Seventy-four

“War Leader?” The words brought Five Fists to full wakefulness. He opened his eyes to the faint glow of the eternal fire; it illuminated the high ceiling of Morning Star’s palace with its reddish glow.

He sat up in his bed, feeling Foxweed stir beside him. The Panther Clan woman—perhaps to the surprise of both of them—had been in Five Fists’ bed now for more than a year. As if, different though they might be, some long-hidden parts of their souls had fit together.

“War Claw?” Five Fists placed the dimly lit shape standing at attention. He tossed the blankets to the side, swinging his legs out of bed. “What’s wrong?”

He kept his voice low so as not to disturb the others who slept on the ornate benches surrounding the walls.

“Warriors are moving in the Great Plaza, War Leader. Small squads. The guards at the bottom of the Great Staircase just sent me word. I came straight here. What do you want to do?”

“Call up the Morning Star squadron? No, I need more information. Who they are? What are they doing? Could just be one of the Earth Clans running a training drill they forgot to tell us about.” Five Fists rubbed his face, feeling his crooked jaw. “That’s all you know? Just small squads of warriors?”

“That’s all the guards reported, they…”

The palace door was set aside, one of the guards from the Morning Star Gate hurrying into the great room. He came straight for Five Fists’ bed, tapping his chin in salute. “War Leader? There’s a fire. Lady Blue Heron’s palace.”

“What?” War Claw cried.

“Let’s go look,” Five Fists growled. To the guard, he said, “I want you back on the gate. Something rotten is afoot.”

Pulling his breechcloth on and grabbing up his old war ax, Five Fists got to his feet. He hated the feeling of stiffness from old bones and injuries. War Claw close on his heels, he hurried out the double doors and into the palace courtyard.

The night was warm and humid, the sky washed with patterns of stars. Picking his way past some of the litters, he hurried to the southwest bastion, quickly climbing the ladder. Poking his head through the access hole, he stopped short.

“Lord? Is that…” Yes. He knew Morning Star’s silhouette where it blotted the stars. “Excuse me, Lord. Something’s—”

“Tell War Claw to have the Morning Star squadron stand down.”

“Yes, Lord.” Bending his head to peer down the ladder, he asked, “You heard?”

“Yes, War Leader.” War Claw banged out a formal salute. “Any other instructions?”

“Tell your warriors that I don’t want them starting trouble. They are not to interfere,” Morning Star’s voice called down. “Tell them to be patient, and to follow orders.”

“Yes, Lord!” War Claw called, bowing his head low and touching his forehead respectfully. Then he whirled, leaving for the gate at a run.

Five Fists hesitated. “Lord? A guard reports that Lady Blue Heron’s—”

“Step up here, War Leader. We must talk.”

Five Fists, warily, climbed the rest of the way up into the bastion. His heart hammered as he stared down at Blue Heron’s palace, the roof a fountain of flame. He could see warriors, in battle armor, standing in a semicircle at the foot of the old Keeper’s stairs.

“We should get someone down there to see—”

“Too late,” Morning Star said softly, his face given a reddish cast by the burning palace. “Events will unfold as they must.”

“Lord?”

Morning Star turned, his attention to the distant southeast as if he could see beyond the horizon. “When Power employs a human, it is always a gamble. Will they succeed, or fail? Most are never strong enough to win. And, ultimately, they are so fragile. Death being what it is, humans are at best a short-term and unreliable resource.”

Five Fists experienced an unusual churning in his stomach as he cast another glance at the burning palace below. “Lord, those warriors down at Blue Heron’s aren’t even trying to help. They’re just standing there, more like they’re ensuring the place burns along with anyone inside.”

“Power is shifting. The game—if you will—is about to change. Some players sacrificed, new ones added to the play. Everything is about to be different.”

“Lord?”

“Your job in the coming days, War Leader, is to follow my orders without question. Nothing more, nothing less.”

“Yes, Lord. But what if these warriors try and take the palace? You could be in great—”

“All of existence, Cahokia itself, is a gamble. The gaming pieces are cast. Let them fall where they will.” Morning Star’s eyes remained focused on the southeast. “One could almost pity them, you know. It’s not going to work out like any of them anticipate.”

“Who, Lord? You mean Lady Night Shadow Star and her party? The expedition?”

“I mean for any of them,” Morning Star said with a curious resignation, as if awaiting some—

The flash of light burned out of the southeastern night, brilliant to the point of blinding. Trailing yellow-green fire, it streaked across the sky like a bizarre flaming arrow as it hurtled toward Cahokia.

Five Fists experienced that old queasiness that came at the launch of an enemy attack. Almost ducked out of instinct, and watched the light flicker out as it passed directly overhead.

“So, it begins,” Morning Star whispered. “I’m so sorry.”

Five Fists stared down at the fire consuming Blue Heron’s palace, wondered at the distress in his gut, disturbed that she was burning alive in there.

Warriors on the move, orders to stand down, Blue Heron’s palace burning, the meteor streaking the skies—he placed a hand to his suddenly sick stomach.

“Lord, can’t you give me something to hope for?”

Morning Star continued to gaze off toward the southeast as he said, “Chaos and death.”