The vision would come. It would come.
But why was it taking so long? Hadn't his first quest been rewarded quickly with the appearance of the Raven, whose name he now bore? The spirits had blessed him with the sign of magic, yet that obstinate female shaman had not seen fit to take proper notice.
She'd greeted his announcement calmly, then remarked that his quest had taken an unusually short time. Was he certain his true animal guide had appeared? Was Coyote, the Trickster, at work here? Ravenheart had hidden his outrage and had refrained from asserting that he'd been hand-chosen by the spirits. Star Dancer, he knew, would interpret his truth as excessive pride. But was it prideful to claim one's rightful place?
No! A chosen one could never be denied. It was written.
Then, despite his strong will, Ravenheart's head lolled on his neck. He toppled slowly toward the floor. He floated up to the miserly clouds, caught in their mist, tortured by the moisture they promised but refused to bestow.
Curling up, sightless to all around him, he keened a vision quest chant. The spirits had deserted him, he knew it now, and he was dying. None denied themselves fluids during a monsoon sweat, yet he had, and it would be the end of him.
The spirits had deserted him.
A low growl broke through his slurred chants. He lifted his weak neck and saw a figure walking through the fog. A silver muzzle dripping with blood emerged, followed by eyes as blue as the sweltering Ebony Canyon sky and so piercing that Ravenheart groaned and looked away.
"Brother Raven," said a silky voice.
A long-fingered hand touched his shoulder and he felt the bite of claws. His limbs grew stiff with terror, but he forced himself to remain still. The sign had come at last; he would not quail before it.
"You shall have your rightful place," the voice continued. "And we ask little in return. Meet my eyes, brother. I am the guide you sought."
Ravenheart did as the creature asked. The mist had settled, revealing a monumental figure of such magnificence he scrambled to his knees and bowed.
"White Wolf Woman," he murmured. "You have come to aid me."
A brutal laugh rose from the wolf's sleek throat. "Do not confuse me with that one. I am Walking Wolf, teacher of those with claims to power. You are such a one, are you not?"
"Yes, yes." Ravenheart raised his arms beseechingly. "You have seen. I knew you would."
The blue eyes gleamed approvingly. "Yes, Brother, I have seen. Again I say to you, we ask little in return for bestowing your rightful place. Are you prepared to hear my request?"
Warnings flashed through Ravenheart's heat-baked mind. Animal guides never requested gifts from those they served. But he quickly dismissed the warning and nodded eagerly.
"A woman shall come. Though she appears frail, evil is her path, and she shall bring much harm upon your people. Seek her out, Ravenheart, and deliver her to me. In return, you shall rule forever.”
Forever. The long-awaited promise rang sweetly in Ravenheart's ears. But again a warning came. Mornings spent with other young followers of the warrior's way at Star Dancer's knee: A guide who lured a seeker with pledges of power was a false guide. Turn away, the teachings advised, turn away now and seek a higher guide.
"Forever," Walking Wolf repeated.
"Yes. Yes, Lord." Ravenheart stretched up, clawing toward heaven, pierced by the ecstasy of his certain triumph, barely aware he'd addressed as Lord the one who should have been his servant. "I will deliver her. I swear it."
"Go now and do that which you have sworn."
Instantly, Ravenheart sank into the clouds, falling, falling, faster and faster toward the sweat lodge. Before he smashed against the baked earth floor, his awareness splintered into a million fragments.
When he awoke, the rocks in the corner pit were dull, devoid of heat. As he rolled shakily to his feet, feeling weaker than ever before, he tried to forget that the dying of the Stone People before a vision quest ended was a bad omen.
Chapter Seven
Although sweat trickled down Lily's neck, she woke up shivering, a cold, malicious presence creeping through her mind. Sebastian was already behind them. She never doubted he would come or that he'd bring others. She expanded her psyche to explore the extent of his entourage, being careful to shield her mind from a return probe. There were eight with him, among them the envious Beryl, who must even now be crowing over taking her place beside Sebastian as his prince. She also found Philippe, a young French wolfling. The rest she didn't know.
Sebastian had come prepared, she thought, smiling grimly. Seven wolves for the ceremony of the Song of Hades, and one in reserve for emergency. How like him to provide for all contingencies.
She sat up and looked around. While the chirp of crickets grated on her ears, at least the scorching sun was leaving. The last rays shimmered off the leaves of chaparral and dying grasses and, behind the lip of the canyon, clouds rolled by, kissed with crimson and gold, flamingo pink and dusty orange.
She glanced over at the shaman, who appeared to still be sleeping. Should she warn him? Although his hatred of her simmered constantly between them, he'd refrained from brutality. She knew his heart had been pierced by the death of his wife, and she supposed she owed him a small favor before she escaped.
Remembering his scornful reply when she'd tried to warn him on the train, she decided against it. He'd learn of Sebastian's presence soon enough, and the Dawn People had their hidden village to protect them.
A laugh bubbled in her throat, and she choked it back. She hadn't thought far enough ahead. The hidden village would protect her too, but only for a time. She'd have to escape before they scheduled her execution. But escape to what? Sebastian's waiting arms.
She could work that out later. For the moment, a more immediate threat loomed. She could hear faint quarrels among Sebastian's underlings and grumbles about traveling in daylight, acts unheard of in her time with him. They hadn't reached the rim of the canyon yet, but if he should catch scent of them or somehow connect with Lily's thoughts, Sebastian would quicken the pace. Their safety depended on reaching the village before that happened. They must hurry.
"It's getting dark," she called to White Hawk. "Shouldn't we start now?"
Apparently wide awake, White Hawk rolled to a sitting position, then stood up. "Your eagerness surprises me."
"Anything's preferable to sleeping on this bug-infested ground," she groused.
Bending to roll up his bedroll, White Hawk told her to put on her boots and tend to her sleeping bag. Lily chose to wear the sandals and she slipped her feet into them, then kicked her bedding into a haphazard square pile. What did a person do with these things, she wondered, when finished sleeping in them?
White Hawk came to her side with a small square of lamb's wool. "Use this to protect the blister. The sandals are more comfortable, but you'll have better luck with the jumping cactus if your feet are covered." He chuckled darkly as he turned away. "The scorpions too."
"Scorpions," Lily repeated dully. She scanned the darkening landscape. Nebulous shapes crept among stands of eucalyptus. Somewhere far away, a coyote cried. A burro brayed. Behind them came Sebastian with his twisted schemes and obedient followers.
She'd never cared for the sterile canyon floor, and had usually managed to avoid it. Scaly things abounded here, creeping and slithering creatures that caught one unaware. A faint tremor of distaste trilled through her body. She saw White Hawk regarding her, his golden eyes reflecting the soft hues of the sunset.
Lily returned his look with a haughty glance. "You aren't scaring me, if that's what you think."
"Of course not," he said insincerely, stepping into his own boots.
Not caring for his tone, she busied herself by kicking off the sandals and donning her boots, giving the area around the blister a generous padding of lamb's wool. Then she knelt to roll up her bedding. After a struggle, she managed to crush it into a lopsided ball, fumbling for the cords, which barely met and left no room for tying
. Rocking back on her heels, she tugged at the ties with all her might. One of them slipped out of her hand.
She toppled backward, landing on her behind with a jarring thud. An annoyed grunt left her mouth, followed by another sound that hadn't come from her. She shot a startled glance over her shoulder to see White Hawk with his head thrown back, laughing insufferably.
She wanted to leap up and pummel him until he stopped. Then she looked down at herself. With her legs spread awkwardly, her hands splayed to hold her bottom off the rocky ground, and the sleeping bag slowly unrolling, she truly was a comical sight. A giggle bubbled in her throat.
Just as quickly as it began, White Hawk's laughter ended. He came over and hoisted her to her feet.
"You're not good for much, are you?" he asked gruffly, picking up the sleeping bag. "I'll take care of this."
The sharp stab in Lily's stomach startled her. How many unkind things had he already said with little effect? Yet this one struck too close to home. What was she good for? Pampered as a child, then transformed to a life of ease and invulnerability, she'd never had to lift a finger. Not cook a meal, wash a dish, or clean a room. And certainly not roll up ragged, sleepworn bedding.
"If you have business to attend to, do it now." White Hawk ordered. "It will be well past middle night before we reach the village and we must travel hard."
Orders and more orders. Insults and jibes. She walked regally away, telling herself she wasn't running from his scorn. This peasant was unworthy of her attention and she'd given him far too much already.
She returned to find him arranging the bedrolls and provisions on his back. While he was thus occupied, she went to the backpack which was outside his line of sight and rummaged for her linen jacket. When she found it, she flinched, realizing it was rumpled beyond repair. But the bottles in the pocket were what counted. As she reached for one, she sensed White Hawk's eyes on her. Turning away, she scrambled toward her sandals. "Just putting these away," she explained, lifting them up. "Is there anything else left to go in?"
He lobbed over his moccasins, which she stuffed inside the pack along with the sandals, pausing only to palm a bottle of water. Then she turned to face him, concealing the vial as she slipped her arms through the straps of the backpack. "Buckle them for me?" she asked.
With a puzzled frown she attributed to surprise at her unusual meekness, he walked behind her. By the time he'd finished securing the pack, she'd slipped the bottle into the pocket of her shorts.
"Come on," he said, moving toward the rough trail. "It's a long hike and the tribe waits for us."
Lily fell in behind him, watching the rhythmic sway of his shoulders as he swiftly covered the ground before them. Moving at night was easier, especially since her keen eyesight let her see the treacherous spots. Soon she adjusted to his pace, only occasionally patting the bottle in her pocket. If Sebastian showed up, she had her protection. And the shaman? Well, he could take care of himself.
* * *
White Hawk hadn't deceived her. It was a long hike, and after the first ten miles or so Lily slipped into a daze, stumbling occasionally from lack of paying attention. She wondered how White Hawk did it. Although he lacked her sensitive sight, never once had he faltered.
So far she hadn't felt Sebastian's presence again. Perhaps he'd taken pity on his squabbling pack and allowed them to rest. But, just in case, Lily checked the bottle in her pocket for the hundredth time.
They descended from the harsh desert terrain into an area of lush growth. From somewhere nearby she heard gently flowing water, and the trail soon twisted beneath huge cottonwoods and sycamores that were so thick with leaves they sometimes blocked out the moon. At these times White Hawk would give her directions to turn this way or that, but otherwise he never spoke.
After what seemed like endless hours of silent hiking, broken only by the scuttles and chitters of nighttime desert dwellers, Lily heard a frog chirrup. Something splashed, the frog quieted, then sang again.
"Stop here," White Hawk commanded.
Ahead of them Lily saw an oasis. More cottonwoods, and ancient sycamore too, their curving trunks showing mottled gleams of white in the faint illumination of the moon. Chaparral and mesquite clustered tightly together. Scrub oak, shrubs, and waist-high grasses filled every space between them.
"Papa!" A child's voice called out from the dense vegetation. White Hawk's face broke into a delighted smile.
A small girl flew forward, slim brown legs whirring, and threw herself at White Hawk. "Papa! Papa! Papa!"
With a whoop, he swept her off the ground, buried his chin in her neck, and made funny little growls.
"I missed you," she cried, peppering his cheek with kisses. "I missed you so much."
"I missed you too, little one."
Lily watched, feeling an odd tickle in her throat. A few minutes later White Hawk told her they were moving on. He shifted his daughter's weight to let her rest in the crook of his arm, then resumed walking. As Lily started to follow she heard the girl whisper a question.
"Who's that?"
White Hawk didn't bother to whisper. "No one you want to know."
Again, his remark slithered through her defenses, pricking briefly, but sharply. Lily paused. Despite the poultice and padding, her blister pained her every step. But that wasn't what made her lag behind.
The Dawn People kept a close eye on their children. If White Hawk's daughter was running free, the village must be near. Safety lay just ahead. So why did she want to droop and let her feet shuffle wearily across the ground?
Fatigue, perhaps. Surely she didn't fear the contempt of these simple people? Of course not. Forcing steel into her spine, she lifted her aching legs briskly and held her chin up high.
They continued through a mazelike trail. She remembered trying to wind her way through this area once, finally howling in frustration over the many dead ends and giving up entirely. But White Hawk obviously knew where they were going.
Suddenly he was no longer in front of her. For an instant, Lily felt a surge of panic. Dear God, she'd been unable to traverse this maze even as a werewolf. How would she cope if he left her?
"Lily!"
Stifling the relieved cry that wanted to escape her mouth, she squared her shoulders and walked forward, finding White Hawk standing near an almost invisible split in the undergrowth. The girl was no longer with him.
He stared at her darkly, then removed the backpack from her shoulders. "The tribe awaits your arrival, so listen carefully. When we go through the village, you must walk behind me. Keep your head bowed, your hands clasped in front of you. Don't look at anyone."
Lily stared back just as darkly. "Are your people afraid of my evil eye?"
"That has nothing to do with it. You're merely unworthy to gaze upon their faces."
Despite the steaming heat, Lily felt cold. Very cold. And so alone. She tilted her chin up defiantly, then quickly snatched the backpack from White Hawk's hand. With a pivot that made her blister scream, she started marching in the direction from which they'd come.
"You won't find your way out, Lily. You'll end up starving to death in there."
Or falling into Sebastian's hands, she thought, regretting the impulsive act. Forcing her chin to remain high, she returned.
"Very well," she said, as if this was all her own idea. "Wise decision. Let's go on in. And remember the instructions I gave you."
He turned his back to her and started forward. Lily glared at him hotly as she followed him through the narrow leafy passage.
The change came abruptly. One second they were surrounded by foliage, the next moment they entered a clearing that was enclosed by high cliffs on all sides but the one from which they'd entered. A hawk perched on an overhead branch, crying out, as if to announce her entrance.
Chapter Eight
The clearing was dotted with dancing fires and filled with chanting people. Lined up on the right, lined up on the left, of all shapes, sizes, and ages, their bodies
formed a wide path that ended at the cliffs. Plump women with round faces stood beside squat men with square jaws and flat cheeks. Tall slender women with aquiline noses leaned into taller muscled men with sharp profiles and fierce gazes. Wise old men and wise old women. Children peering from behind the legs of their elders.
Continuing to chant as Lily followed White Hawk between the two lines of people, they stared at her as if she were a horse being led into a show ring . . . or a prisoner going to execution.
Lily planted her hands on her hips and stared back.
Each person she passed quickly turned away. Children shrank deeper into their mother's skirts. One gawky boy, apparently bolder than the rest, returned her gaze. Lily bared her teeth. A grandfather swept the boy behind him, glaring back. Lily clicked her teeth together, gratified to see him flinch.
A bent wizened woman came forward, leaning heavily on a walking stick, and spit at Lily.
"Frieda, no!" a young woman shouted, bravely hurling herself between them. Lily merely snarled and kept on walking.
White Hawk glanced over his shoulder and scowled, which Lily acknowledged with a wolfish smile. His scowl deepened. With the smooth grace of a predator he dropped behind her and wrapped his arms around her body, then pushed her hands toward her midsection. Lily struggled, but she was unwilling to squirm like a snared rabbit in front of this censuring audience, and White Hawk easily managed to trap her wrists with a leather thong.
Her stride interrupted, Lily faltered, causing White Hawk's chest to strike her back. His hemp tunic scraped lightly across her bare sunburned shoulders, but instead of stinging as she'd expected, the touch soothed the burn. His presence almost seemed to draw the heat from her sticky, sunbaked flesh, and she realized with a shock that she didn't want him to move away.
"You can complete this journey like a lady," he whispered, his breath cool against her skin, "or I can tie your hands together and force your head down. It's your choice."
Chills & Thrills Paranormal Boxed Set Page 33