Careful. I’ve got to be eternally careful.
Fire Cat had never felt so alone. He was but one man. Nor was this chunkey with rules he’d understood since youth. This was combat against an unknown foe, wielding a weapon he’d seen used only once—and then with devastating and terrible effect.
Scenes from the destruction of the Cahokian warriors had haunted him the entire night. The blurred flash of the macuahuitls, the deep slices in muscle and sinew that gaped like bloody magic in the wake of what seemed the slightest touch.
The nucleus of a plan had come to mind. The value of the incredible wealth stacked on the Keeper’s veranda had barely registered as he sorted through the jewelry, ceramics, fabrics, and precious stone and copper. It was the weapons and armor that drew him. In the end he chose the copper-bitted ax that had once been on Night Shadow Star’s wall. The shield he strapped to his arm was a large Plains design crafted of long-dried buffalo hide. Light and maneuverable. He kept his own shin guards of dried leather, but added knee-length buffalo chaps tanned with the hair on. They’d been Traded down from the far north above the freshwater seas. Now he pinned his hopes on the shaggy buffalo wool; but for his own relief, he’d spent a hand of time cutting out most of the inside seams to provide cooling ventilation.
While he had several choices of body armor, he kept his own cuirass and shoulder cups since they fit perfectly and wouldn’t impede his movement.
Movement, he hoped, would be the key.
Either he’d spotted—and could exploit—a weakness, or he’d be dead within heartbeats.
“Dead Teeth!” he roared yet again.
Behind him, the old woman was climbing the steps with agonizing slowness, the thief’s dog looking up anxiously at her side. The slight breeze tousled her wispy white hair. Her age-shriveled brown face puckered with the effort.
At that moment, Dead Teeth stepped out of the palace doorway. The Itza behind him were followed by the Natchez. Dead Teeth carried his thin shield, the bark-cased macuahuitl resting on his shoulder. He wore only a loincloth and kilt, while a feathered leather helmet conformed to his head. He was grinning, eyes alight as he nodded his head in challenge.
The hatred and rage over what Fire Cat had done to Swirling Cloud burned in the Natchez’ eyes like hot fires. Fire Cat didn’t need to speak Natchez to interpret their muttered imprecations and threats.
“I challenge the Itza warrior known as Dead Teeth to single combat! My life, or his! I wager all that I own. All that I won yesterday, against his meager belongings. Does the Itza accept?”
“He does,” Horn Lance cried out gleefully.
The Itza warriors were slapping Dead Teeth on the back, almost dancing in anticipation.
Fire Cat’s heart began to hammer. Cold fear played its familiar havoc, tight and liquid in his abdomen. The tickling charge of adrenaline toned his muscles. Nervous sweat turned his neck and sides clammy.
“Red Wing?” the old woman’s reedy voice asked as she gained the top of the steps. “How are you doing?”
“Scared as a rabbit facing a cougar, Elder.”
“You should be.”
Due to whatever perversity infested his souls, the dire sincerity in her voice calmed him, brought a smile to his lips.
The kukul emerged from the doorway before Burning Ant lifted it high. Bright morning sun reflected from the dazzling yellow, red, black, and blue designs that decorated the exotic image. The thing’s snarl was more vicious than ever, the green eyes blazing.
Yes, you know, don’t you, War Serpent? This day is all about you and me.
The impossibility of Fire Cat’s task hit home like a fist to the stomach. This was insanity.
“You can still back out, Red Wing,” the old woman hissed from behind. “You could live a long life. I could ensure that for you.”
“As a slave?”
“There are worse fates.”
“If I give up now, Night Shadow Star’s souls will not return from the Spirit World. Life without honor and Night Shadow Star is not worth living.”
“As you will.”
He felt the Tortoise Bundle as it was removed from the sack. A sudden airy energy ran through his charged muscles. Throwing his head back, he screamed, “Hoookaaiiiyaaaa!” and charged the Itza.
The Itza swung his macuahuitl, slinging the bark sheath straight at him as a diversion. The bark case hissed as it passed harmlessly over Fire Cat’s shoulder.
The momentum of the swing allowed Fire Cat time to close before Dead Teeth unleashed a powerful backhanded swing. The warrior’s eyes were wide, startled by Fire Cat’s chunkey-toned speed. Nor did Dead Teeth have room to retreat without stumbling into the massed warriors behind him.
Fire Cat caught the blow on his shield, delighted that the hard-dried leather momentarily caught and held the razor-edged obsidian blades.
The tug it cost Dead Teeth to pull it loose was all Fire Cat needed. He slammed the war ax into the hollow of Dead Teeth’s upper arm where the rounded shoulder muscle dipped under the bicep.
Dead Teeth screamed. Staggered back into his crowded companions and stared stupidly at his dangling left arm. The wound hung open like a hideous red smile; jets of blood shooting from arteries. Cut two-thirds of the way through, the bone severed, it flopped lifelessly.
In shock, Dead Teeth dropped to his knees and the macuahuitl slipped from the man’s slack right hand.
“Back away!” Fire Cat ordered as the Itza crowded around the shocked Dead Teeth. “This isn’t over!”
“It’s over,” Horn Lance snarled, shooting him a hard look.
“Then I challenge the Itza warrior known as Split Bone to individual combat! My life against his. All that I own against all that is his! Or is the Itza a coward?”
Fire Cat saw the moment Horn Lance finally understood. The man’s eyes sharpened, his incredulous glance fixing momentarily on Fire Cat, then sliding off to the side where the growing crowd was filling every empty space on the avenue and around Night Shadow Star’s palace. Word of the Red Wing’s challenge was burning across Cahokia like wind-blown fire.
Horn Lance straightened, ignoring Shaking Earth and Red Copal as they pulled Dead Teeth’s bleeding body up onto the veranda. The two were trying desperately to stanch the spurting blood. They would not succeed.
Horn Lance stepped forward, hands raised. “You don’t have to do this, Red Wing. You don’t have to die and lose everything. You can’t take them all.”
Fire Cat knew a brief moment of hope, realization that if he just reached out, grabbed this rope to salvation …
Night Shadow Star will die.
He thumped his chest. “I challenge Split Bone to single combat!”
Below him, a roar went up from the crowd. By the tens and twenties, they’d started to climb the sides of the Morning Star’s sacred mound to get a better view. Doing so was a potential death penalty. That they’d risk it was proof of the crowd’s passion.
“Very well, die, fool!” Horn Lance spit, bellowing an order to Split Bone. The warrior shot a fiery look at Fire Cat, then ran for his weapons.
“The rest will not be so easy,” the old woman called from where she stood beside Piasa’s statue, the Tortoise Bundle in her hand. The dog whined, tail sagging and ears down.
When Split Bone burst from the door, he came at a run, his macuahuitl’s obsidian-studded blade glittering in the sun.