Thirty-nine

For four days Cahokia had prepared for the lunar maximum moonrise. Each night, crowds gathered at the observatory to watch the Sky priests take their measurements. Despite the fact that clouds obscured the sky for three of the four nights, the excitement grew.

The whole city seemed to be holding its breath, waiting, expectant. The lunar maximum was a rebirth. The second-most-important ceremony in the Cahokian world, it was eclipsed only by the lunar minimum ceremony when the moon rose at its northernmost point on the southeastern horizon.

The lunar maximum only came once every eighteen-and-a-half years. On that special night, the entire nation was transfixed. While the biggest celebration—overseen by the reincarnated Morning Star—was held on the Great Plaza, every family, every farmstead, had their special temple or shrine. Everything, even elongated fire hearths, was oriented to the northwestern horizon.

Out at the Moon Mound and temple a day’s travel east on the Avenue of the Sun, the moon priests would be offering sacrifices, many of them human beings. Some were slaves, taken in war or bought for the purpose, but often a family would offer one of their own. A child. A brother. A young woman. Most went joyfully, fully convinced that after they’d been strangled, their souls would enter the Land of the Ancestors as honored dead.

Some of the sacrificial dead would be cremated on elevated racks oriented to the moonrise—their souls borne up to the Sky World. Others would be interred with their corpses oriented to the northwest if they were from the Earth Clans. For them it was but a short moment and their souls would be welcomed into the Underworld by Old-Woman-Who-Never-Dies, with the arms of their ancestors ready to embrace them. Wherever the souls of the dead ended up, they carried with them the prayers and pleas of the living, whether it was for luck, prosperity, a good harvest, or forgiveness for some transgression or crime.

For those less in need of such important Spiritual intercession, the sacrifice of an animal, a bag of corn, or perhaps some precious personal possession would do. A prized bow might be burned, an expensive pot might be smashed, or a treasured stone effigy broken into pieces. In some cases, buildings would be incinerated—even great palaces if the chiefs were desperate enough to curry divine favor from the Powers of the Sky.

For four days prior to the event, Cahokia fasted, prayed, cleansed, and purified itself. Priests, warriors, and volunteers stalked through the avenues, peered into yards, and kept an eye on their neighbors to ensure the sanctity of the preparations.

For Seven Skull Shield—who thought that most religious rituals were nonsense—the four days passed in an agony of boredom. His friend Black Swallow was being watched by some of Robin Feather’s agents. So, too, was Crazy Frog. Additional warriors had been stationed around Night Shadow Star’s mound by Spotted Wrist. With the preparations and purification rituals, traffic on the Avenue of the Sun was but a trickle of what it normally was.

The one dark and cloudy night he and Farts could sneak up the back side of Night Shadow Star’s mound and inside, Willow Blossom had flatly denied his attempt to slip under the covers with her.

“It’s two days to the lunar maximum! Do you want to condemn us? Bring down all the disaster and grief? That’s forbidden!”

His sharp ears had caught the muffled mirth as Green Stick and Clay String snickered from their beds across the room.

In Cahokia the sacred fast, asceticism, and sexual abstinence lasted until the first glimpse of the rising moon as it crested the high bluff that rose above the floodplain to the east.

Not that Seven Skull Shield or Farts went hungry that day. He’d managed to steal a couple of loaves of walnut bread from a lazy Hawk Clan vendor who’d come in early to get one of the better places along the western margin of the Great Plaza.

And come the throngs did: an endless stream of humanity arriving from all directions to pack the Great Plaza. There they stood, anxiously awaiting both the rising moon and the appearance of the living god. At moonrise Morning Star would take his place at the Council Gate to signal the beginning of the celebration.

It was easy pickings for a thief of Seven Skull Shield’s ability, people with open packs hanging from their backs, distracted parents trying to keep track of their children lest they get lost in the crowd. But, as a gesture to the sanctity of the day, for the most part he restrained himself from temptation.

Well, all but for one particularly gorgeous redstone effigy pipe. The pipe had been carved by a master to represent Sky Eagle, and the bowl rested in the bird’s back between the folded wings. Its owner, one of the recorders, was bragging to his companion about how he’d stand on the corner of the society house atop the recorders’ mound, smash the pipe with a stone, and offer his prayer that he be made the next Master Recorder when old Lotus Leaf died, as the old recorder was sure to do in the coming moons.

Something about the man’s wheedling voice just set Seven Skull Shield on edge. And the pipe was a beautiful thing, much too nice to be broken into bits for one man’s vainglorious ambition.

The recorder had absently dropped the pipe back into his belt pouch, his hands waving busily as they added emphasis to his tirade on why he would be a better Master Recorder than someone named Flicker Beak. People never thought things through. Gaping open like the man’s pouch was? All it took was a deft sleight of hand, and Seven Skull Shield disappeared into the crowd with his new pipe bowl. He’d have to carve a stem for it, but the thing was well worth the effort. And, if it didn’t draw well, it would bring him a fortune in Trade down at the canoe landing.

Assuming he could ever ply his old Trade at the canoe landing again.

He glanced down at Farts who was pacing along at his side. “You know, I’m getting tired of always being hunted.”

Since evening was falling, he picked his way through the crowd. To his immense relief, the usual warriors were missing from their station at the foot of Morning Star’s great mound. No one was watching Night Shadow Star’s mound that he could see. It was, after all, one of the most important holidays in Cahokia. Everything stopped for worship, reflection, purification, and prayer. Even, apparently, vendettas.

Seven Skull Shield skipped his way up the steps, kept Farts from peeing on Piasa’s guardian post, and found Willow Blossom sitting on the veranda with Green Stick, Clay String, and Winter Leaf. They were in the process of shelling corn, rubbing two dried cobs against each other to break the kernels loose. As they did, a rain of yellow kernels dropped into the large basket they huddled around.

“A glorious day to you. Salutations.”

“So, you’re back. Noticed that Spotted Wrist has called off his warriors for the day, did you?” Green Stick looked up.

Willow Blossom dropped the cobs she’d just shelled into a sack, leapt to her feet, and ran to greet him.

Her expression was alight with joy, her eyes dancing as she took his gnarled hand in hers. “You’re here! I’m so glad! What are we going to do tonight?”

“See the sights. The lunar maximum in Cahokia? It only comes around once every eighteen years or so. We’re going to walk in the crowd. Watch Morning Star call the Blessing, see the Dancers, eat what we can—even if it’s scarce—and join the celebration as the Sky World renews itself.”

He paused, smiling down at her, feeling his heart lift. After being constantly on the run for the last moon or so, the joy at having this wonderful woman staring up at him with delight sent his spirit flying. “Now, go find something fine to wear. Something not too gaudy, but rich.”

He watched her whirl and run for the palace.

“We’ve got a roof leak,” Green Stick remarked as he shelled corn.

“Well, get it fixed.”

The servant shot him a reproving look. “That’s your job. The lady left you in charge. Seems to me all you do is slip around and do your best to keep one bunch or another from hanging you in a square or bashing your brains out.”

“What do I know about fixing roofs?”

“You’re the great Seven Skull Shield. You’re supposed to know all the common folk, the Traders and artisans. Surely you’ve run across some thatch Traders somewhere who would know someone who could fix the roof.”

Winter Leaf and Clay String were now giving him the eye.

“I can probably find someone. That’s, well, like a special sort of builder.” He could figure this out. What was the point of knowing all the people he did if he couldn’t tackle as mundane a chore as getting a roof fixed?

Willow Blossom emerged wearing a striking white skirt that was belted around her narrow waist and accented the enticing swell of her hips. A fine dogbane cloak hung at her slender shoulders. Shell necklaces fell to the tops of her perfect round breasts. She’d pinned her hair with a feather splay that appeared to radiate from behind her head.

In her arms she carried a red war shirt that she tossed to him, saying, “Put that on. I don’t want to go with you looking like some dirt farmer from up on the bluff. You can disguise yourself just as well by looking like a noble.”

Seven Skull Shield grinned, glanced down at Farts. “So, dog, what are we going to disguise you as?”

“Most people already mistake him for a bear,” Green Stick muttered sourly.

As the sun set, fires began to spring up, casting their light into the gloom. The sky in the west had gone from orange to indigo while the eastern sky darkened from bruised purple to charcoal and the first stars poked out.

As Seven Skull Shield and Willow Blossom, arm in arm, wended their way through the pack of humanity surrounding the Great Plaza, she asked, “What happens if Night Shadow Star never comes back?”

“She will. What makes you ask that?”

“How long will people wait, like the tonka’tzi, before she declares Night Shadow Star dead and missing for good?”

“Cofitachequi is a long way away. Even if Night Shadow Star and the Red Wing are making good time, it’s still a couple of moons before they could get there.”

“What if she never makes it? Rivers are supposed to be dangerous places. People drown. There are barbaric tribes out there. Accidents happen. Illness. A lot could go wrong.”

“Why are you worrying about this?”

“Well … what if she never makes it?”

“Someone will eventually bring word back. Probably from that big expedition that left after she did. They’re headed to the same place. They’ll be asking about her. She’s not the kind of woman people don’t remember.”

“So, if word comes back that something happened to her?”

Seven Skull Shield shrugged, stepping wide around a group of dirt farmers who’d plunked themselves down in the middle of the way. The men were seated cross-legged, the women with their knees together to the side. All were clapping their hands, singing in some incomprehensible language in time to a drum and flute. Their eyes were fixed on Morning Star’s Great Mound, as if they expected him to appear in a blaze of light at any moment.

“I suppose if word came back that she was dead, maybe Morning Star or the tonka’tzi would order her palace burned. Maybe a new layer of earth laid atop it, and another palace built. Or maybe not, since she didn’t die there. I don’t know.”

“But what would happen to Green Stick and the others? They’d have to go live somewhere else, right?”

“Like I said, I don’t know. They’re her slaves. If she died here in Cahokia, they might be sacrificed to follow her to the Underworld. If she dies someplace far away and there is no soul to attach them to? Maybe they’d be freed. Maybe given to someone else, I don’t know. That’s noble stuff.”

She had tightened her hold on his arm, her brow deeply lined as if vexed. “What about that old lady, Blue Heron?”

“She’s not exactly old. Just, well, older.”

“Would she take in Night Shadow Star’s people? I had a cousin who took all of one of his cousin’s slaves once. And she’s Night Shadow Star’s aunt, after all.”

“Why are you so worried about this?”

“Oh, it’s not me,” she insisted. “The others are worried.”

“Don’t worry about Night Shadow Star. Whatever she’s about, she has Piasa’s protection. If a person has to have an ally, there are worse to have on your side.”

But Willow Blossom continued to frown. “Have you ever thought about moving in with Blue Heron?”

“Where did that come from?”

“Well, I was thinking you serve her, and I could serve you. Sort of keep it all in one palace.”

Seven Skull Shield thought back to Blue Heron’s apparent dislike of Willow Blossom. Surely this eager-eyed young woman would be an asset in Blue Heron’s household. She could run errands for Smooth Pebble, help with—

Pus and blood, what was he thinking? A soft and tender thing like Willow Blossom in Blue Heron’s household? With Smooth Pebble, Dancing Sky, White Rain, and Soft Moon? They’d eat her alive.

“Hey, don’t you worry. Not that I believe anything will happen to Night Shadow Star, but if it did, you’d always have a place with me.”

She squeezed his arm, looked up at him. Her smile wavered the slightest bit, her eyes didn’t have the dazzling warmth, but that was probably because he couldn’t see them in the dark.

And later, after the moon rose, the Dancing began. When feasting had filled people’s bellies, Seven Skull Shield led her back to Night Shadow Star’s palace.

Willow Blossom must have been tired, maybe a bit under the weather. Or maybe she’d just eaten too much. As they made love that night, she only seemed to be going through the motions. Her movements seemed lethargic, something forced about her little gasps and moans.

But it’s probably just me. Too many worries. Too long living on the run.