Piasa whispered disjointedly into Night Shadow Star’s ear as she climbed past the Natchez guards to her palace. Lovingly she ran her fingers across the polished wood of the Horned Serpent guardian post, recalling the Spirit Beast’s gleaming crystalline eyes. How they’d glowed with an internal light as the creature peeled away layers of her memories.
At the time—her souls lost in the Underworld—she’d faced only death and eternal nothingness. Not the yawning sense of desperation and distaste at what she now was about to endure.
She’d returned at dusk the night before, only to have Clay String, Green Stick, and the rest of her household servants throw themselves at her feet, pleading that she put Horn Lance in his place.
When she’d faced the man, he’d smiled wickedly, crossed his arms, and told her: “Your people serve Ahau Oxlajun Chul B’alam. As do you. He would like to find you in his bed tomorrow morning instead of waking to empty blankets.”
“Who my people serve, and where my body is in the morning, are my concern. My people—”
His hand flashed in a blur, slapping her hard across the cheek. Staggered by the force of it, she’d barely avoided a fall.
“Your husband would like you to share his supper before retiring to his bed. He believes a woman with a full stomach is better disposed to accept his seed.”
Cheek still burning she’d glanced desperately around the room, seeing the Natchez. They’d all witnessed her humiliation and were grinning that she’d been put in her place. Especially Swirling Cloud.
Where’s Fire Cat?
His place by the door remained vacant, Horn Lance having removed his bedding and replaced it with his own.
In her ear, Piasa had whispered, You are abandoned by everyone. You have no one left, Night Shadow Star.
She’d awakened that morning before dawn, her skin crawling, hearing voices whispering from the dark corners of her room.
Soundlessly, she’d slipped from her husband’s side, grabbed her clothing, and tiptoed past the sleeping form of Horn Lance where he lay in Fire Cat’s place.
That entire day, she’d wandered around the Great Plaza, listened to the people as they talked about the Itza, about what his stories meant, and if the Morning Star was the same as the Hun Ahau the Itza told of.
Abandoned! Piasa’s disembodied voice seemed to hiss from the air.
She shot a glance at the guardian post carved in his image and walked hesitantly toward her palace where Natchez warriors sat in a row on her veranda.
She ignored them as she entered, walking slowly toward the fire. Again her desperate eyes searched for Fire Cat, finding only the Itza warriors, Horn Lance, and her husband in some sort of conference. They stopped, all turning to watch her with speculative eyes as she approached the fire.
There she lowered herself, extending hands to the heat, wondering how long she could stand the pain were she to thrust her hands into the bed of coals.
Though she concentrated, she could see nothing in the glimmering embers. No pattern, no clue as to the future.
She was only vaguely aware of Horn Lance squatting beside her, offering a plate.
“I’m sorry about yesterday, Lady. I should not have struck you. Here. Freshly cooked. The spice comes from the ahau’s home country. It’s called achiote. The meat is bison. I’m told it’s from a young cow. Tender and sweet.”
She took the plate, refusing to meet his eyes, and tried the succulent meat. The achiote filled her mouth with a unique and tangy flavor. She’d originally thought to try it and then pitch the rest into the fire—a statement of what she thought of his apology. The unique flavor, however, led her to a second piece, and then a third.
“I thought you’d like it,” Horn Lance replied as he stood and walked back to the other men.
Finishing the plate, she found her cup and filled it with tea, washing down the last of the meat.
Taking a deep breath, she laid the plate to the side, continuing to stare at the fire.
I should have left with Fire Cat. He offered, suggested taking a canoe, heading south.
She glanced again at where his bed had been, seeing Horn Lance and the rest of them. They waited by the door to her personal quarters like vultures, silent, each one studying her, as if waiting.
For what?
On the far side of the room, her household staff huddled, talking softly among themselves, anxious eyes on her. She sniffed disdainfully. As if she could do anything to help herself, let alone them.
I could leave. Tomorrow. Sneak away. Go in search of Fire Cat and …
A curious hazy feeling swam up from her gut. She blinked, a warm wave rolling around her insides. Her vision seemed to smear, colors brightening. Heat, like an infusion, ran down her bones, pulsed with her blood, and conjured a prickling sensation in her hands and feet.
She shook her head, trying to shake off the odd euphoria.
Horn Lance was smiling as he rose, crossing the room with Red Copal in tow to lower himself beside her.
“Feeling better, Lady?”
“What is this?”
“A mixture, Lady. Scrapings from mushrooms that grow in the forests of the Yucatan added to bache, an herbal that opens the doors to the Spirit World.”
She took a deep breath, seeking to stabilize the room.
“Let me go.”
Horn Lance had taken one arm, Red Copal the other.
“I don’t want to go there.”
But they were walking her inexorably toward her bedroom.
This time when she looked up at the kukul the terrible alien war god was glaring back. The green eyes gleamed, alive with a victorious essence. She could feel its Power, throbbing, hot, and angry. Its predatory gaze followed her as she was led past it and into her room.
Guiding her inside, Horn Lance led her to the bed. She pawed awkwardly in a feeble attempt to stop him as he yanked her skirt down over her hips.
He and Red Copal tossed her onto the bed, backing away as Thirteen Sacred Jaguar stepped between them. He studied her with his oddly bugged-out eyes, a resigned set to his lips.
He was pulling off his clothes when Horn Lance said, “Lady, you’ll find yourself much more responsive to your husband’s caress. You might not even need the hickory oil.”
The room had become unreal and liquid. It seemed to swirl, shifting sideways. Some distant part of her knew she should care. That this was wrong and she should fight it.
Then she saw Piasa, like a soot-soft darkness in the corner; his three-forked eyes burned yellow and gleaming.
She was still staring into the Spirit Beast’s glistening eyes when her husband’s body settled onto hers. She stifled a cry as he drove himself into her.
Abandoned …
The word seemed to echo around her empty skull.