People of the Morning Star(35)

They’d fed him a meal of cooked venison and allowed him to drink all he could hold. He’d barely been conscious, and delighted enough to fall into a deep repose when they brought him a warm blanket.

Horrible dreams had tormented his sleep, and now? Well, just where, exactly, was he?

He lay on a soft pallet, beside a warm fire, and in the center of a most incredible palace. The high ceiling was smoke-filled. Images of Morning Star, Horned Serpent, Falcon, and Rattlesnake decorated the walls. In the back, to either side of a single door, large wooden disks carved with the four swirling curls of the Four Winds Clan had been hung. Weapons interspersed with trophy skulls, articulated arm and leg bones, as well as shields, war clubs, and quivers of arrows decorated the walls. Each of the benches that had been built out from the walls was intricately ornamented in spiraling twists, or as twining snakes. The uprights extended a man’s height above the benches, the tops of the poles exquisitely sculpted into heads with lifelike faces. Others were topped with spirit images of Eagle, Snapping turtle, Ivory-billed woodpecker, or Hummingbird, all fitted with inlaid shell eyes. The blankets were among the finest he’d ever seen, tightly woven of fine hemp fiber, buffalo wool, or spun human hair.

Also remarkable were the beautifully burnished jars and pots visible beneath the benches. They rested between fantastically detailed wooden boxes inlaid with shell, mica, and copper.

Then he turned his attention to the old man who crouched over him and attended his wounded wrists. The elder wore only a plain brown shirt that hung down in a crumpled fold. The face was positively ancient—a mass of wrinkles that obscured the meaning of long-faded tattoos. His excuse of a nose could be likened to a round knob of flesh; the old man’s eyes were grayed with blindness.

“The salve will heal the skin on your wrists,” he said gently. “I’ve already attended to your ankles. The pain in your shoulders and joints should diminish over the coming days, but in the meantime, you’re to drink willow-bark tea. The lady has enough in supply to last you a half moon.”

“Who are you?”

“Humans call me Rides-the-Lightning. I am known by other names among the dead and the Spirits.”

Fire Cat swallowed hard. “The great Earth Clan healer of Cahokia?”

Then it hit him: I’m alive!

“Fortunately,” the old man was saying, “you’re both young and strong. I can tell that your souls are firmly anchored in your body, so there should be no long-term effects.”

“Elder?” A melodious voice asked, “May we proceed?”

The old healer looked up, and Fire Cat followed his gaze to the woman who emerged from the single doorway in the back. The sight of her shook him: the woman he’d thought to be First Woman, and a Spirit. Now she was dressed in a vivid blue skirt, a bright yellow cape over her shoulders. Her midnight-black hair was up and secured with a long copper pin that flared into the form of the sacred turkey-tail mace. The sort of thing only worn by a distinguished ruler.

“Who are you?” He tried to think, to make sense of it.

“Your master,” she replied coldly, and narrowed her eyes. “Do you remember your vow, given upon the graves of your ancestors? If not, and your memory is as faulty as the rest of you, you may go back to the square.”

His oath? Of course. But he thought he’d been talking to a Spirit woman. “My memory is fine. Where are my mother and sisters?”

“They belong to the Morning Star and serve the lord’s wishes.”

“He’s not a lord,” Fire Cat forced himself to say. “He’s a man, playing at being a god.”

Her full lips formed into a deadly smile. “He told me you’d say that.”

“Well, he’s right. Whoever he is.”

“Lady?” Rides-the-Lightning couldn’t hide the fear in his voice. “Are you sure you want this one? His mouth is most foul.”

“As is the rest of him, old friend.” Her expression hardened. “He is a means to an end, a tool to be used, and nothing more. Let’s see if this thing is what I was told to expect, or if it’s a distraction.”

Thing? “Lady, if that’s how I address you—”

“It is.”

“Then know that I am Fire Cat Twelvekiller, of the Red Wing Clan, of the Moon Moiety, and whatever vow and promise I made, my word is my life. My memory is impeccable. You took me from the square, and having given my word, I’ll serve you to the best of my ability.”

She stepped closer, saying, “The beast speaks brave words, doesn’t he?” Then she added, “Very well, beast, you will hold still. You will not cry out or resist in any way.”