People of the Morning Star(24)

“Would it be so bad? Compared to most of the chunkey players, petty chiefs, and Traders who exchange little trinkets for your services, I know you actually enjoy spending time with me. It must be nice not to playact when you’re with a man.”

“Those men come and go.” She leaned forward to slide a long finger from his breastbone down to his navel. “You, Skull? You can’t go on forever. Somewhere along the way, you’re really going to offend Power. You’re going to get crossways with some Cahokian lord. And yes, you’ve developed an eye for finding these young and foolish wives. But the day is coming when you’re going to enrage the wrong husband. Steal the wrong statue or mask.”

Wooden Doll leaned forward, her beautiful face a handsbreadth from his as she stared into his souls. He thought he could spend the rest of his life looking at that face.

In a precise and sad voice, she said, “When they finally hang you in a square, I will not go to see you, Skull. I couldn’t stand it.”

The intensity of her words, the certainty in her eyes, sent a shiver through him. “They haven’t caught me yet.”

A fleeting and wistful smile crossed her lips. “Yet.”

She pushed back, flipping her hair over a smooth brown shoulder. “So, you’ve given me a statuette. Counting this evening, I’ll give you another five nights.”

“I’m Trading the others to Black Swallow for considerably more than five nights. That statue of yours? In a place like Split Sky City? You could buy an entire village.”

“We’re not in Split Sky City, or Pacaha, or Yellow Mounds. Six nights.” She reached out, grabbing him by the shaft. An excitement built behind her smoky dark eyes. Her supple fingers, having long discovered his secrets, began to work their magic.

“Ten,” he said through a gasp.

“We’ve all night to bargain,” Wooden Doll told him as she pushed his knee to the side.

“You’re not going to get the best of me,” he insisted.

“You only think you’re smart, Skull. I’ll give you seven nights. But you’re on your own during the day.”

“I…” He’d forgotten his counteroffer.





Eight

“Remember!” the sibilant voice ordered from the echoes of Night Shadow Star’s fragmenting dreams. Through the brightening haze, she realized she was breathing, drawing warm air into her lungs. The comforting darkness seemed to recede.

Got to remember … Look him in the eyes …

“Ah, there you are.” The voice sounded fragile, old.

She blinked, finding her vision cloudy and filmed. A gentle hand stroked first her left cheek, then her right. As she gasped, a warm damp cloth carefully sponged her eyes.

She managed to raise an arm and brush it away, then blinked to clear her vision. Overhead was a soot-thick roof of poles supporting a lattice of willow stems. Faint yellow light from a fire flickered, and she could smell the incense of boiled sagebrush.

Turning her head, she fixed her gaze on the old man smiling toothlessly at her. The lines in his face were deep, obscuring age-faded tattoos. His white hair had been pulled up in a severe bun to which a Spirit Bundle box had been tied, its copper inlays green with corrosion. The old man’s nose looked more like a mushroom, but his sightless and grayed eyes seemed to see into her very soul.

“Rides-the-Lightning?” she croaked.

“You gave me a scare, Night Shadow Star. It is rare when one survives such an intimate dance with Sister Datura. She led me a merry chase in the search for your souls.” His wrinkled expression pinched with worry. “That she took you so far into the Underworld is even more unsettling.”

“I…” She swallowed dryly, fragments of memory now baffling and confusing. “Roots. There were roots. I was underwater, but didn’t drown.”

“Souls don’t breathe like bodies do,” he answered. “When I found you, you were in the presence of many Tie Snakes.”

She nodded, remembering images of rainbow-skinned serpents, the spots on their sides so dark they might have been emptiness.

He reached to the side, lifting a large, yellow-striped water snake. The creature’s black forked tongue flickered in her direction. “He led me to you.”

She took a deep breath, her stomach tickling at the bottom of her throat. Knotting a clenched fist against her lips, she fought down the nausea. Then the room tried to spin, her stomach rising in that sick lurch of weightlessness.

Her entire body bucked as her stomach pumped painfully. Dry heave after dry heave left her breathless and panting. Her stomach ached as if she’d been buffalo kicked.

“What else did you see down there?” he asked mildly as he wiped her lips with the damp cloth.