People of the Morning Star(29)

But several things had changed that. First, Chunkey Boy’s grandfather—home to the god since the original resurrection—had died. Though barely twenty, Chunkey Boy had been chosen as the new host. In the elaborate ritual, he had been prepared and offered. Chunkey Boy’s human souls had been consumed when the god accepted and inhabited his body.

Second, one of the first things the newly reincarnated Morning Star had ordered was the expulsion of Walking Smoke. To this day, despite her best efforts, Blue Heron hadn’t been able to ferret out the details behind Walking Smoke’s exile. A detachment of warriors had surrounded the young lord, escorted him to the canoe landing, and paddled off downriver. Neither they, nor Walking Smoke had ever returned, and Morning Star had forbidden discussion of the matter.

And what I’d give to know the reason behind that!

At the same time Night Shadow Star had had her first menstruation. She’d entered the women’s house as the tonka’tzi’s wild daughter. When she emerged it was as a different woman in a changed world. In that short time, Walking Smoke had been banished. She had seemed more settled, withdrawn, and had taken her adult responsibilities to task. Even voluntarily joined her father and Matron Wind in the complexity of ruling Cahokia.

She had also asked to marry Makes Three. That Morning Star had immediately consented had been a blessing all the way around. Makes Three, though a Bear Clan man, had been a childhood friend of Chunkey Boy, Walking Smoke, and Night Shadow Star’s. She had truly loved him, and they’d been good for each other. Makes Three had been a natural war leader and brilliant field commander. The only worm in the acorn had been a lack of children. Discrete inquiries of the household staff had assured both Matron Wind and Blue Heron that Makes Three and Night Shadow Star maintained an active and athletic relationship under the hides.

And now she’s unhinged again.

Worry built as Blue Heron’s porters climbed the last stairs into the high courtyard. At this height, the wind blew stringers of rain past her protective cover and spattered her with cold drops. Every time the litter swayed, her heart froze in her chest and her muscles tensed.

At the entrance to Morning Star’s palace, she was thankfully lowered and helped to her feet. Only then did she notice the numbers of people—palace slaves and advisors—crouched in the protective shadow of the high walls.

Whatever this is, it’s bad.

Gesturing her carriers to remain behind, she squared her shoulders, wiped the rain from her face, and stepped through the massive door with its relief-carving of Morning Star.

Inside, the warmth hit her. Thankfully the eternal fire was crackling and burning, sending bright light through the great hall.

She shook out her hair, wet and loose, and walked forward. Matron Wind—looking as disheveled as she, and also only wearing a wrap about her body—stood to one side of the fire, a sour expression on her face.

She noted Blue Heron’s entry and jerked a curt nod. The tension on her sister’s face communicated everything: things were even worse than Blue Heron had anticipated.

“What is it?”

“Assassination attempt.”

Blue Heron almost staggered. “Attempt?”

“We’re to wait here. Morning Star and the tonka’tzi will be out in a moment.”

Even as Matron Wind spoke, two warriors emerged from Morning Star’s quarters. The limp body of a naked young woman hung between them and swung with each step. One gripped her tied wrists, the other her ankles. Like a vile paintbrush, the woman’s bloody hair dragged the floor and left zig-zag crimson streaks on the matting.

“Here!” Matron Wind cried. “Put her on a litter! By the Piasa’s balls, are you idiots?”

The warriors, already panicked, dropped the young woman as if she were a sack of corncobs, and hurried out the door.

“He might have wanted his assassin’s body to be carried out like a dead fish,” Blue Heron muttered, worried for her sister’s impetuous act.

“Then they can toss her down the side of the palace mound like the garbage she is.” Matron Wind gestured to the pool of blood leaking from the young woman’s crushed skull. “I was trying to keep ahead of the mess.”

“Oh, and as you can see, you’re succeeding marvelously,” Blue Heron added dryly.

“She’s Spotted Wrist’s cousin, Evening Piper,” Matron Wind noted as she squinted at what she could see of the face. “Bear Clan. I know the woman. She was delighted to be chosen for a night with the god. Not the sort to consider assassination. Proud, yes. Self-possessed. She had been monitoring her moons, hoping to catch a child. There’s great prestige in that.”