People of the Morning Star(163)
The last time he’d been this way, he’d been carried like a dressed-out deer, half-conscious, soaked in pain.
This time, even in the middle of the night, the immensity of Cahokia awed him to the bones. For the hand of time he’d been running, he’d never been clear of buildings. Sometimes they were more widely spaced, other times he ran through densely packed clusters of houses, temples, granaries, and mound-top palaces. Nor was his nose used to the endless medley of the city’s odors. Mostly, he decided, when this many humans lived in such teaming proximity, they stank.
His weapons knocked hollowly against his armor as he pushed his distance-eating gait. Assuming he managed to survive this, he was going to insist on fitted armor. Makes Three’s oversized wooden breastplate was rubbing his chest raw, the straps eating into his shoulders as the front and back bounced. The bow, however, was a quality piece of workmanship—as if Night Shadow Star’s husband would own a lesser weapon. The same with the war club.
“West, she turned west,” he muttered to himself as he ran.
Rounding a slight bend to the southwest, he caught the flicker of lights ahead of him. He picked up his pace, and within a finger’s time had closed on a litter-bearing party trotting along in flickering torchlight.
“Who comes?” a warrior in the rear called as Fire Cat’s heel strikes could be heard.
“I am Fire Cat, in service to Lady Night Shadow Star, of the Morning Star House, Four Winds Clan.”
He made a face, having no sooner said it, than feeling an ill resentment at both the words and the arrogance with which he’d uttered them. He quickly added, “Myself, I am Red Wing, right down to the root of my souls.”
“Fire Cat?” the dark figure on the litter called back to him. “What are you doing out here in the night? Where’s Night Shadow Star? Pus and blood, tell me she’s not soul-flying again.”
He trotted up to just behind the litter. “Good evening, Keeper. Surprising to find you out here. I’m in pursuit of your niece.”
“Do want to explain that?”
“She slipped out while I was asleep. Her bow, quiver, and war club are missing along with her trail moccasins.”
“You seem quite familiar with her things, Red Wing.”
“I spent a lot of mindless and unproductive time in her room during her last soul flight, Keeper. When I wasn’t dribbling water between her lips, I had nothing to do but stare at her possessions.”
“Did she receive a summons from Evening Star House?”
“If a messenger had come from Chief High Dance, I’d have known. Whatever she’s about, she’s decided upon it on her own.”
“And what’s your purpose out here?” He heard the skepticism in her voice.
“That she took a war club? Bow and quiver? Trail moccasins? Even to a clod like me these things suggest her purpose isn’t a social call. My guess? She knows where Walking Smoke is, and she’s going to confront him.”
“I see.” The Keeper’s shadowy form turned back toward the front, her figure outlined in the torchlight.
“You asked about a summons from Evening Star House?” He shrugged his armor back straight, wincing where it had chafed. “I assume you received one.”
“I did.”
“And why travel in the middle of the night, Keeper?”
“In case it’s a trap, Red Wing. If Walking Smoke is behind it, he might have an ambush set along the road. If Columella has discovered something about his activities, and where to find him, I want to know what, and how. My nieces are at stake.” A pause. “Apparently all three of them.”
“Where’s the thief?”
“Off on some errand of his own.”
“Clever of him. This way he can pop up when it’s all over and claim to have discovered something fascinating.”
She was silent for a bit. “You don’t like him, do you?”
“Lady, only in Cahokia could a squalid sort like Seven Skull Shield thrive. Anyplace else, his relatives, for the sake of social propriety, would have been forced to knock his brains out years ago.”
“Only in Cahokia,” she agreed.
“I should probably run ahead,” he told her, having pretty much caught his breath. Her porters were making good time, but he could almost double it.
“You think you can catch her?” the Keeper asked.
“May Falcon Above help me if I can’t.”
She laughed. “With those long legs of hers? I don’t know if she’s half elk, or, given the way she swims, part fish. How much lead does she have on you?”
“According to the warriors guarding her palace, about a hand’s worth of time.”