Whatever happened at Night Shadow Star’s must have been important. But what? And how will it affect the fulfillment of my own aching love for the stunning Night Shadow Star?
I watched from the plaza when a runner was dispatched for the temple on the great plaza’s southern end. In less than a finger’s time, the renowned Earth People’s priest Rides-the-Lightning had arrived on his litter. They’d carried him without ceremony up the stairs, and ushered him into Night Shadow Star’s house.
Nor had the priest left before Blue Heron exited, wearily rubbed her face, and ordered herself carried to the Morning Star’s great mound.
For the moment, I lose myself in concern over Night Shadow Star. She always was sensitive to things beyond this realm. Does she feel me? Does she whimper at the sucking emptiness of my devouring love?
With Blue Heron heading up the stairs, I’ve fiddled enough with my strap. Nodding to the guards at either side of the bottom step, I see that Blue Heron has disappeared through the first terrace gate.
Time enough. I start up the steps after my prey.
Passing into the tonka’tzi’s courtyard, I narrow my eyes and wonder just how close can I get.
She is just up ahead of me, climbing slowly. Already I can see that she’s breathing hard. And it’s a long, long climb up into the Morning Star’s sacred realm.
If she should misstep? Tumble and fall down the steep and unforgiving stairs…?
Could it be that easy?
Four
Out of breath, Blue Heron almost staggered as she climbed the last of the steps that led to the highest level of the Great Mound. As Clan Keeper she could have been carried up in her litter. On the rare occasions when she’d given in to the “luxury” it had scared her half to death.
“Can I help you, Elder?” a voice, thick with Muskogee accent asked.
She placed a hand to her heaving chest and turned. The man, obviously a chief or some sort of high-ranking elite, was barely a step behind her; he had a hand out, as if to steady her should she totter. Even as she recoiled, the hand inoffensively withdrew.
A thick blue band had been painted like a mask over his nose and around his eyes. He was young, in his early twenties, with piercing dark eyes. A gray cape hung over his shoulders. While it looked nondescript from a distance, up close she could see it had been woven in an intricate geometric design. A copper falcon and scalp bundle were pinned in his long hair.
“I need to get out more often.” She gestured absently at the remaining steps. “I used to sprint up this as a girl.”
“Odd how the passing of winters changes things, isn’t it?”
She almost frowned at the irony in his voice. “I don’t believe that I know you.”
“Tishu minko White Finger, Elder. Of the Raccoon Clan, of the White Moiety. I come from Lightning Oak town, an emissary of my great uncle, Minko High Falcon, to pay his respects to the sacred Morning Star.”
“Ah. I am Blue Heron, Keeper of the Four Winds Clan.”
“I am both pleased and honored to make your acquaintance, Elder. Your reputation as a competent and capable leader is known far and wide.”
He touched his forehead in deference and gestured her to precede him. She’d caught a whiff of the curious satisfaction he’d barely masked. Minko High Falcon had chosen his emissary well; the young man seemed almost too familiar in her presence.
Brushing him out of her mind, she bowed to the guardian posts at the top of the stairs. Her souls, however, remained knotted with worry over Night Shadow Star. That had been her niece, hadn’t it? That booming and hollow voice was just the result of thirst, or perhaps the aftereffects of the datura loosening the young woman’s throat and muscles?
Piss and blood in a pot! Only idiots fooled around with Sister Datura without supervision. If Night Shadow Star had been in search of a vision, why in Hunga Ahuito’s name hadn’t she gone to Rides-the-Lightning and asked the old man to purify her, mix the potions, and lead her on a journey to the Underworlds? He, at least, had the training to do such things. But when the unwary and ignorant tried?
She shook her head, rasping out, “She’s lucky to be alive.”
Why didn’t I let the porters carry me up?
She made a face as she glanced back at the long and steep stairs. She was too old to tumble down that. Others had, and all had broken bones. Some were crippled, others dead.
Breath back, she waited as the Muskogee tishu minko, White Finger, dropped to one knee and touched his forehead outside the gate.
Foreign he might be, but the young man has more reverence for our ways than we do. What does that say about the decline of Four Winds Clan?
After he’d risen and entered, she nodded to the tattooed guards standing to either side. Dressed in wooden armor, they held strung bows; quivers packed with arrows hung on their backs. The leather helmets encasing their heads were decorated with bright feathers. Their forelocks, sporting a single white bead in the middle, hung down almost to their noses.