“Oxlajun Chul B’alam!” the crowd chanted as they packed the avenue between Night Shadow Star’s mound and the sloping sides of the Morning Star’s great earthen pyramid. Worse, the swelling mob blocked the Avenue of the Sun as those on the outside pressed forward in an attempt to hear Thirteen Sacred Jaguar’s morning sermon, translated by Horn Lance, from the heights of Night Shadow Star’s stairway.
Blue Heron scowled distastefully from her litter as the warriors in her guard cried with near-futility, “Make way! Make way for Clan Keeper Blue Heron.”
“Why should we?” a soot-stained man hollered back. “She serves a false god! All the Four Winds do!”
With a flick of his wrist, Big Right, the squadron first in charge of her security, cracked the miscreant on the side of the head, sending him staggering.
A shout went up from the press, expressions hardening, some raising fists.
“Make way!” Big Right bellowed. “Or we’ll break a lot more of your idiot heads!”
A ripple went through the crowd, like a wave. Blue Heron’s fists tightened. People’s attention turned from where Horn Lance lectured on the step below the gaudy Itza and his kukul, to where her guard surged forward, war clubs waving menacingly.
Blue Heron’s anxiety turned to fear—a cold certainty rising within her as she read the massed faces before her. Their excitement turned to irritation, and then to anger as whispers ran from mouth to ear.
“She serves a false god!” someone cried.
“Her guard just killed a man!” another shouted in disbelief.
“Who are the Four Winds to order us around?”
That question was followed by grunts of agreement, eyes hardening as they fixed on hers. She knew it the moment they turned against her.
She had ten warriors in the guard, most of them crowding forward.
“Squadron First!” she barked. “Back away. We’ll go the other way.”
He shot her the briefest of questioning glances before ordering, “Back away.”
Blue Heron’s litter bearers deftly reversed course, the guards shifting to cover her retreat.
Moments later, they’d broken free, pursued only by shouts and insults as her porters trotted back toward the relative safety of the busy avenue. East-bound traffic had piled up, blocked by the crowd. At least here, people made way as her warriors cut south, skirting the western side of the tonka’tzi’s great white mound, then past the Moon Society house, and across the Great Plaza.
As her heart rate dropped, she took a deep breath. “Piss and snot! This has got to stop.”
“Yes, Keeper,” Big Right called up, a grim expression on his face. “I’ve never seen the like. They were within a hare’s whisker of turning on us. Here! In the shadow of the Morning Star’s palace!”
Her litter was lowered before the great staircase, and Big Right offered her a hand as she got to her feet, asking, “Do you want me to call out a squadron and disperse that bunch, Keeper? Shut this Itza nonsense down once and for all?”
She glanced back at the crowd swelling around the mound base. Hawkers were working the fringes, offering trinkets carved to resemble the Itza, the kukul, and miniature replicas of macuahuitls that were little more than flattened sticks with tiny stone flakes stuck in the edges. The attention of the crowd had now gone back to Horn Lance, individuals on the outskirts straining once again to hear over the press.
“For the moment, leave them be. But prepare your men. After I speak with the tonka’tzi and the Morning Star, I might have orders for you.”
“Yes, Keeper.” Big Right touched his forehead reverently. The rest of the warriors traded wary glances.
She started up the stairs, futility hanging on her bones like a too-heavy blanket. Wind would back her. And surely the Morning Star would finally have come to the conclusion that Thirteen Sacred Jaguar and his preaching were like cactus juice poured on copper, eating away at the city’s peace of mind.
“Nip it in the bud now,” she said between breaths as she cleared the top of the stairs and passed through the gate and into the Council House yard. Like an unstoppable force she bulled her way through the cluster of officials and dignitaries awaiting their audience with the tonka’tzi.
Wind was seated on her litter atop its dais beneath the Council House ramada. She glanced up from a discussion with what appeared to be representatives of some colony, given the record mats and deerhide maps spread before her.
Blue Heron picked out Dead Bird from the officials behind the dais, pointing at him and snapping her fingers in a beckoning gesture. She said, “Tonka’tzi, excuse me. We need to talk.”
Like a flock of grouse, people fled, and within moments, she, Dead Bird, and Wind were alone.
“What’s happened?” Wind demanded, her expression pinching.
Blue Heron stepped up to Dead Bird. “We need to see the Morning Star. Now. Tell him we’re on our way up.”
Dead Bird read the smoldering worry and anger, and nodded; the young man turned on his heel and bounded for the stairs.
“Since the wedding, Thirteen Sacred Jaguar has been preaching from Night Shadow Star’s steps. That’s five days now. Each day the crowd grows larger. Today the mob blocked my way, called the Morning Star a false god, and would have attacked me. It’s got to stop.”
Wind pursed her lips, the expression wrinkling her face. “I know they’re blocking the avenue, but only for a couple of fingers time. It’s just a novelty that will wear off. And there are always a handful of malcontents who—”
“You weren’t there. It’s not just novelty. Nor is it just a handful of malcontents. Horn Lance is fanning embers that almost caught fire this morning. If it had come to a fight between my guard and the crowd? My warriors killing a couple of dozen people? Or worse, me being pulled down from my litter? Beaten? Perhaps worse? Spit and vomit, sister, think it through!”
“What’s he saying? You’re the one with the spies, the one who’s been listening.”
“He started with the Itza story of Creation, telling their myths about the Hero Twins. How they—similar to what’s told in our story about the Morning Star and the giants—played ball with the Lords of Death. And won. And resurrected their father. But the preaching has changed as the crowd has grown. Now he’s asking questions, like how could the Morning Star not understand Itza? Why the Morning Star couldn’t answer simple questions Thirteen Sacred Jaguar asked him. How if the Beginning Times were really the Beginning Times, then Morning Star would also be the Hun Ahau of the Itza legends, so why does the Morning Star only play chunkey? Thirteen Sacred Jaguar gave him a ball, so why doesn’t he practice with it like in the stories? The implication is that if the Morning Star were really the hero from the Beginning Times, he’d explain why the Itza stories are so different from ours, and which one is right. That’s what’s so dangerous. The people are starting to question. And so far we’ve done nothing to discourage it. Meanwhile Horn Lance and the Itza have been triumphant at every turn from the murder of Nine Strikes, to the opulence of Thirteen Sacred Jaguar’s reception, to the wedding, to the murder of our warriors.”
Wind’s nostrils thinned as she inhaled. “Very well. Let’s go.”
She climbed to her feet, leading the way to the stairs.
“What do you suggest we do about this?” Wind asked as she started up the steps. “Have a couple of squadrons move in? Disperse the crowd?”
“That could be just as provocative in the end. Play into the Itza’s hand. I can hear Horn Lance now, ‘What does the Morning Star fear? Would a true living god have to rely on warriors to enforce my silence? Or is he using them to protect a lie? Were he really the hero incarnate, he would descend from his palace and face Thirteen Sacred Jaguar, answer his questions about the Beginning Times, and prove his identity.’”
Blue Heron’s lungs started to labor. “The other alternative is to plant our own people in the crowd. Order the Earth Clans to have their people mass at the bottom of the steps to shout their opposition. Make fun of every statement the Itza makes. Ridicule is a Powerful weapon when used with discretion.”
Winded, Blue Heron passed the high gate, acknowledging the guards as they touched their foreheads respectfully.
She led the way, brushing her fingers on the lightning-scarred World Tree in the center of the courtyard.
After the bright sunlight, the dim interior of the great room left her blinking.
“He’ll see you in his personal quarters,” Dead Bird said, emerging from the doorway in the back.
Blue Heron shot a questioning glance at her sister, but Wind just shrugged and plodded forward across the matting, past the fire, and to the rear behind the high dais.
The Morning Star’s door hung to the side on leather hinges, the room even darker. Blue Heron stopped, letting her eyes adjust. “Morning Star?”
“Here, Keeper,” he replied.
She turned her attention to the left and made out the Morning Star as he draped a pale cloak over a young woman’s shoulders. He placed his hand to her abdomen, saying, “I pray your wishes come true.”
“I am honored, Lord,” the woman whispered shyly, shot a doe-like glance at Blue Heron and Wind, and scuttled out the door like a panicked puppy.
Morning Star, a wrap around his loins, stepped back and settled himself on the corner of his opulent bed. He studied Blue Heron through half-lidded eyes, then asked, “Yes, Keeper?”
She took a deep breath, recounting her near disaster with the crowd, and began to elaborate on the contents of Itza’s speeches, only to have the Morning Star lift a hand.
“You need not be concerned, Keeper.”
“Lord? Don’t you understand? He’s poisoning the people against you. Lying to them. Questioning your very—”
“Of course he is. It is the only thing he knows.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean it’s the only truth he possesses. In his way he is as blind as you are in yours.”
“Blind, Lord? I don’t understand.”
“Thirteen Sacred Jaguar and Horn Lance are more capable than I thought. I shouldn’t have underestimated them so. I do hope Lady Night Shadow Star hasn’t made the same mistake that I have.”
Blue Heron shot a confused look at Wind, who gave a suggestive lift of her hands to communicate her own dismay.
“Lord, let me try again. The Itza and Horn Lance are working against you. They are succeeding. All of Cahokia is talking about them, speculating if the Itza are more Powerful than Cahokia. Now, based on the foul lies spewing from Night Shadow Star’s steps, they are beginning to wonder if you are an imposter!”
Morning Star smiled wearily. “While I appreciate your concern, it will not matter in the end.”
“We have to do something!” she cried.
“What?”
“Fight them! Counter their arguments. Listen, I don’t understand how this works between you and Night Shadow Star. She thinks she had to marry the Itza to destroy him. Which makes no sense whatsoever. You don’t seem to care if he wins or loses, even if losing means your own destruction and the city tearing itself apart in the process. We’ve got to take matters into—”
“Where is the Red Wing?”
Blue Heron stopped short, fist half-raised in a gesture of defiance. “Haven’t seen him since the wedding.”
“And your thief?”
“Haven’t seen him, either.” She gestured futility. “Maybe they both showed more sense than the rest of us and left. Nor do I blame them. If I’m any judge, Night Shadow Star taking the Itza into her bed tore Fire Cat’s heart out. And as for the thief? Horn Lance put a price on his head. For all I know they’ve got him tied in a square somewhere while they cut strips from his hide as a way of punishing me.”
“And Night Shadow Star?”
“Haven’t seen her, either. Word is that she’s keeping to her palace. I’m told she’s dedicating herself to her new husband.”
“Which we don’t believe for a minute,” Wind said with a snort.
Morning Star sighed then, averting his eyes for the first time. “Then perhaps she, and Piasa, made the same mistake I did.”
“What was that? Letting that Itza scorpion set foot in Cahokia in the first place?”
“Underestimating his ability,” he replied, before lifting a hand to dismiss them.
As Blue Heron turned to go, he added, sadly, “Do nothing to hinder Thirteen Sacred Jaguar, Keeper. You are not to interfere. Do you understand?”
“Yes, Lord.”