Granted, Morning Star played the part of a god well. But Chunkey Boy would have had his entire life to study, watching every move his grandfather made, perhaps mimicking them to learn the art of posture, gesture, and affectation. Then, when the day came, all Chunkey Boy had needed to do was adopt the persona.
But do they all believe it?
That was the question. No doubt about it, even Blue Heron—tough old nut that she was—feared the Morning Star. Nor did she betray by so much as a flicker any indication that she was talking to anyone less than the god himself. Surely she and Night Shadow Star of all people would know the truth.
Unless they’ve all played the role for so long it’s just their nature.
Was that it? The hoax had been in place for so long, the act so well practiced, they couldn’t step back from the trickery?
And now I am bound to the very people who destroyed my life, my family, and world. He tried not to think of his wives, of the guilt and horror. Late at night when he awakened—and needed to torture himself—he freed his souls to imagine what they were enduring. In extreme cases the wives of captured chiefs were passed off to the warriors for their amusement.
In the darkness of the coming storm, he could almost hear the tortured souls of the dead from Red Wing town. They’d been clubbed, shot, or strangled in Spotted Wrist’s vicious attempt to forever break the Spirit of Red Wing town. Now, like that ruined young woman up on the bluff, their souls roamed the empty forests around Red Wing town, wailing in their lonesome and aggrieved misery.
My fault. All my fault.
“There. There’s the stairs,” Field Green called from the front where she’d been leading the way. “Set the lady down. And be careful!”
Fire Cat watched the litter being carefully lowered as another gust of wind blasted out of the night. Night Shadow Star’s steeply pitched mound and the dark palace above were but looming blots. Given the gusts, not even pine-knot torches would have stayed lit.
“Here’s my hand, Lady,” Field Green said, reaching down to help Night Shadow Star to her feet.
In the gloom, it would be so easy. The thought returned as if it clung to Fire Cat’s souls like spider silk. I could get halfway to the top, reach out, and grasp her by the head. Pulling and twisting, it would break her neck as her body weight fell. Then all I’d have to do is let loose, and she’ll tumble right to the bottom.
He’d be free. The woman he’d given his word to would be dead.
And what sort of man would you be then?
It would seem an accident, an unlucky misstep in the night.
The value of a man’s word …
Fire Cat heard the hiss and hollow thump of impact—even the twang of the bowstring—so close in the night. From the battlefield he instinctively knew Field Green’s choked grunt and startled jerk: an arrow hard in the chest.
Fire Cat hesitated—understanding, with complete clarity, that instant of opportunity. Then, with a curse, he grasped Night Shadow Star and yanked her backward off the litter. As he did, three more arrows whistled in; two slapped flesh and evoked whimpering cries among the porters and guardian warriors.
“Run!” he bellowed as he wheeled and tossed the stunned Night Shadow Star over his shoulder. “Ambush!”
Then, despite her savagely thrashing body, he pounded off into the darkness. Dodging and weaving, he kept hearing the vicious hiss of arrows as they cut the air too close to his panicked body.
Three paces. Jump left. Three paces. Jump right. Three paces …
“Put me down!” Night Shadow Star’s panicked cry was accompanied by her fists beating his back. Her strength, and the firmness of her supple body surprised him. Keeping a grip on her muscular torso took all of his effort.
“Quiet!” he hissed. “Pus and blood, woman, they’re trying to kill you!”
Maybe it was his tone. She ceased her kicking and clawing and let him run for the deeper safety of the darkness. Getting the balance right he dedicated himself to sheer speed. He was on the stickball field where the grass was beaten level. Perfect footing for running flat out.
Behind him, he heard a shrieking wail as someone, perhaps one of the guards, succumbed to the pain and terror of an arrow through the guts.
Running for all he was worth, he began curving to the right and slowed. Panting, he lowered Night Shadow Star to her feet. In the process he pressed his lips against her hair, whispering, “Quiet. They’ll be hunting us.”
Pulling her down with him, he dropped to one knee, keeping his right hand on her elbow.
“Who?” she whispered back, voice tinged with rage and fear.
“Shhh.” He cocked his head, hearing screams and shouts from where they’d fled the litter.