The object was even simpler: toss the ball between the two tall goal posts at the end of the opposing side’s field.
Someone screamed in triumph; the crush of women broke apart. Breasts bouncing, feet hammering the ground, the red team charged forward. Sunlight glistened on muscular brown legs as the women sprinted. Night Shadow Star, the ball in the pocket of her right-hand racquet, sought to circle to the side, seeking an open player.
The blacks responded with shouts as they surged her way. Night Shadow Star’s arm went back, and twisting her body, she flung the ball. Blue Heron watched it arc through the air, bounce. A red-clad woman who had slipped around the mass on the east snared it with her racquet and sprinted south toward the goal that stood below the Four Winds Clan charnel house and burial mound.
Yes, that was Pretty Corn, a Snapping Turtle Clan woman from a farmstead over by Petaga’s tomb. She excelled at stickball, lived for it, and played almost as well as Night Shadow Star.
“It’s good to see the lady playing again,” Smooth Pebble noted. “If you ask me, she hasn’t lost her keen edge.”
“Given her close brush with the Spirit world, it’s a miracle,” Blue Heron agreed as she watched Pretty Corn’s flying heels, the horde of women racing in her wake.
From the angle, Blue Heron couldn’t see how it ended, but a shout went up from the reds, racquets clacking in celebration. The blacks bellowed in dismay.
“That’s the final score,” Smooth Pebble cried. “I win!” And promptly she trotted a couple of steps to claim the long-necked pitcher she’d wagered for with an Eagle Clan man.
The women broke into clumps, slapping one another on the backs, banging their racquets together.
Moments later, Night Shadow Star emerged from the mass and came trotting across the flattened grass, her two racquets glinting in the sun.
Blue Heron watched her approach. The muscles in her niece’s tight belly tensed with each stride. Long legs ate away the distance. Her black hair caught the wind, flipping behind her like a raven’s wing.
“Aunt,” she greeted, panting. She stopped before Blue Heron to brace her hands on her knees, lungs heaving as she caught her breath.
“Good game. You won by how many?”
“Two. It was only a practice.” She straightened and tossed her hair back. Filling her lungs with air, she exhaled and wiped at the sweat that beaded on her face. “That Pretty Corn, I’d like another ten of her kind.”
Blue Heron glanced at Smooth Pebble who’d returned with her pitcher, a beautifully burnished brownware piece of southern manufacture. “If you would be so kind, the lady and I need to talk.”
Smooth Pebble touched her forehead, and with a few gestures of her hands, formed the rest of Blue Heron’s servants and carriers into a loose ring just out of hearing. Even as they did, well-wishers, many bearing the fruits of their wagers, were waved away.
“You have seen the Morning Star.” Night Shadow Star lowered her racquets and seated herself on the grass beside Blue Heron’s litter. Flipping her hair back, she hugged her knees and cast a knowing look toward the great palace atop its steep-sided black mound. “… And now you are confused.”
“You’ve tickled my curiosity, niece. I’m to defer to you. And how is it that one minute you’re flat on your back in the healer’s temple, your souls flown away with Sister Datura? The next thing, you’re shooting Five Fists’ arrows into an assassin’s back in the Morning Star’s bedroom?”
She whispered, voice distant, “He didn’t leave me much time.”
“He? Who? Cut String?”
She shook her head, eyes locked on some painful distance. “Piasa.”
“We’re talking about the Spirit Beast?”
She nodded, eyes tightening. “He warned me you’d be skeptical, and that I was to tell you he enjoyed the Red Wing feast. Does that mean anything to you?”
“No, it … Wait. You mean the ones we threw in the river?” Blue Heron shifted uneasily on her litter. “It was my suggestion to the Morning Star that, but for the Matron, her daughters, and that miserable war chief, the rest were to be executed, dismembered, and tossed into the river. Not only did it make a potent symbol of our Power, but there’d be no bodies for any survivors to mourn over.”
She watched Night Shadow Star for a reaction as she added, “But you could have heard that from anyone.”
Night Shadow Star’s eyes seemed to expand, a darkness filling them. She cocked her head, as if listening to someone, and nodded. “He says that for the moment, your belief isn’t necessary.”