At that Seven Skull Shield made a face, but turned, heading for the doorway, muttering under his breath, “Nasty little sheath, that one. But if I’m right, it’s more than Four Winds Clan they’re after.”
They mean to destroy the whole of Cahokia.
The Resurrection
The farmstead sits in Deer Clan territory atop the high eastern bluff. Looking west from the front door I have a remarkable view of Cahokia’s floodplain sprawl. The distant river and Evening Star town on the other side are invisible in the smoky haze. But from here, I can still discern the dot of Morning Star’s palace atop its great mound.
I smile to myself. By now terror has grabbed them by the throat. First came the attempt on the Morning Star himself. How propitious? I could almost have believed Power was with me—but for Night Shadow Star’s odd appearance. How did she arrive out of the rain just in time to revive her youthful skills as an archer?
Granted, I never expected everything to unfold perfectly. Creation, by its very nature, is a mixture of order and chaos. What my Mos’kogee friends call the white and red Powers. The tonka’tzi is dead. The Keeper is not. In victory I feasted on the blood of my victim. In defeat, one of my wolves has been chopped into pieces, his bones and flesh sunk into the river to be devoured by the Spirits of the Underworld.
What do the Tie Snakes, Water Panther, and the turtles make of my human wolf’s souls and flesh? Just like fishing, the right kind of bait must be dangled on the hook.
Do they have the slightest hint of my ultimate goal? Are they insulted? Horrified? Confused?
I laugh at the thought and turn to inspect my farmstead. The house is average sized with walls built of clay plaster over vertical poles. The roof is thickly thatched. Two storehouses and a ramada border the small yard with its log mortar and wooden pestle. Outside of the grand view of Cahokia, the most important thing is its bluff-top isolation. The nearest neighbor is five bow-shots to the east. And tonight that farmer and his family are away at the local temple and Council House. Most of the locals are making offerings to Old-Woman-Who-Never-Dies, praying for a successful growing season, asking for rain and good weather.
Perfect! The only people who will overhear are my wolves. They will prowl around throughout the night to ensure my privacy. One can’t be too careful when it comes to resurrecting the souls of the dead. Tonight I shall attempt to wield my awesome Power. If I can repeat tonight what I have done twice before in the south, I will shake the world.
I cast one last knowing glance at the Morning Star’s distant mound-top home. “Sleep in blissful ignorance, you fool. If I am successful, you will awaken to a different world come dawn.”
Then I step inside.
The central fire crackles and burns brightly as it illuminates the farmhouse interior. Bench-beds line the walls. The frames are covered with shoddy, coarsely woven blankets. In the space beneath I can see a mismatched collection of jars and pots, many cracked and held together with thongs. The styles are mindful of a half dozen of the immigrant groups who’ve flooded Cahokia.
I turn my attention to the six people on the back platform bed. My wolves have securely bound each of the captives; wads of ragged cloth fill their mouths. Five are crowded closely together for whatever comfort they can derive: a father, a mother, two daughters, and a young son. The family members stare at me with horror-filled eyes as I throw a couple of pieces of firewood on the blaze.
The sixth captive is a young woman who made the mistake of stepping out to use her latrine in the middle of the night. She swallows hard as my gaze falls upon her.
“I know you can’t understand me,” I explain. Their language is something incomprehensible from over east. “But you’ve been chosen for a great honor.”
I point at the young woman. “The Clan Keeper killed one of my wolves. Tonight we will see if, together, we can resurrect his soul in this young woman’s body.”
I experience a rush of excitement as I undress and begin the process of purification. After washing my body with water, I cup handfuls of smoke and ritually rub it on my arms, legs, chest, buttocks, genitals, and face. As I do I watch the young woman with anticipation.
Opening my box of paints, I apply them in exactly the order I did last time, feeling my skin tingle as the Power of the colors and designs begins to pulse.
When the lengthy ritual is complete, I step over and lift the struggling young woman from the bench.
The farmers cringe away from me, terror bright in their eyes as I remove a sharp chert blade and begin to cut the young woman’s clothing from her body. Bound as she is, I have no other way to strip her. What I did not anticipate is the delight I take in revealing her smooth brown skin. With some regret, I can’t help but stroke her young breasts.