turning his heart and souls into stone: cold, unfeeling, and impervious. He forced himself to shut off his thoughts and just stand, back straight, war club in his hands. He convinced himself he was stone. Granite. Heavy. Hard.
The moments passed in a drawn-out blur. His gaze focused on the back of Night Shadow Star’s head, as though he could see through her carefully combed hair where it was pulled up and pinned in place by the polished copper arrows. Past her scalp and skull and into her frantic thoughts.
How does she do it?
Quiet. Stone doesn’t think. It doesn’t question.
She hates this! She hasn’t even glanced at him.
Night Shadow Star and the Itza might have been carved of rock themselves; neither seemed to take the slightest joy as they sat on their litters, looking for all the world like they were victims of malicious fate.
As if a counterpart, the standard bearer stood behind Thirteen Sacred Jaguar, his face stoic as he propped the snarling snake effigy, like a guardian, behind the Itza’s litter.
At most Night Shadow Star or the Itza might incline his or her head slightly when a well-wisher offered congratulations. The Itza, of course, had no idea what was being said to him, nor could he move his misshapen head much given the size of his soaring headpiece.
From where Fire Cat stood, it would be so easy. All he had to do was step to his right, raise his copper-bitted war club, and hammer it into the back of Thirteen Sacred Jaguar’s neck before the standard bearer could shout out a warning.
One. Two. Three.
It would all be over. Night Shadow Star would be free.
And I would have broken my vow to her.
Not for the first time did he wish he hadn’t been born a Red Wing. To have been anyone else would have released him from the inviolate code imposed by his ancestors. He could kill the Itza, the Cahokians would kill him, and the balance would be restored.
Be like a stone.
Don’t think.
There was a moment of confusion when the Morning Star appeared at the top of the steps and started down from his palace.
A stillness fell over the crowd as the so-called living god descended, step by step. Chunkey Boy had overdressed the part of the Morning Star, complete with copper headdress, white apron, the usual face paint, and shell-mask ear coverings.
That familiar deep-seated revulsion grew in Fire Cat’s heart as people knelt. How could the fools debase themselves before a living lie?
How could Night Shadow Star acquiesce to her perverted brother’s will and marry this foreigner?
Then, lost in the maze of disbelief, and the howling of his souls, Fire Cat realized the Morning Star was standing before Night Shadow Star and the Itza. For the first time, they both rose, stepping forward as Horn Lance moved up behind Thirteen Sacred Jaguar. The kukul bearer crowded in close, as if the gaudy snake totem were a party to the proceedings. Was that a gleam in the eerie green eyes, or did the light just reflect from the polished stone?
The familiar words, once said during Fire Cat’s own marriages to Fall New Moon and False Dawn, repeated in his head as they came droning out of the Morning Star’s mouth.
At the Itza’s side, Horn Lance continued to translate for Thirteen Sacred Jaguar. At the appropriate time, he even took the Itza’s hand, extending it to grasp Night Shadow Star’s.
Both seemed to recoil from the other’s touch.
Fire Cat might loathe the imposter who played the Morning Star, but some voice down between his souls reminded, “He’s her brother Chunkey Boy. Which makes the marriage valid.”
And then, as the final words were spoken, Horn Lance coached Thirteen Sacred Jaguar through the Cahokian pronunciation. The highly decorated ceremonial blanket was brought forth. As it was draped over their shoulders, man and woman were married.
In that instant, Fire Cat struggled for air, as though a chokehold had been placed on his throat. A tingle of fear tickled his insides, and a desperate sensation ran electric and crackling, like rubbed fox fur, through his bones.
She’s no longer … mine. As if she ever was.
People were whistling, clapping, and shouting. High chiefs and elegant matrons, their faces glowed with delight. When had the world gone so blurry, his vision wavering?
“Here,” a soft voice intruded into Fire Cat’s freefall of loss. He jerked in surprise as a hand was laid gently on his shoulder.
Somehow he turned, shocked to recognize Seven Skull Shield behind the ridiculous face paint and hairdo. Clay String had outdone himself.
“Look at me,” Seven Skull Shield ordered. “Walk over here. That’s it.”
“What … What are you doing?” Fire Cat’s voice sounded hoarse and strained. He fought for balance as the thief literally dragged him. “Get your hands off me!”
Seven Skull Shield tightened his grip, scarred hands on Fire Cat’s shoulders. “Hold still, Red Wing. Let me help you.”
“Help? I’ve got to get back to my lady.”
“Wait.” The thief reached up, wiping a cloth over Fire Cat’s wet cheeks. Wet? How had that happened? When?
Even more unsettling was the concern in Seven Skull Shield’s expression. “An interesting choice was mentioned to me earlier: biding one’s time, or creating a scene. For the moment we’re biding our time. Can you do that?”
“This happened because of me.”
“You lost a chunkey game.”
“Power deserted me.”
“Your game was off. You made mistakes. They can be fixed.”
“How?” Fire Cat glanced down at his trembling hands where they clutched the war ax.
Night Shadow Star and Thirteen Sacred Jaguar were surrounded by well-wishers. A deep, keening howl sounded in the depths of his souls.
“Of course. That’s who the old priestess meant.” Seven Skull Shield glanced at the knot of people swarming the newlyweds. “I know someone who knows more about chunkey than anyone alive. But the only people he can help are those willing to listen and learn. I don’t know if you’ve got the sense or guts to do either.”
“She thinks she has to destroy him on her own.” His voice sounded faint, as if spoken from someone else’s mouth.
“She might,” Seven Skull Shield agreed, wiping Fire Cat’s latest tears away. No one had wiped his face like that since he was a child. “But here’s the thing. Are you tired of hurting like this? Do you want to be the man she needs, instead of this sniveling piece of shit? If so, you come see me.”
“I don’t understand.”
“I’m just beginning to, Red Wing. Now, reach down into those priggish souls of yours and grab onto some of that arrogant pride you’re so fond of strutting out for the world to see. I’ve got the beginnings of a plan.”
“What sort of plan?”
“The kind you’re not going to like for a whole lot of reasons. Mostly because you’ll find it to be demeaning.” The thief shot a hard look at where the Natchez Little Sun was grinning, talking to Horn Lance and the Itza lord. “But those pus-licking curs are hurting too many women we care about. And they’ve sent both of us scurrying like frightened mice in the process. Me, I’ve about had it.”
“So … what do I have to do?” The ache in Fire Cat’s heart eased slightly. Was this actually a chance?
“Tomorrow, early. You and me need to go to River Mounds City, and with no one the wiser.”
“And leave her unprotected? With him?”
“The man’s her husband. He’s not going to hurt her on his wedding night. Usually it takes a few days before even the slimiest man sinks that far.” The thief grinned, distorting his facial paint. “Trust me, I know.”
Fire Cat gave him a sidelong look.
“Tomorrow, Red Wing. Before dawn. Bring your chunkey gear.”
“I have duties.”
“You swore.” The thief’s smirk vanished, and he glanced speculatively down at the ugly dog that had been following him around. “Fire Cat, something tells me that by tomorrow morning, you’re going to be desperate for a reason to be out of that palace.”