He waited for an answer until he couldn't stand it. "What's the matter with you?" he demanded of the Bundles. "I know you can speak. I order you to answer me!"
They stared at him malignantly. Yes, he could feel their gaze on him, insidious and hateful. Especially Old Marmot's Power Bundle. The blue hawk's head painted in the center glared as though readying itself to spring.
"You can't hurt me! I'm the Sun Chief! While you —" he gestured smugly with his handspike "—^you are nothing more than strips of hide wrapped around silly bits of bone and stone."
When he sensed their indignation, Tharon fell into suffocating laughter. The mirth shook him with such force that he threw back his head to chortle, "Foolish, foolish things! Did you think you could frighten me? Me? I fear nothing." But as he said the words, the queasiness grew more severe. He straightened up and blinked at the flickering light. "Except . . . Nightshade, of course."
Tipping his cup, he drained it and threw the clay vessel across the room, where it shattered, its pieces falling atop the broken scashells that lay scattered on the floor.
The shuffling of sandals against dirt echoed in the halls outside. Tharon tensed. His blasted knees started to shake. "Oh, Blessed Moon Maiden, not another bout of weakness! What's happening to me?"
All of the fire in his soul drained away of a sudden, leaving him barely able to stand. His hands had begun to tremble. Angrily, Tharon bellowed, "Kettle! Thrushsong! Shagbark!"
In moments, all three priestesses rushed into the chamber and threw themselves at his feet. Their hair lay in tangles over their shoulders. They hadn't even combed it before coming into his presence? Tharon eyed them threateningly. Fat, every one of them. Look at the way their thighs bulged through their red robes. And ugly. Not one had a face he could bear.
"I don't know how your parents could have borne you!" he roared, forcing his shaking knees to hold him up. "Look at you! Your parents were good and loyal members of the Starbom. They tended to my every need. I never wanted for anything while they lived. But you . . ."He kicked Thrush-song in the stomach and sent her toppling sideways. When she let out a small cry, it fired his anger. "None of you care about me! You're all waiting for my death so you can flee Cahokia forever!"
Kettle mustered the courage to look up at him pleadingly. Her homely face had flushed with a mottled red. "No, my Chief. That isn't true. Tell us what you need. We will bring it immediately."
"What do I need?" Tharon raged. "What have you ever given me? Nothing! I need everything! My—my tea cup was empty and so I smashed it into the wall!" He lifted a quavering arm to point at the remains. "My body is wasting away before your eyes from this—this illness, and you've not mixed a single Spirit potion to help me!"
"I'll mix one, my Chief." Kettle hurriedly rose and started to trot for the door.
"Not now! I don't want it now! Did I grant you permission to go?"
Kettle fell to her knees on the spot, her hands over her face in humiliation.
Tharon strutted before Thrushsong and Shagbark. As he scrutinized their prostrate position, his head started to pound and he felt so nauseous that he wanted to vomit. He knotted his fingers in the golden fabric over his belly.
A voice whispered from somewhere. He jerked his head to listen. "What? What did you say?"
"What, my Chief?" Shagbark responded timidly.
"Not you, you silly fool. There's a Spirit speaking in my head. But I ... I can't quite hear it. Shut up, all of you! Don't even breathe!"
The room went thick with silence. A faint repetition of don't, don't whispered in his mind. But the firebowls continued to pop and hiss, making it impossible for him to decipher the rest of the Spirit's words. "Be quiet! I conmiand you to stop that noise!"
The firebowls defiantly refused, and Tharon sprang forward like a famished cougar. He swung his handspike back and forth, demolishing every firebowl he could. Bird heads tumbled across the floor, ceramic fragments rolling fiercely as if trying to escape his wrath. Scented hickory oil spattered his face and hair and ran in rivulets down his neck.
"No!" Kettle shrieked as she lunged to her feet. "No, stop. Stop, my Chief. Father Sun will kill us all! Stop this madness before you cause the end of the world!"
Tharon checked his handspike in mid-swing and rose with the slow deliberateness of Grandfather Brown Bear rearing up on his hind legs. Kettle's mouth gaped in terror as she took a step backward. Not moving a muscle, Tharon scanned the room through narrowed eyes.
Shagbark's ragged breathing sawed the air behind him while he studied the oil that stained the floor in splotches as dark as spilled blood. Clay shards fanned out in a rough circle around him, and from their midst, disembodied bird heads peered through glistening bead eyes. Sinister. Wicked.