Only when he had the weapon in his hand, did he rise, panting and drained. The Tula, gasping and choking, curled into a fetal ball around his broken arm, his one good eye clamped in agony.
“Who is he?” Black Swallow asked where he stood blocking the narrow alleyway.
“Tula assassin,” Seven Skull Shield said through panting breaths. The adrenaline of battle still surged through him. “One of many.”
In the narrow confines behind Black Swallow a collection of men were taking turns peering past one another. Most were grinning at the wreckage.
“Remind me never to make you mad,” one muttered.
Another whispered, “Blood and pus, Seven Skull Shield, from the sound of it I thought someone was torturing a pack of dogs back here.”
“And what’s with all the head-butting?” Black Swallow asked. “Looked to me like you were doing a better job of beating yourself up than he was.”
“Yeah, well, my head’s the closest thing I’ve got to a big rock.” He realized blood was trickling down his face. Probably from repeatedly smashing his forehead into the Tula’s broken and bleeding nose. He dragged his sleeve over it.
“What do you want done with him?” Black Swallow asked. “When you dropped by my Trade stall, you said I’d get paid back for my broken fingers. How does that work?”
Seven Skull Shield wiped more of the Tula’s gore from his lips and chin. “I need all of you to help me. We need to get this pus-licking maggot to the Four Winds Clan Keeper. I think the wealth you’ll carry home will more than make up for those fingers.” Seven Skull Shield reached out and laid a hand on Black Swallow’s shoulder. “I didn’t handle that business with the statuettes very well. Time to make amends.”
“After the way I was treated, why should I?”
“The best reason of all: wealth.”
Black Swallow glanced at the writhing remains of the Tula. “Yeah, well, I was going to take a splitting maul to your head, but after seeing what you did to him, I’ve reconsidered any such foolish flights of fantasy. No matter how tempting they may be.”
Seven Skull Shield chuckled and gave him a bloody grin. “Me? I’m harmless as a suckling puppy.” He glanced at each of the men, aware they didn’t get the humor. “Come on. Let’s get him to Blue Heron. And we’ve got to do it smart and quick. We don’t want this guy’s friends to recognize him. Cause if they do, they’re gonna do their best to kill us and him before we can get him there.”
One of the other men cocked his head skeptically as he studied the Tula. “Seems to me you didn’t leave much left to recognize.”
Forty
With her father’s death, and her aunt’s elevation to become the new tonka’tzi, Lace’s position in the Council House had changed. Now her litter rested on the elevated clay platform beside her aunt’s. She occupied the spot normally reserved for the clan matron. Nor was she unaware of the implications. The expectation had been that Night Shadow Star would have been elevated to the dais should anything have happened to either Red Warrior or Matron Wind.
But Night Shadow Star’s souls had broken at the news of Make’s Three’s death. Instead of a gradual recovery from her grief—if Rides-the-Lightning could be believed—her souls were now possessed by Piasa.
The same killer who had apparently tried to murder the Morning Star and the Keeper, and who had successfully slit her father’s throat in his own bedroom, was now stalking them and committing mayhem throughout Cahokia.
Nor could the leaders of the Four Winds Clan be in any way assured that the other Houses weren’t involved. Plotting was the normal state of affairs between the Houses, but now, after the assassination attempt on Night Shadow Star, anything was possible.
And onto this stage, Lace had been thrust, having lived barely eighteen summers, pregnant with her first child, and feeling completely terrified and unprepared.
Nevertheless, she listened as Blue Heron and the Yellow Star war second gave their report to the tonka’tzi. The attendants all stood in their places along the walls. She could hear the recorders in the rear; their fingers rattled among the beads in various jars as they dug for whichever color and size they needed.
From the corner of her eye, she could see Sun Wing where she idly twisted a loop of her long black hair around a finger and studied the Yellow Star war second, Takes Horn, from half-lidded eyes. The pout on her lips told Lace that her sister considered the man nothing more than a worthless barbarian.
You’ve been my favorite for years, little sister. But eventually you’re going to have to grow up. Given the terrible events of the last seven days, it may be sooner than later. I won’t be able to help you then. These black waters in which we swim will be too deep.