People of the Morning Star by W. Michael Gear, Kathleen O’Neal Gear Page A
Authors: W. Michael Gear, Kathleen O’Neal Gear
Ads: Link
characteristic odor.
Her porters avoided the carefully manicured chunkey courts where young boys sprinkled the clay with water. They carefully tamped down the old lance impacts with their bare feet before they rolled the surface smooth with a perfect cylinder of oak log. When finished they would either sift clean white or red sand over the surface depending on the court. This, too, would be carefully smoothed to eliminate the least imperfection.
These were the Morning Star’s personal chunkey courts and the finest in the world. The gravity with which the boys worked was almost comical to her.
She cast a sidelong glance up at the Morning Star’s palace where it rose skyward atop the great black mound. As usual, a crowd thronged at the base of the stairs leading up the south-facing ramp. The giant construction dominated the northern edge of the plaza. Behind the walls of the first terrace, the second rose against the northern horizon; its white-walled palisade was studded with intricately carved and painted guardian posts. Each depicted and concentrated the Power of one of the Spirit Animals from the Creation. Among them were Crawfish, Vulture, Eagle, Mother Spider, Horned Serpent, and the Piasa. There, too, were the Spirit creatures of war: Falcon, Snapping Turtle, Woodpecker, and Rattlesnake.
The great lightning-scarred World Tree pole—the highest point in Cahokia—rose like a lance into the sky. Behind it, the roof of Morning Star’s palace with its graying thatch cut the heavens like a great ax. Even as she watched, she could make out tiny figures of men suspended on ropes as they worked on the thatch. Given the immense height of the palace, its huge wedge of roof was constantly savaged by wind and storm.
On the stairways a steady stream of people, like brown dots, were coming and going. Here and there a speck of color denoted a noble or high-ranking individual. She grunted to herself at the similarity to an ant pile.
“Did you think of something, Elder?” Smooth Pebble, her aide asked. She was berdache, a woman born into a man’s body. A distant cousin, Smooth Pebble had come to Blue Heron’s attention more than two-tens of winters ago and had worked her way up to become Blue Heron’s most valued advisor, administrator, and confidant. Now in her forties, Smooth Pebble wore her graying hair in a bun pinned at the back of her head with an ornate shell comb. A black skirt embroidered with chevrons, bits of mica, and shell hung from her too-narrow hips. An opossum cloak was thrown back on her broad shoulders out of respect for the warm temperatures.
“No,” Blue Heron answered. “We’ve just enough time to fetch Night Shadow Star. May Horned Serpent take us if we’re late to the Morning Star’s reception. It’s that new emissary from Yellow Star Mounds. Some war chief, what the Kadohadacho calls an amayxoyo. Frantic Lightning is his name.”
“Assuming Night Shadow Star has remembered the reception,” Notched Cane grumbled. He, too, was a cousin “appointed” to her by an errant relative who’d committed one too many infractions. Blue Heron had originally kept him as a hostage, but had come to rely on his skills at keeping her house in order. The man had a way with the slaves, somehow ensured that food—agreeable to her tastes and properly cooked—was on hand, swept the place clean, and managed to keep the bedding, matting, and roof in repair. Under his watchful eye, the fires always had an ample supply of wood, and the water pots were filled.
“Watch your tongue, old friend,” she warned. Then she shot Clay Ball and Fire Temper, her two guards, a meaningful, slit-eyed glance. Both warriors responded with the slightest of nods. Over the years they’d learned to keep things to themselves. Especially family concerns. Like Night Shadow Star hearing and seeing things that weren’t there.
Two Beads cleared his throat suggestively, nodding toward the tall, flat-topped pyramid that rose just to
Her porters avoided the carefully manicured chunkey courts where young boys sprinkled the clay with water. They carefully tamped down the old lance impacts with their bare feet before they rolled the surface smooth with a perfect cylinder of oak log. When finished they would either sift clean white or red sand over the surface depending on the court. This, too, would be carefully smoothed to eliminate the least imperfection.
These were the Morning Star’s personal chunkey courts and the finest in the world. The gravity with which the boys worked was almost comical to her.
She cast a sidelong glance up at the Morning Star’s palace where it rose skyward atop the great black mound. As usual, a crowd thronged at the base of the stairs leading up the south-facing ramp. The giant construction dominated the northern edge of the plaza. Behind the walls of the first terrace, the second rose against the northern horizon; its white-walled palisade was studded with intricately carved and painted guardian posts. Each depicted and concentrated the Power of one of the Spirit Animals from the Creation. Among them were Crawfish, Vulture, Eagle, Mother Spider, Horned Serpent, and the Piasa. There, too, were the Spirit creatures of war: Falcon, Snapping Turtle, Woodpecker, and Rattlesnake.
The great lightning-scarred World Tree pole—the highest point in Cahokia—rose like a lance into the sky. Behind it, the roof of Morning Star’s palace with its graying thatch cut the heavens like a great ax. Even as she watched, she could make out tiny figures of men suspended on ropes as they worked on the thatch. Given the immense height of the palace, its huge wedge of roof was constantly savaged by wind and storm.
On the stairways a steady stream of people, like brown dots, were coming and going. Here and there a speck of color denoted a noble or high-ranking individual. She grunted to herself at the similarity to an ant pile.
“Did you think of something, Elder?” Smooth Pebble, her aide asked. She was berdache, a woman born into a man’s body. A distant cousin, Smooth Pebble had come to Blue Heron’s attention more than two-tens of winters ago and had worked her way up to become Blue Heron’s most valued advisor, administrator, and confidant. Now in her forties, Smooth Pebble wore her graying hair in a bun pinned at the back of her head with an ornate shell comb. A black skirt embroidered with chevrons, bits of mica, and shell hung from her too-narrow hips. An opossum cloak was thrown back on her broad shoulders out of respect for the warm temperatures.
“No,” Blue Heron answered. “We’ve just enough time to fetch Night Shadow Star. May Horned Serpent take us if we’re late to the Morning Star’s reception. It’s that new emissary from Yellow Star Mounds. Some war chief, what the Kadohadacho calls an amayxoyo. Frantic Lightning is his name.”
“Assuming Night Shadow Star has remembered the reception,” Notched Cane grumbled. He, too, was a cousin “appointed” to her by an errant relative who’d committed one too many infractions. Blue Heron had originally kept him as a hostage, but had come to rely on his skills at keeping her house in order. The man had a way with the slaves, somehow ensured that food—agreeable to her tastes and properly cooked—was on hand, swept the place clean, and managed to keep the bedding, matting, and roof in repair. Under his watchful eye, the fires always had an ample supply of wood, and the water pots were filled.
“Watch your tongue, old friend,” she warned. Then she shot Clay Ball and Fire Temper, her two guards, a meaningful, slit-eyed glance. Both warriors responded with the slightest of nods. Over the years they’d learned to keep things to themselves. Especially family concerns. Like Night Shadow Star hearing and seeing things that weren’t there.
Two Beads cleared his throat suggestively, nodding toward the tall, flat-topped pyramid that rose just to
Similar Books
