People of the River(150)

Tobacco Boy took off at a steady lope, his sandals pounding the stone until he veered to the right and descended out of sight.

Gopher ran his fingers over the beautiful fletching on his arrows. Men shifted around him, getting ready. Gopher had yet to go to sleep this night, but he felt no fatigue. Too much excitement pumped in his veins. He had been so angry after the council meeting that he'd sent runners to his already-positioned forces, then gathered those Red Star warriors who waited in the hollow and led them down to join the others in surrounding the enemy encampments south of One Mound Village. It would be Gopher's three hundred against approximately two hundred and fifty from Cahokia.

Gopher smiled to himself. It wouldn't be the rout he had hoped for. He would lose a few more people. But it would be worth it to see the pitiful look on Petaga's face when he told him that he, the great Gopher of Red Star Mounds, had thoroughly thrashed the enemy—and without help from anyone.

People assume that Petaga will rule when this is over. Well, I'll show them. When I win the war, no one will deny me the place of Sun Chief in Cahokia.

In the camps below, black shapes moved in the predawn light. Faint traces of conversation made their way to his ears. Gopher waited, knowing the ways of warriors. As more of them rose and rolled up their blankets, confusion would set in. He and False Face had positioned their forces perfectly, stationing most of them along the rocky highlands from where they could shoot down on fleeing foes. Three broad gulches carved the earth south of One Mound Village. The major thrust of Gopher's forces would rush down from the north, and panic would drive the enemy south, into the ravines. Those who survived the gauntlets would run straight into a wall of warriors.

Gopher grunted as he picked up his bow and nocked an arrow.

Darkness was paling rapidly.





Thirty-six


Someone's fingers ran through Primrose's long hair, combing it over his right shoulder. He fought to return to his dream of Locust's sweet laughter as they lay in the sunrise-painted meadows north of Pretty Mounds. Wildflowers spread in a blue-and-yellow blanket around them, the blossoms wavering in the cool breezes of spring. But the touch intruded again, fingers sensually feathering his hair.

"Wake up, berdache,'' a voice cooed. "I'm not tired of you yet."

Primrose struggled to get his legs under him. His head throbbed violently. He knew that his arms were tied over his head, but he couldn't feel them. Not even a sting of numbness told him they were there—but the rest of his body burned as though he stood in a raging fire.

Primrose groaned softly and opened his eyes. He could not quite focus on the broad, luxurious room. The cattail mats around the bed that he remembered as covered with alternating blue and red diamonds looked like splotches of purple.

Primrose's gaze slid sideways. Tharon's face appeared, a fuzzy triangle, with dark pits for eyes. Hoarsely, Primrose said, "Locust will kill you."

Then his head fell forward, and he saw that he had been stripped naked. Red paint circled his genitals and wound down his legs in sinuous patterns like streaks of blood. Or . . . was it blood?

Eerie tendrils of memory tugged . . . knives glinting in moonlight . , . shrill laughter . . .

Tharon swayed closer, baring his teeth in a smile. "What makes you think Locust is alive?"

The fetid odor of that breath made Primrose turn his head. Like the fermented leaves of a Spirit Plant. "She's too good a warrior . . . to be dead."

The Sun Chief clapped his hands and did a little dance. "Oh, you're priceless, berdache. Do you think that Locust will come rushing in to save you? I have guards posted all around the temple. No one can enter or leave without my permission."

Queasiness sank claws into Primrose's gut. He braced himself by imagining Locust's rage when she found out that he was being held captive in the temple. She would burn the place to the ground, if necessary, to get him out. Yes. Yes, she would. His love for her swelled, firing a hope that had perished sometime in the terror of last night. "Why are you doing this to me. Sun Chief?"

Tharon smoothed clammy fingers down Primrose's chest, and an animal gleam filled his eyes. "I like you. Primrose. You're so different. You have that wonderful male body, but everything else about you, your smile, your movements when I touch you—they're all feminine. It's been a long time since I've had a berdache lover."

Tharon stepped closer to press his tall body against Primrose, and only then did Primrose realize that Tharon was naked. Primrose could not stop the quiver that ran through his wounded flesh.



"And just so you won't get brave, berdache,'' Tharon whispered sensually into Primrose's ear, "let me tell you that Locust is dead. I got word yesterday. She was shot through the head."