Seventy-nine

The years of training brought Blood Talon awake, his head clear, alert, as a light nudge to his thigh broke his fragmented Dreams.

“What?” he asked softly, blinked in the half-light of predawn. Birds were chirping morning song in the trees; the last of the crickets were singing and the croaking of a tree frog was somewhere close.

The storm had passed; fortunately the ancient chestnut he had slept beneath had shed most of the water. Didn’t matter that it had sent the occasional drop to splatter on his blanket or that the lightning had done its best to shred the sky—he’d slept straight through.

Fire Cat told him, “We’re close. Let’s go find them. Maybe we can enjoy a cooked breakfast at my lady’s fire.”

Blood Talon slipped out of his blanket, crouched to roll it. The morning felt cool, the world damp with the heavy dew that followed rain. Streamers of mist were rising. “And if not, we can gobble a couple of handfuls of ground corn and some of those pawpaws as soon as we find water to wash them down.”

He packed quickly and efficiently, feeling the tight pull of his leg muscles. Despite his bragging, by the time they’d reached the divide last night, he’d been stumbling in fatigue. The only solace was that Fire Cat hadn’t exactly been the image of grace either as they’d panted and sweated their way along the trail.

Only when it had grown too dark to see, and knowing they’d reached the divide that crossed into Cofitachequi, did they finally surrender to the inevitable.

Blood Talon stepped to the side, emptied his bladder, and wished for a drink. He and Fire Cat had split what remained of their water last night. The good news about the country they traveled was that water was never scarce.

Taking the trail, they found it slippery with last night’s mud, and set their steps to the leaf mat beside it.

Fire Cat allowed them a stop just long enough to fill their bellies with water at the first trickle of a creek. As the light strengthened and they could see better footing, their pace picked up.

A pileated woodpecker was hammering at one of the hardwoods. The sound brought a smile to Blood Talon’s lips. Woodpecker, the warrior, a Power bird. Among some of the clans, the rapid staccato of sound was considered a call to combat.

The trail split off from the creek where it disappeared into a tangle of raspberry and briar. The way climbed up a low and rock-studded ridge, topped out onto—

Fire Cat raised a knotted fist. Stopped short. Blood Talon cocked his head, listening.

Voices. Sounding angry. Definitely speaking Cahokian.

On silent feet, Fire Cat led the way down the trail where it snaked into a small cove surrounded by pines, a couple of giant beech trees, oaks, and hickory.

The small spring at the back dribbled water down moss-covered rocks. A camp had been laid out. Two fires, both smoking.

Pack dogs were held back by what looked like locals, given their dress. The men sat in a line to the side, arms around their growling and bristling dogs. Five warriors, in Cahokian-style dress, North Star House designs on their aprons, stood in a ring. One was poking through Trade packs.

“I’m a Trader,” the sixth, a big man, insisted, thumping his chest with a fist. “This is an open trail. Under the Power of Trade, I deserve free passage.”

“Second?” the warrior picking through the packs called. He straightened, lifting a copper plate. It was molded into the shape of Morning Star with his head adorned with a split-cloud emblem, feathers spreading from his arms as he danced his way into the sky.

“Where is she?” the second asked, facing the big Trader. “We’re looking for Lady Night Shadow Star.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” the Trader almost growled back. “I’m here on the Power of Trade. You just proved it from the packs.”

“Second?” The warrior fingering through the packs lifted a beautiful black dress decorated by white chevrons and the Morning Star House insignia atop the Four Winds Clan spirals.

“A Trader? And I suppose you Traded for that on Morning Star’s mound. Maybe it was a gift from Clan Matron Rising Flame?”

Fire Cat shifted his pack, slipped his bow and quiver free, handing them to Blood Talon. His copper-bitted war club he kept for himself as he lowered the rest to the ground.

Then the Red Wing started down the trail. The way he moved reminded Blood Talon of how a panther closed on a herd of unwary deer.

Stringing the bow, Blood Talon flipped the quiver onto his back and drew a shaft. Good. War arrow with a keen Cahokian point at its tip.

Blood Talon followed as quickly and silently as he could, took a commanding position at the foot of the trail, nocked, and waited.

To his amazement, Fire Cat stalked into the middle of the camp, placed himself in front of the amazed Trader, and said to the squadron second, “You will stand down. You will turn around, and you will leave. This man is protected under the Power of Trade.”

“Who do you think you are?” the second was looking Fire Cat up and down, seeing a sun-blackened muscular man in a simple brown hunting shirt who wore his long hair in a Trader’s braid.

“I am a bound man, in service—”

“A bound man? You’re a slave.” The second broke out in laughter. “I guess this isn’t your lucky day. You’re about to change masters. Hope your last one treated you better than Fire Light will. Now, be a good fellow. Hand me your master’s war club. Piss on a rock, the thing’s copper-bitted!”

The second’s expression changed, hardened. “No bound man would be allowed to touch a thing like that. Why am I starting to think you’re all a bunch of thieves? Copper, Four Winds fabrics? Or are you all in service to Lady Night Shadow Star? And just where is she? Speak.”

“I told you to leave.”

Blood Talon felt that old familiar tingle as he tested the bow’s pull. He wasn’t familiar with the weapon, not that he could miss at this distance.

The second stuck out his left hand. “Give it here.”

“Leave. Last chance.” Fire Cat’s feet were positioned. Didn’t the second see that? But he seemed fixed on Fire Cat’s face.

“That’s it.” The second flipped his war club back to strike.

He never got the chance. With a flash of copper, Fire Cat’s keen edge slashed across the second’s throat. Skipping left, Fire Cat’s return stroke caught the next warrior in the ribs. Before the man could bend in response, Fire Cat had leaped at the third. Still surprised, the warrior barely managed to parry the blow. He staggered back, off balance. Fire Cat was on him, hammered past his defense, and caved in the side of his head.

Ripping the war club free of the man’s skull, Fire Cat skipped back as the fourth warrior charged forward, screaming his rage, and swung with all his might.

Fire Cat ducked the blow, closed, used the handle of the reversed club to drive into the man’s throat at the base of the tongue.

The fellow dropped his club, grabbed at his throat, eyes wide. Fire Cat turned on the fifth warrior, the young man so stunned that he still crouched over the pack.

“Wait! Don’t!” The youth toppled backward on his butt in his desperate scramble to get away.

The fourth, finally catching a breath, bent over double. Threw up. But as he straightened, he drew a deer-bone stiletto from his waist.

Blood Talon drew, set the tip of the war arrow on the man’s chest, and released. The hiss-and-hollow thump of a solid hit filled the now- silent air.

Blood Talon instinctively stripped another arrow from the quiver, nocked it, and made his way into the camp.

The porters, still holding their growling and snapping dogs, stared with horror-filled eyes. No doubt they’d never seen the like.

Now, as a group, they rose, barking orders at their dogs, and fled. “Stop them?” Blood Talon asked.

“Let them go,” Fire Cat returned, staring down at the terrified young warrior. “Something tells me they’d be more trouble than they’re worth.”

Meanwhile, the Trader stood rooted, a disbelieving look on his blocky face with its sideways-mashed nose. Now he reached up, ran anxious fingers along his jaw. “Good to see you again, Red Wing. I think.”

“Where’s Lady White Willow?” Fire Cat asked.

White Willow?

“That farce lasted only as far as Canyon Town,” the Trader said. “Not that I didn’t know all along. She’s not here. Left in the middle of the night. Said she had a Dream. Me? I should have known she’d pull something like this. Just didn’t think she’d try to skip away until we were closer.”

“Joara’s how far?” Fire Cat asked, still glaring down at the young warrior.

“F-full day’s run,” the young man stammered.

“Why are you here? Who sent you?” Fire Cat slapped his bloody war club into his palm.

“Lord Fire Light.”

“How did he know Night Shadow Star was coming?” Blood Talon wondered. “As hard as we’ve been traveling, it would have taken a falcon on the wing to beat us upriver.”

“It’s the witch!” the youth cried. “Lightning speaks to him. Gives him messages. He sees things in the pooled blood of infants. He asked my lord to send us here. We were supposed to find the lady, destroy the man who accompanied her, and bring her and her possessions back to Lightning Shell.”

“In return for what?” the big Trader demanded, stepping forward. His scarred fists were clenched, the kind of fists that had been damaged on too many human skulls.

“I don’t … Wait, something about a way for Fire Light to get back to Cahokia. Somehow the witch can fix it. Make it happen.”

“Long way from Cahokia to be making those kinds of promises,” Blood Talon mused.

The big Trader asked, “The witch responsible for sending that Casqui to abduct the lady back at Canyon Town?”

The young warrior gave a worried shrug. “I guess. He doesn’t exactly tell us everything. Not that we’d want to know. Do you know what it’s like? Living in Joara? Hearing the screams? We don’t sleep. None of us. And the lord, he’s half possessed, but he’ll do anything for a pardon. Especially now that his sister’s clan matron.”

“Well,” Fire Cat mused. “At least that news has made it this far.”

“What do we do with him?” the Trader asked, indicating the warrior.

Fire Cat glanced around. “Winder, Night Shadow Star’s on her way to Joara, right? Is that a safe assumption?”

“That’s where her brother is.”

“We’ll take her box and Trade, leave the rest.”

“What about him?” Winder asked. “He was sent here to murder me and the porters.”

“He’s carrying part of the load.” Fire Cat bent down, peering into the young warrior’s frightened eyes. “You understand, don’t you? The moment you’re any kind of a problem? If you’re not working your heart out? You’re as dead as they are.”

“Or worse,” Winder bellowed, bending down to glare into the young warrior’s face. “I won’t leave you dead, you weak-shafted little shit. I’ll leave you alive after I rip your balls off your body and shove them down your throat.”

Blood Talon, as a squadron first, figured he’d seen threats before. From the boiling anger blackening Winder’s face, this was a lot more of a promise.

“Let’s go,” Fire Cat barked. “We’ve got to get there before she can get herself killed.”

“She won’t just go rushing in, will she?” Blood Talon asked as he tried the dead warriors’ war clubs out, one by one, swinging them, checking the feel. He’d have liked the one with the greenstone celt set into the end, but the balance was wrong. He settled on a fire-cured hickory club with crosshatches engraved along its length.

“She did last time,” Fire Cat growled as he tossed items back into the box that the warrior had pulled out in his search.

“Not this time,” Winder said, packing his own things. “She’s been telling me that she needs time to plan. That he almost killed her last time.”

“Sounds like you’ve been talking to her a great deal, Trader. I would hope that talk is all you’ve been doing.”

Blood Talon lifted an eyebrow at the tone.

Winder pulled his pack strings tight, turned. “Not that I’d have minded doing a little more than talking, Red Wing. And not that I didn’t give it my best, but you and I had better get one thing set straight right here and now. You’re the luckiest pus-sucker alive. That woman loves you in a way I’ve never seen a woman love a man. Not even the way women love me. And if you ever muck it up for her by being an idiot, I’ll hunt you down and gleefully choke the life out of you.”

“You’re as bad as Seven Skull Shield.”

“Who? Skull? You think he’s tough? Compared to me, he’s cottonwood down on the wind.”

“What about these bodies?” Blood Talon asked.

“Might make people shy away from camping here in the future,” Winder noted. “Leaving them to rot right next to the water, pretty as this place is? That’s a bit rude.”

Fire Cat, practically vibrating to be after Night Shadow Star, hesitated. Blood Talon watched his face work. Then he snapped, “Yes, yes, let’s drag them out of here. Maybe down there, onto that rock outcrop. But nothing fancy.”

The look on the young warrior’s face, now that the immediate violence was over and he was helping drag the bodies of his friends, was a study in hatred, revulsion, and growing anger.

Wonder if it wouldn’t be smarter to just sneak up and smack him on the back of the head?

But carrying what they had would be strain enough. And they were already too far behind.