Columella caught the faint quiver of Night Shadow Star’s arms, the strain of the bent bow beginning to tire her muscles.
What are you doing? Release the gods-rotted arrow!
“The sacred opening, like that wonderful sheath of yours, Sister. The passage of life through which Piasa’s souls will emerge in order to consume my body.”
“Choose one of your Tula, Brother. Point him out to me. I want to see you order him to pick Sun Wing up and carry her outside.”
Columella could see the trembling in Night Shadow Star’s bow arm now. Kill him while you can!
“Shoot him!” she finally shouted.
“Silence!” Walking Smoke ordered. “This is between me and my sister.”
Walking Smoke grinned, pointed to the dying Tula with the arrow jutting from his back. “That one.”
The warrior had sagged to his knees beside where Sun Wing flopped in the wreckage of the broken pot. Blood was welling from his mouth. He coughed, crimson dribbling down his chin in a frothy strand.
“I’ll shoot!” Night Shadow Star insisted.
Walking Smoke almost giggled in delight, and quicker than a snap, dropped to his knees. At the same time, he wound his right hand in Sun Wing’s hair and lifted, his muscles straining as he pulled the young woman up before him. In a blink he had the long-bladed chert knife across her throat.
Sun Wing’s panicked lungs drove a whistling squeak from her stretched throat.
Columella’s gut sank. “You’ve killed us all, you silly spoiled little sheath.”
Night Shadow Star was obviously shaking now, straining to keep her hold.
“You’re not the girl you once where, Sister,” Walking Smoke told her. “You’ve gotten soft since you and I shared that magical moment. Go ahead, shoot! You might as well. If your arrow kills her, she’s just as dead as if I do it with my knife.”
“Let her go,” Night Shadow Star insisted. “Once she’s outside, it will be between us. Just the two of us. Your Power, and mine.”
Some awareness in the corner of her eye made Columella glance toward the back. She almost missed it, would have returned her attention to the drama playing out before her. But the faint blue movement was smoke rising from the bottom of the high, woven-cane wall. Even as she watched, a section just above the sleeping bench began to blacken. A steady plume of blue appeared, drifting out of her personal quarters.
Fire?
“You can’t win, Sister!” Walking Smoke cried, drawing Columella’s attention back to the nearest threat.
Walking Smoke was chattering along happily in Caddo.
“Look out!” Columella cried, trying to rise to her feet. Her numb and bloodless legs, too long bound, betrayed her and she only flopped.
Night Shadow Star caught the closest Tula’s movement, swung her arrow—now almost clattering against the bow. The shaft discharged. The Tula had anticipated it, dodged. Then he was on her.
Columella was struggling against the ropes, cursing her numb legs and arms. In desperation she tried to pitch herself from the bench, only to half hang.
Despair filled her. It took a half breath, maybe more, before she realized the ropes that held her were vibrating, as if something were sawing on them.
She glanced at the back wall, seeing the first flames as they burst through the tight lattice of woven cane.
Then her ropes parted and she fell, half paralyzed by numbness, to the floor.
When she glanced back where Night Shadow Star had been, it was to see two Tula dragging her, kicking, biting, and fighting toward the middle of the room. The rest were collecting her bow and the quiver of arrows they’d ripped from her back. Another had her copper-studded war club. He was pointing to blood on the spikes, showing it in amazement to his fellows.
“Ah-ha!” Walking Smoke screamed, dropping Sun Wing and leaping to his feet. “Come, Sister! Because I love you! You can be next! Got to hurry now. Bleed you, bleed Sun Wing, and then the rest.”
To Columella’s amazement, Night Shadow Star had ceased struggling, flipped her braid out of the way, and was smiling at Walking Smoke.
“Your Power and mine, Brother. I’ve felt your caress. Soon, you’re going to feel mine.”
Someone was tugging on Columella’s ropes. She closed her eyes in defeat. No doubt one of the Tula had finally noticed that she’d fallen.
Her souls bitter and broken, she swiveled her head and stared into Flat Stone Pipe’s frightened eyes as he hid beneath the bench and sawed at her bonds with a gray chert blade.
Sixty-one
The words spoken by Sun Wing’s porter echoed in Fire Cat’s souls: “She’s in there!” The man had pointed up the Evening Star House palace stairway, his rain-wet shirt clinging to his shoulders, hair plastered.