People of the Morning Star by W. Michael Gear, Kathleen O’Neal Gear

domestic duties the tonka’tzi received the delegations and emissaries from the far-flung colonies Cahokia had established along the major rivers. Rolls of tanned buckskin maps recorded the location of each colony, and the associated beaded belts, blankets, and bead strings recorded the particulars.
    Also within the tonka’tzi ’s purvey were the diplomatic embassies from other nations including the Caddo in the southeast, Natchez, Tunica, and Mus’Kokee in the south, and the polyglot of nations that dotted the lower lengths of the Mississippi. Fortunately he could delegate many of these to the priests, since their interests were mostly religious.
    He glanced at his daughters seated to either side and dressed in finery second only to his and the Matron Wind’s. The Lady Lace, Night Shadow Star’s younger sister, seemed to have the knack. Though she sat uncomfortably due to her pregnant belly, she paid close attention and had started to make constructive comments.
    Red Warrior Tenkiller wasn’t sure about Sun Wing. His youngest daughter had survived but sixteen summers; she seemed more taken with her new-found status than the needs of empire. Having just been made a woman at the equinox celebration, she’d been married to Hickory Lance, a young noble in the Horned Serpent House leadership. Since then her dreamy thoughts were obsessed either by her husband’s penis and the novel delights she could conjure from it, or the flaunting of her so recently invested authority.
    He cast a sidelong glance at Sun Wing, catching his daughter in the act of preening as she studied herself in a slab of mica she carried for the purpose.
    “You’re a lady in the Morning Star House,” the tonka’tzi growled. “Be one.”
    Matron Wind noticed the object of his irritation and lit into the young woman, saying, “Stop acting like a piece of artwork, niece. Pay attention.”
    In another time and place the pouting look Sun Wing shot Matron Wind would have earned a slap followed by a tongue lashing. Lace, having caught the entire exchange, couldn’t hide a mocking smile.
    Matron Wind ground her teeth and fought to keep from fuming. Red Warrior could only agree. With Night Shadow Star lost in whatever world she’d plummeted to, one of these two would eventually inherit the mantle of clan matron.
    Blessed Creator, for the Morning Star’s sake, endow the Matron with long life. He gave Lace’s child-swollen abdomen a speculative glance. And let that child be both a male, and a survivor!
    The latest in the long line of individuals seeking audience was a Fox Clan man who’d arrived at River Mound City the night before. He’d appeared, looking exhausted, and bearing a pack full of map-hides as well as a beaded message belt. The map-hides had been carefully drawn of Reed Bottoms town, a colony of about six hundred persons that had been established last year at the bend of the Tenasee River far to the southeast.
    Red Warrior returned his attention to one of the map-hides, studying the layout of the temple, the Council House, granaries, and the surrounding palisades that had been built at Reed Bottom town. While he did, the messenger fingered the beaded-shell belt he’d brought. Eyes half closed, he translated the pattern of the beads into words.
    “We have twenty-three families planting fields this year,” he said. “Of the one hundred and fifty-three warriors, only seven have been killed in fighting with the local tribes. Depredations have declined since War Chief Kicks Them burned three of their villages this winter and enslaved the head men and their families. A total of sixty were placed in the squares and tortured.”
    “And have there been conversions?” Matron Wind asked.
    “Yes, High Matron. Most of the women and children captured as slaves are now taking part in the rituals.”
    She motioned with her finger, and one of the recorders stepped forward to take the beaded belt, squinting at the different-sized and colored beads.