A hard rain was falling out of the lightning-riven night as Horn Lance’s porters slopped up to Thirteen Sacred Jaguar’s palace steps. The clouds had come spilling in from the south at sunset, their black interiors rent by tortured white veins of lightning. As Cahokia fell under the mantle of darkness and storm, a thousand searing bolts flashed, and thunder banged and crashed through the falling deluge.
What had begun as a respite from the day’s oppressive heat had rapidly become a misery to be endured. While Horn Lance’s porters carried an extended sun shade, the thin fabric rapidly succumbed to the pounding streamers of rain.
Horn Lance had considered taking shelter and waiting for it to pass, but he’d already been soaked to the skin. Nor had it let up, seeming only to intensify in fury as wind, lightning, and deafening peals of thunder hammered out of the night. If there was any good news it was that the constant searing bolts of lightning illuminated the water-silvered Avenue of the Sun as though it were midday.
As his litter was laid on the soaked earth before the palace stairs, another gust of wind drove rain in slashing patterns that almost blinded him.
His arthritic arm raised as an ineffectual shield, he climbed to his feet, shivering, and made his way up the slippery stairs as the first hailstones clacked and snapped on the wood.
Ducking and wincing as thumbnail-sized balls of ice smacked his head and shoulders, he reached the head of the stairs. Lighting in a strobe-white flash illuminated Piasa and Horned Serpent. Alive, trailing streamers of water, their colors vivid, he saw them leap, the snarling mouths wide.
Howling in fear, he dropped flat. Quivering with each impact of a hailstone, he thought it a flesh-rending fang or claw. Only after heartbeats of time had passed did he realize he was still alive. He summoned his courage and glanced up. A more distant lightning flash portrayed the guardian posts as they’d always been, but sleek with a sheen of water.
Laughing at himself, he rolled on his butt, one hand to his still-pounding heart.
What possessed me? Am I that much of a silly fool?
Disgusted and sheepish, he climbed to his feet and hurried between the guardians into the shelter of the veranda.
“Lord?” one of the Natchez warriors asked tentatively from the darkness.
“It’s me. What a storm. Something sure has riled the Nine Lords of the Sky and enraged Tlaloc. You’d think it was the end of the world out there.”
“You’d best see for yourself, Lord.” The dark shape guarding the door shifted warily. “They need you in there.”
Maybe he wasn’t the only one spooked by the sound and fury.
Squishing through the door, he stepped into the dimly lit great room. The first thing that struck him was the bare walls. Most of the copper plate, the fine fabrics, the intricately decorated shields, the exquisite ceramics, blankets, and robes—anything of real value—were missing.
Night Shadow Star’s household servants all huddled in a protective ball in the dark corner to his left. From the expressions, they, too, were a breath away from panic.
The Natchez warriors were all clustered in the great room’s rear, their attention on Wet Bobcat and his war second. At the sight of Horn Lance, the Natchez squadron first seemed to sag with relief. The other warriors glanced Horn Lance’s way, hard and worried gazes giving way to a flicker of hope.
“What’s happened?” Horn Lance demanded as he began pulling his sodden clothing from his shivering skin. The White Bone Snake might have been shaking his spectral vertebrae the way his teeth were chattering.
Not waiting for an answer, he hunched over the central fire, letting the warmth and smoke trace up his goosefleshed skin. Rubbing his pruned hands, he extended them to the flames and sighed.
“The Little Sun is dead,” Wet Bobcat declared. “And so is the Cahokian bitch. The ahau is in with her now. He placed the kukul at the side of her bed and is praying.”
“Swirling Cloud…?” Horn Lance couldn’t quite get his cold-muddled thoughts around it.
“Do not use his name!” Wet Bobcat rose from the back bench, picking his way through the warriors. They were all throwing dark glances his way. “The slave. The one they call the Red Wing, cut his head off.”
“And you let him?” Horn Lance thundered in disbelief.
“It was just!” Wet Bobcat bellowed back as he stopped beside Horn Lance, fists knotted, veins swelling in his neck. “The Little Sun disgraced us as it is. He tried to hide behind Red Copal and his warriors when he lost!”
“Lost? Lost what?”
“Chunkey, Lord. Look around you. All the furnishings? He wagered them, and won. And won. And won again. He’d taken the day. Defeated the Four Winds Clan. And then this slave challenged him. Bet his life against the Little Sun’s.”
“… And Fire Cat won.” He fought a bone-rending shiver, wondering if he’d ever feel warm again. “You’re telling me that a mere slave did what Cahokia’s mighty nobles could not? Defeated the finest chunkey player on the southern river?”
“The Little Sun invoked the Power of the kukul. He called upon it. We all saw. The Red Wing only had an old woman and some worn-looking bundle on his side. But on the last cast, he hit and split the Little Sun’s stone. We’ve never seen such a thing. It was a miracle.”
Wet Bobcat glanced nervously at his companions. “We want to go home.”
“You’ll do no such thing. You’ll stay, and you’ll follow my orders. Now, what’s this about the ahau’s wife being dead?”
“Go look,” Wet Bobcat said sullenly.
Still shivering, Horn Lance rounded the fire. He had no trouble picking his way through the Natchez warriors as they scuttled out of his way.
Entering the back room, he found it lit by hickory-oil lamps. The kukul dominated the room; he felt the War Serpent’s ch’ulel as the hard green eyes and snarling face met his gaze. The Itza warriors crowded the rear of the room, Red Copal with his arms crossed. Dead Teeth had a worried look.
Thirteen Sacred Jaguar sat on the side of the bed and took in Horn Lance’s wet and naked body. Something implacable and hard lay behind his wide-set and bulging eyes. His mouth was pressed in a flat and tense line.
On the bed, Night Shadow Star lay on her back, a blanket covering her from the chin down. Her eyes were barely visible behind slitted lids, her face slack, lips parted and dry.
“What happened to her?”
“She was on the floor, there, by that altar of hers. We found her when we returned from the ball game. Your man Swirling Cloud lost his head. Waxaklahun Kan found him unworthy. Refused his pleas and abandoned him. We didn’t understand at first … when he asked Red Copal to protect him. We didn’t know that he’d bet his life, just like in the sacred ball game. When I realized the truth, we gave the Natchez lord to the woman’s slave. The slave pulled an ax from his bag and cut off the coward’s head. His souls are disgraced. The Lords of Death will turn their backs on him.”
Thirteen Sacred Jaguar sighed, rubbed his weary eyes, and winced. “And then we return here, barely escaping that mad crowd, and I find my wife lying dead on the floor. We picked her up. Put her here. I have asked Waxaklahun Kan to try to recall her souls to her body. She remains cold. She does not breathe. There is no response.”
“Let me see.” Horn Lance, still rubbing his shivering arms, stepped close and bent down.
He lifted an eyelid, studied the rolled-back pupil, and then touched her eyeball. She blinked in response.
“She’s not dead, Ahau. Not quite. Not yet. But it could come at any time.” He leaned close, squinting in the dim lamplight. Running his fingers along her temple, he felt the grease, lifted it, and sniffed. “Sacred Datura. She’s in a trance. Her souls are in the Spirit World, seeking the Vision Serpent.”
Thirteen Sacred Jaguar glanced up at the kukul and took a deep breath. “What if she finds Och Kan there and he inserts his tongue into her mouth? What if he finds her souls unworthy the way the kukul did the Natchez? If he devours her, digests her souls, and passes them with his lifeless excrement, her body will die.” He lifted his hand in inquiry. “What then, my cha’k payal?”
“There are other women to marry.” Columella immediately came to mind. Older, yes. But a potent and capable ally. If she, Green Chunkey, and War Duck could be induced into an alliance against the wounded Morning Star House …
“My warriors think the Natchez want to leave this place,” Thirteen Sacred Jaguar told him. “Would that be a prudent choice for all of us? Especially if the woman should die? Will her relatives understand that I am not responsible? Or will these monkey people react like the uncultured beasts they are?”
“There is no need to abandon Cahokia. This is just a setback.” A deafening crack of thunder shook the palace, causing the others to flinch and look up with frightened eyes. “And it’s the darkest of the storm. We’re tired, unsettled.”
He straightened. “And the Keeper? How did the people take news of her death? Do they suspect us?”
Thirteen Sacred Jaguar’s protruding round eyes never wavered as he said, “She lives. If what Wet Bobcat heard is correct, only her slave, the one called Notched Cane, is dead. She even attended the chunkey match. Watched as Swirling Cloud’s head was cut off.”
“But he did it, right? Sneaked in and placed the poison root in the food?”
“Wet Bobcat says he did.” Thirteen Sacred Jaguar’s gaze seemed to bore into Horn Lance. “Had he followed instructions, the entire household should have been killed. Just as it was with the old Great Sun and the White Woman in Natchez. I can only assume that, as in chunkey, he failed.”
He should have been here, not dallying in Wooden Doll’s bed. Had he been, none of this would have happened. Horn Lance felt the energy drain from his legs. He sank to the bed, disbelieving stare going to the comatose Night Shadow Star. “Must I do everything myself?”
“Perhaps, ch’ak payal. But for myself, I am wondering if we are not playing ourselves for fools. This Cahokia, I’m beginning to think, may not be worth our effort.”
Horn Lance raised a hand. “Fools, Ahau? Or like Hun Ahau and Yax Balam in Xibalba we are being tested.” He looked up at the kukul with its snarling mouth and glaring green eyes. “Power doesn’t just grant success. It has to be paid for. We are waging a war. The Spirit World rewards those who offer it itz and ch’ulel, blood and soul.”
Thirteen Sacred Jaguar’s face tightened. “How much more can it demand of us? We set out with ten large ocean-going canoes. After the storms, only seven of us landed at the mouth of the Father Water. Seven! In only one canoe. But for the Natchez Traders at the mouth of the river, we, too, would have perished.”
“But we didn’t, Ahau.” He stroked his chin. “Perhaps I’ve been fighting incorrectly.”
“How so?”
“Perhaps it is time I went after the Keeper and the tonka’tzi myself. Perhaps Waxaklahun Kan would grant us greater favor if we laid their severed heads as an offering on the floor before him.”