Twenty
Night Shadow Star cast a disdainful glance behind her as she hurried along in the pre-morning twilight. Smooth Pebble had arrived at her palace, rudely shoving the door aside, and calling, “Lady? The Clan Keeper and Matron need to see you now!”
Piasa’s voice had hissed sibilantly within her: Take the Red Wing!
As she hurried forward she clasped a cloak made of split feathers to her shoulders and glanced uneasily about the misty landscape. Dew sprinkled the grass where it stubbornly grew despite the pounding of thousands of feet, and slicked the mud where even the most hardy of grasses couldn’t withstand the traffic.
Behind her, Fire Cat followed along, his muscular body still not recovered from the abuse of the square. Why him? The fact that she hadn’t plunged her long ceremonial knife into his body still chafed.
Piasa, if it were anyone, anything, but you, his corpse would already be chopped up and the pieces sunk to the bottom of the river. You want him? You could put the pieces back together and have him!
In answer, disembodied and eerie laughter wound between her souls.
She shivered as Piasa’s shadow filtered through her. Inexplicably, her thoughts centered on that last instant before the beast had crushed her head between those terrible jaws: the bristly whiskers were spread wide, the great teeth shining and sharp; she almost choked as the stink of the monster’s breath filled her.
If she could only go back and undo any mistake she’d ever made, it would be that day she’d mixed the datura, rubbed it into her temples, and stared down into the well pot in search of Makes Three’s soul.
You cannot go back, Lady. And now I dance within you.
“Go dance somewhere else,” she muttered. “I was happy enough without you.”
Of course you were … so hollow with grief that ripples of it rolled through the Underworld. Had you not been so empty, I could never have filled as much of you as I have.
“Not much of a bargain, was it?”
You’ll never be lonely again.
“Loneliness has somehow become more appealing.”
If I can’t be with you all the time, the Red Wing can.
“I’d rather share my company with a hungry weasel.”
She glanced back again, loathing the man who followed so obediently behind her. Couldn’t he just slip away some night and vanish? Did both word and honor have to be so sacred to the piece of filth?
That’s why I chose him for you.
“How about letting me do my own choosing, beast?”
If your “choosing” had been so laudable, woman, how did you end up as mine?
When she glanced back, the filthy Red Wing was giving her the sort of disgusted look he’d give a babbling fool. What? Did he think she’d lost her souls to madness?
“About time,” Five Fists called from the top of the Four Winds Clan House stairs. His figure was silhouetted before the steep-roofed clan house with its Four Winds effigy poles rising from the thatched roof. Night Shadow Star glanced up the ramp and took the wet stairs with care. She didn’t deign to look back at the Red Wing, but demanded, “Why am I here?”
Five Fists gave her a sober look, his crooked jaw even more askew. “We’ll discuss it inside. But first, note the guardians.”
She followed him toward the effigy posts of Sky Eagle and Falcon that guarded either side of the approach. She didn’t need Five Fists’ gesture to see the black sinuous lines that had been painted over the Spirit Beasts’ eyes.
“Snakes, we think.” Five Fists studied them uneasily. “Perhaps to blind them to the assassin’s presence?”
“Assassin?” she asked, a sudden shiver running down her spine. Then she was past him, sprinting for the partially open door. “Blessed Spirits, no!”
She burst into the palace great room at a dead run. The horrified looks on her father’s attendants barely registered; they huddled on the sleeping platforms against the south wall. Matron Wind waited by the door in the rear, putting out an arm and ordering, “Stop, niece. Blue Heron’s not ready for your…”
Night Shadow Star batted her aunt’s arm out of the way. She burst through the doorway and stopped cold. For the moment she could only gasp for breath, aware of the coppery stench of the blood. So much blood …
Blue Heron stood over the bed, head cocked, her right hand held protectively at her throat. A stranger, a rough-looking man dressed as a commoner, lurked at one side of the room. He glanced her way and fixed his gaze on her as if he’d never seen a woman before.
“Lot of blood isn’t it?” Blue Heron remarked almost casually as she straightened from Red Warrior Tenkiller’s body. A second corpse lay beside him, slightly curled against the back wall: Yellow Aster, his third wife.