Read Online People of the Morning Star by W. Michael Gear, Kathleen O’Neal Gear - Free Book Online
Authors: W. Michael Gear, Kathleen O’Neal Gear
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in the face to the living god.
She turned again to Field Green. “When were Sky Eagle and Falcon removed and replaced with these?”
“Just yesterday, Clan Keeper. My mistress ordered it after seeing these carvings at the landing a couple of days past while on a journey back from Evening Star town.”
Blue Heron gave the Piasa a glare of disapproval. The lord of the Underworld was a Spirit of darkness, water, and death. She stepped up on the porch matting, and several of Night Shadow Star’s slaves scampered to open the wooden-plank door with its falcon—surrounded by the swirls of the four winds—artfully engraved in the wood. That, at least, hadn’t been replaced, but the presence of sky Power in such close proximity to the Piasa and Horned Serpent jarred Blue Heron’s sense of order.
As Blue Heron stepped into the main room, it took a moment for her eyes to adjust to the gloom. Second only to Morning Star’s palace itself, this was the second most opulent structure in Cahokia—even outclassing tonka’tzi Red Warrior’s palace, and the Four Winds’ clan house where her sister Matron Wind held court. The cane matting that covered the floor was a one-piece weaving done in intricate patterns and design. Along the walls were benches that served both for seating and sleeping. Each was composed of hand-carved wooden frames topped with cattail-down-stuffed cushions covered with buffalo, panther, bear, and finely tanned deer and elk hides. The walls were hung with carved reliefs of Falcon, Eagle, and Morning Star. Clawing Panther designs were gilded in copper and inset with shell and dark wood. War trophies including bows, shields, human skulls, and other memorabilia hung between the carvings. A low fire burned in the central hearth, and behind it stood the raised clay platform topped with its detail-carved litter where Night Shadow Star conducted audiences. A lower rise of clay marked the one-time seat of Makes Three. The bear hides that covered it looked gray with dust.
He’s been dead for over six moons now. Why hasn’t she thrown them out?
Blue Heron strode across the room and passed through the single doorway that led into the back. Storerooms could be accessed by doors to the right and left, but what concerned her was the altar built just back from the rear wall. Several crushed sherds from the remains of a gleaming black well pot remained atop the panther-hide-covered pillar.
Night Shadow Star sprawled on the floor before it, her naked body unadorned by so much as a bracelet or gorget. Her hair spilled over the matting like a midnight wave. The little brown pot beside her had been rolled onto its side, a thick tongue of paste having leaked onto the matting.
Blue Heron paused as she took it all in, her analytical eyes missing nothing. Then she bent down, lifted the little brown pot, and sniffed.
“Fire and lightning, girl, what have you done?”
Blue Heron crouched and placed her hand over the young woman’s mouth and nose, watching as the lungs began to starve and heave.
“At least you’re alive.”
Extending her callused hand, Blue Heron twisted a fistful of glistening black hair and lifted until Night Shadow Star’s face was exposed. Blue Heron slapped her niece across the cheek. Then again, and again, until Night Shadow Star groaned and weakly extended one of her long brown legs.
Blue Heron sniffed, caught the acrid scent of urine, and—her eyes finally adjusting—identified the stain on the matting as vomit. She sighed. “Look at you. Pitiful.”
“Husband?” Night Shadow Star mewed.
“Dead, you idiot. Come on. Wake up. The Morning Star specifically asked that you be at Council.”
“Can’t,” she whispered. “Piasa … I’ve agreed…”
A cold shiver ran through Blue Heron. “The Water Panther is no Spirit to be playing with, girl. Not even for one such as you. Tell me your souls haven’t done something foolish.”
Even as Blue Heron said it, Night Shadow Star’s body
She turned again to Field Green. “When were Sky Eagle and Falcon removed and replaced with these?”
“Just yesterday, Clan Keeper. My mistress ordered it after seeing these carvings at the landing a couple of days past while on a journey back from Evening Star town.”
Blue Heron gave the Piasa a glare of disapproval. The lord of the Underworld was a Spirit of darkness, water, and death. She stepped up on the porch matting, and several of Night Shadow Star’s slaves scampered to open the wooden-plank door with its falcon—surrounded by the swirls of the four winds—artfully engraved in the wood. That, at least, hadn’t been replaced, but the presence of sky Power in such close proximity to the Piasa and Horned Serpent jarred Blue Heron’s sense of order.
As Blue Heron stepped into the main room, it took a moment for her eyes to adjust to the gloom. Second only to Morning Star’s palace itself, this was the second most opulent structure in Cahokia—even outclassing tonka’tzi Red Warrior’s palace, and the Four Winds’ clan house where her sister Matron Wind held court. The cane matting that covered the floor was a one-piece weaving done in intricate patterns and design. Along the walls were benches that served both for seating and sleeping. Each was composed of hand-carved wooden frames topped with cattail-down-stuffed cushions covered with buffalo, panther, bear, and finely tanned deer and elk hides. The walls were hung with carved reliefs of Falcon, Eagle, and Morning Star. Clawing Panther designs were gilded in copper and inset with shell and dark wood. War trophies including bows, shields, human skulls, and other memorabilia hung between the carvings. A low fire burned in the central hearth, and behind it stood the raised clay platform topped with its detail-carved litter where Night Shadow Star conducted audiences. A lower rise of clay marked the one-time seat of Makes Three. The bear hides that covered it looked gray with dust.
He’s been dead for over six moons now. Why hasn’t she thrown them out?
Blue Heron strode across the room and passed through the single doorway that led into the back. Storerooms could be accessed by doors to the right and left, but what concerned her was the altar built just back from the rear wall. Several crushed sherds from the remains of a gleaming black well pot remained atop the panther-hide-covered pillar.
Night Shadow Star sprawled on the floor before it, her naked body unadorned by so much as a bracelet or gorget. Her hair spilled over the matting like a midnight wave. The little brown pot beside her had been rolled onto its side, a thick tongue of paste having leaked onto the matting.
Blue Heron paused as she took it all in, her analytical eyes missing nothing. Then she bent down, lifted the little brown pot, and sniffed.
“Fire and lightning, girl, what have you done?”
Blue Heron crouched and placed her hand over the young woman’s mouth and nose, watching as the lungs began to starve and heave.
“At least you’re alive.”
Extending her callused hand, Blue Heron twisted a fistful of glistening black hair and lifted until Night Shadow Star’s face was exposed. Blue Heron slapped her niece across the cheek. Then again, and again, until Night Shadow Star groaned and weakly extended one of her long brown legs.
Blue Heron sniffed, caught the acrid scent of urine, and—her eyes finally adjusting—identified the stain on the matting as vomit. She sighed. “Look at you. Pitiful.”
“Husband?” Night Shadow Star mewed.
“Dead, you idiot. Come on. Wake up. The Morning Star specifically asked that you be at Council.”
“Can’t,” she whispered. “Piasa … I’ve agreed…”
A cold shiver ran through Blue Heron. “The Water Panther is no Spirit to be playing with, girl. Not even for one such as you. Tell me your souls haven’t done something foolish.”
Even as Blue Heron said it, Night Shadow Star’s body
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