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

sister. “Very well. Do you need anything else?”
    “No, Tonka’tzi .”
    “Then take this vigorous young messenger, reward him with food and drink, and be about your duties.”
    “Yes, Tonka’tzi .” Dead Bird stepped forward, touched his forehead in respect, and led the messenger out.
    “Who’s next?”
    “A delegation from the High Sun Chief of the Yellow Star nation, Tonka’tzi . The Supreme Sun, the Kadohadacho of Kadadokies tribe, sends his sister’s son, the Amayxoya Frantic Lightning Mankiller, bearing gifts and the good wishes of the Yellow Star nation. The official reception will be in the next quarter moon with all the appropriate ceremony and feasting. The noble Frantic Lightning has requested a more informal meeting Tonka-tzi. One without so many hungry ears.”
    “Has black drink been prepared?”
    “Yes, Tonka’tzi. ”
    “Well, send him in.” He was always curious what the Caddo were cooking up down in the southwest. Whatever they wanted would fill in the hours until he could wander down and inflict a little misery on the Red Wing captives. Payback for what the heretics had dished out over the years. Would this Fire Cat be the terrible and resourceful warrior he’d been reputed to be?
    By the Piasa, after what he did to Makes Three, I for one, will be glad to see him bleed.
    And perhaps Night Shadow Star could balance her debilitating grief with the red Power of vengeance as she gutted the man. Anything to get back the once-clever woman who’d been so thoroughly destroyed by Makes Three’s death.

 

    Seven
    “Be brave, my son,” Fire Cat’s mother called as they were lifted, gasping in pain, from the war canoe. The sleek craft had been pulled up on the sand among a thousand others. Across the roiling surface of the great Father Water, and atop the high bluffs, he could see a huge and magnificent city.
    “That’s Cahokia?” he wondered, puzzled that they were on the wrong side of the river.
    His head rang as he was slapped hard by one of the Cahokian warriors. “Idiot, that’s Evening Star town. You’ll see Cahokia soon enough … but I don’t think you’re going to enjoy it.”
    His sisters wept as they were lashed to long poles cut from saplings. Then he, too, was dumped on his side in the filthy sand and bound to a slim carry pole.
    “Not Mother, no.” He winced as his mother, Matron Red Wing, was similarly bound; her disheveled gray hair hung loosely. The expression on her face spoke of abject misery.
    “Power has abandoned you, you piece of sweating filth,” one of the warrior remarked callously. “You’re going to your death hung like deer. The squares are waiting. If you’ve got any guts left, perhaps you’d better suck them up.”
    Somehow, by marshalling all of his courage, Fire Cat kept from screaming as four warriors laid hold of his pole and lifted. His weight sought to pull his shoulders out of socket.
    Both of his sisters shrieked like gutted puppies as they were lifted unceremoniously. Mother just whimpered, and the growing crowd who’d assembled laughed, jeered, and called insults.
    Fire Cat barely caught a glimpse of their faces, his own agony taking precedence.
    The journey to Cahokia took a long day; the burly warriors who bore his bouncing body on the pole traded off as they jogged along. The entire distance people ran up, spitting on Fire Cat, his mother, and sisters. They were pelted with feces, fish guts, garbage, and even had pots of urine dumped on them. Occasionally one of the warriors would roar, lashing out when someone grew careless with his aim.
    “Heretics!” “Animals!” “Filthy foreign trash!” Insults were called as they passed. The escorting warriors did little to stop the abuse, only admonishing the crowd against the use of clubs or fishing spears.
    Along that entire distance the broad trail never left sight of farmsteads, temples, palaces, and granaries. The sheer number of people they encountered, or who stopped to watch the