Eighty-two

Seven Skull Shield had to admit, Blue Heron had taken to her new circumstances with a great deal more aplomb than he had imagined she would. And, if ever a person’s circumstances were reversed, it was now. The woman beside him looked anything but like the onetime Four Winds Clan Keeper.

No, indeed, the Blue Heron walking down the avenue that separated Morning Star’s great mound from Night Shadow Star’s, the various society houses, and finally the mound upon which she used to live wore an old hemp-fabric skirt. A square flat-bark sun hat perched atop her gray locks, and a cape made of woven cedar bark hung on her shoulders. She bore a light load of sticks held together with a leather strap; the sort of kindling used to start fires.

For his part, Seven Skull Shield was fine in his usual hunting shirt, a rope belt around his waist with the pouches he favored for carrying this and that. That was the great thing about being Seven Skull Shield. He was used to looking like nine out of ten of the men he passed on the avenue.

Blue Heron stopped short at the base of her mound and looked up. The stairs—squared logs set into the ramp—still led up to the eagle-post guardians. But beyond that, there was nothing. No imposing roof rising toward the sere sky.

She took a step toward the stairs.

“Don’t,” Seven Skull Shield told her. “Put one foot on that step, and anyone watching will know you’re no dirt farmer come to Trade firewood. Such a thing would never cross a low-status woman’s mind.”

“You’re right, of course.” She continued to stare longingly up past the top of the staircase. “Word is that they found only one body, mostly charred, on the veranda just outside the door. Had to be Big Right. That rot-balled warrior told me he was ‘napping.’ Must have really hurt him if he didn’t wake up when they started the fire.”

“Good thing you sent everyone else away.”

She nodded thoughtfully, turned, eyes seeking the high bastion that stood on the southwest corner of Morning Star’s palisade.

Seven Skull Shield followed her gaze, saw the single figure who peered over the bastion’s clay-covered wall. Sunlight glinted on polished copper, shone through an eagle-feather splay on either shoulder. Only one person would be atop that bastion and dressed like that: Morning Star.

The living god raised a hand, seemed to make a salute, touching his chin and extending the gesture Blue Heron’s way. Then he turned, vanishing from the high aerie.

“Think he knew who you were?”

“He’s Morning Star. How should I know?”

She turned. “Come, I want to go see what’s happening in the Great Plaza. Hear the gossip.”

“You already know. Tonka’tzi Wind is a virtual prisoner. Doesn’t go anywhere unless she’s escorted by Spotted Wrist’s warriors. If she so much as sneezes, Green Chunkey replaces her as tonka’tzi. Your warning got to War Duck and Round Pot in just enough time that they’re safely hidden away, using their connections to keep Three Fingers from claiming control of River House. Columella’s squadrons are fortifying the west bank of the river.”

“Impasse. At least for the moment. But it won’t last.”

“Nope. All Spotted Wrist has to do is bring his army across. Win or lose, it will be bloody.”

They picked their way through the throng of people flocking along the Avenue of the Sun, past the crowd of vendors, Traders, and hawkers who’d lined the sides of the Great Plaza, some in stalls, others with tables, and the most modest having spread a blanket on the ground to display their wares.

“The squabble at the top of the Four Winds Clan doesn’t seem to have discouraged Trade,” Blue Heron noted as they meandered their way through the press. Out in the plaza, the midsummer sun shone on the World Tree pole. A stickball game was being waged on the south end—literally for blood as a limp player was carried from a battling knot of young men. Hawk Clan, dressed in blue, was playing a Panther Clan team, wearing white.

At the foot of the tonka’tzi’s mound, evenly spaced as pickets, stood no fewer than ten warriors, each dressed in armor, bows strung, looking serious and deadly in the hot light.

“More of them around the sides,” Seven Skull Shield noted. “But not unreasonable. I could get past them.”

“One of these days, thief…” Then she chuckled.

“What? You’re on my side now. Every meal you and Smooth Pebble have eaten since the night they burned your palace has been stolen.”

“It’s humbling.”

“Well”—he gestured at the palace—“you’re not getting in there. At least not in bright daylight, and certainly not without help. Besides, your sister is up at the Council House. Saw her litter sitting at the bottom of the Great Staircase.”

Blue Heron made a face, reached up with her free hand to pull at the wattle of skin under her chin. “If I just knew there was some sort of hope. That we weren’t in this alone. Sure, there’s Columella, but her first responsibility is Evening Star Town, and that’s been a closely run thing. War Duck and Round Pot? How long can they run resistance from inside Crazy Frog’s storehouse? Eventually Three Fingers’ people are going to figure that out. And Wind”—she gestured—“is living like a turtle in a wicker cage. Me? I can’t even get word to my spies, and I have nothing left to pay them with if I do.”

“We’re not beat yet, you know.”

She gave him that old “Are-you-insane-or-just-head-struck?” look. “Maybe not right now, today, as we speak, but in the long run? Time is on their side. Spotted Wrist and Rising Flame control the clan. Have the authority to win over the long term. In the end, thief, we’re too weak to prevail.”

“Hey!” a voice called. “You!”

Seven Skull Shield turned, dropped to a crouch, ready to leap into whatever trouble this was.

Pus and blood, this was going to be bad. Two warriors. Each in Morning Star House armor. The fancy stuff, like Morning Star’s guard wore up at the high palace. Maybe, back before he was beaten and starved in Spotted Wrist’s cage, he could have knocked them sideways, gotten away in the crowd. But with Blue Heron to look after, he didn’t have a chance.

“So, Keeper,” he muttered out the side of his mouth, “when I jump them, you run. Got it? Just get far enough to get out of their view, toss the firewood, and mingle with the crowd.”

“I said you.” The lead warrior was pointing now, not more than three paces away.

This isn’t going to end well.

But, piss in a pot, it had been a good life. He’d had some great times, enjoyed …

“That firewood,” the warrior said. “We need that. Will you Trade?”

Blue Heron was gaping, seemed to be lost for words.

“Why, of course, good Squadron First!” Seven Skull Shield beamed as he stepped forward. “And this is the finest kindling in Cahokia. Taken dry in the uplands a full ten days’ travel upriver. Good stuff. Look, it’s hickory and ash, the kind that will burn hot at the merest hint of a spark.”

The warriors had stopped, their eyes oddly wary. Now the second shifted, his gaze roving as he took in Spotted Wrist’s men at the base of the tonka’tzi’s mound and then began searching the crowd. Seven Skull Shield knew a lookout when he saw one.

Every nerve in his body was tingling, but so was his curiosity.

“What’ll you Trade?” the first warrior asked.

“You from Morning Star’s mound?”

“It’s for the living god’s fire,” the warrior told him, keen eyes trying to convey some deeper message. “In fact, it was he who saw you from the wall. Told War Leader Five Fists you had wood. Good man, the war leader. Sent me to find you. Make a Trade.”

“Can’t find a better sort than that Five Fists,” Blue Heron agreed. “Hope he’s doing well, what with the changes going on.”

The warrior gave her a wary smile. “Morning Star has mentioned to the war leader that he hopes the changes aren’t permanent. Told Five Fists that for his own reasons, the living god can’t interfere. At least, not directly.”

Seven Skull Shield’s heart began to quicken.

Blue Heron was grinning. “As the living god wills.”

“Careful,” the second warrior said, eyes on several of Spotted Wrist’s warriors who’d fixed on Morning Star warriors being so close.

“I’ll Trade this,” the first warrior said loudly, offering a sack of something that dangled from his fist.

“Done!” Seven Skull Shield cried, handing over the bundle of kindling from Blue Heron’s back. “You need more? Got plenty where that came from.”

“If it’s good, we’ll need more tomorrow. Say around a hand’s time after dawn. Maybe you could have someone waiting on the Avenue of the Sun just out from the chunkey courts.”

And with that the warriors turned, pacing off, the bundle of kindling hanging from one’s shoulder.

Spotted Wrist’s warriors had retreated to their positions along the base of the mound.

Seven Skull Shield, one hand to Blue Heron’s shoulder, led her back the way they’d come. “How’s that for a stroke of good fortune?”

Blue Heron, meanwhile, had taken the sack. Now she opened it, glanced inside, and grinned. “It’s got a string of beads. It’s a message.”

“What’s it say?”

“How do I know, thief? We need a recorder to read it.” She stopped, staring up at Morning Star’s high mound. Again, just visible against the summer sky, that lone figure stood atop the bastion, sunlight glinting off polished copper and eagle splays.