White Shadows

by Susan Edwards

  With a long-suffering groan, Spotted Deer ran after Winona and caught up with her. “Do not expect me to climb all the way to the top of the rock with you! Being that high makes me sick.”

  Feeling incredibly happy and fortunate, Winona slowed, dropped down low and circled the herd of horses. A quick glance showed that the braves guarding the herd were chatting down by the stream. With a soft whistle, she called her mare.

  “Let’s go.”

  Swaying heavily on slender pine branches, ravens cried loudly from their high treetop perches. Below, standing on the limb of a tree split by lightning, a squirrel chattered at a silent enemy crouched behind a thick wall of pines and brush.

  Night Shadow ignored the warning chatter and cries. He held himself perfectly still. From his vantage point he had miles of unobstructed view. Around him the trees were so tall and thick, there was little light. But just a short distance in front of them the trees thinned as though someone had drawn a line separating forest from prairie.

  Shifting his gaze without moving his head, he picked out dark shadows far away. Buffalo, he thought. Sudden movement drew his attention to the left. A hare sat tall on its powerful hind legs. In the blink of an eye it was gone, a blur of gray among green. Night Shadow returned his attention to the Sioux camped a short distance away. Like the Cheyenne, the Sioux preferred to make their camp out in the open prairie, where the danger of surprise attack was minimized.

  He narrowed his eyes as he studied the Sioux camp. The number of tipis remained the same, yet something had changed. He studied the herd of horses, then smiled grimly. The groom bad arrived.

  Night Shadow fingered a long scar running down the side of his face. At last. After years of waiting, months of careful planning, and weeks spent watching the Sioux, he would soon have his revenge.

  A low rustle in the bushes warned he was no longer alone. “We take her tonight,” he said as his companions settled beside him. Crazy Fox hunkered down on his left. “We are four against so many.” Night Shadow’s gaze followed a group of warriors riding out onto the prairie. “The Sioux prepare to celebrate. The wedding will take place today.” He narrowed his eyes. “I have waited long for this day.” His plan was a good one. He’d wait until after the marriage ceremony, then, after the new couple was left alone for their first night together, sneak in and kidnap the woman. A woman for a woman. When he got Jenny back, they’d get Winona back.

  Night Shadow breathed deeply. Anticipation flowed through him. For fourteen years he’d suffered. He’d hated and he’d despaired and he’d survived—just for this day.

  He flexed his fingers over the hilt of his knife. So close, yet he dared not act too soon. Not until he had Jenny back. Then the bastard who’d taken her would die a slow, torturous death.

  Without taking his eyes off the Sioux camp, he stood. “Come. We have much to do before the sun lowers.” He took one last look at the Sioux camp, then froze when he spotted a lone rider heading toward him.

  Motioning the others down, he watched the rider draw near. Long, shiny black hair flew behind her as she entered the sparsely wooded hillside just below his hiding place. She said something and laughed. The young woman sitting behind her didn’t look so happy.

  Night Shadow studied the Sioux women. A ray of sunshine pierced the thick canopy of pine leaves, falling on the upturned face of the woman controlling the gleaming mare.

  “The spirits smile down upon us,” he said under his breath. He recognized the young, carefree features of the Sioux chieftain’s eldest daughter. As soon as he’d learned of her upcoming marriage to Hoka Luta, he’d made it a point to learn everything he could about the woman.

  Weeks ago he’d shown up at the Sioux camp with his loyal warriors to trade. They’d spent three days with the Sioux, and during that time he’d watched and studied the one called Winona.

  He grinned. The Sioux chief was foolish to allow his daughters to ride without escort. Incredulous at this turn of events, he let his gaze follow the women and horse as they rode past. As soon as they were out of sight he stood, his heart thudding with anticipation.

  What a stroke of luck this was. Although he’d been interested in taking only Winona, he couldn’t pass up the opportunity to take them both.

  The spirits watch over you.

  He grimaced at the words his mother had often said to him. Once he’d believed in unseen forces, but no more; not in the white man’s God his father spoke of, or in the many spirits of his mother’s people.

  Life was nothing more than a long string of events, some good, some bad. A man had to take control of his own destiny. And right now he planned to take advantage of this turn of events. The horrific events of the past would soon be avenged.

  He motioned to the others. The four warriors separated, each merging with the shadows.

  Chapter Two

  Winona surveyed the world from the flat top of a towering rock of granite. From her lofty height, the congregation of trees below appeared to be worshiping Wakan Tanka, the chief God. He was the Creator, the Great Spirit, and it was He who directed other spirits.

  Imitating the prayerful stance of the pines below her, Winona moved in a slow, sensuous circle, her arms held down away from her body. Slowly she lifted her fingers, then her wrists, until her arms were held out to her sides. Another careful twirl brought them overhead, the backs of her hands touching, her fingers twining. Happy, free as the birds soaring around her, Winona moved to the music of a new day.

  As she stared out at the glorious view it seemed fitting to be alone, celebrating and giving thanks, for this would be one of her last moments as a young maiden. Never again would she dance just for herself and the spirits. This sunrise might be the last she viewed alone.

  After tonight she’d dance for her mate. She’d be a part of him, as he’d become a part of her—each needing the other to be complete, like Wi and Hanwi. Sun and moon. Light and dark.

  Stopping, she walked to the edge of the sheer drop. This place that reached high into the sky held special meaning to her people, especially to her family. It was their power place. Her father, his father, and even her own brother had received many visions here. And when she felt at odds with the world, she came here in search of comfort.

  She smiled. Sometimes her parents, or her brother and his wife, came to this special place to talk and be alone. A soft giggle escaped her. Talk wasn’t all they did, she’d wager.

  Winona sighed. How she wished she could share this breathtaking view with Hoka Luta. Clasping her hands, then holding them to cheeks suddenly hot, she sank down onto the rough, rocky ground.

  “I will bring my husband to this place,” she vowed. “Together we will sit among the spirits.”

  Content, Winona stared out at the land of birth. The spirits showed their pleasure in the shades of green that ruled the upland prairie. Bright grass rippled over rolling hills. Slashes of darker green marked shallow valleys where water collected. Farther away, toward the south, the forest grew so thick the dark green appeared black. So much color and life.

  Spring.

  This was her favorite season, and mornings were her favorite time of the day. Both represented beginnings: fresh, new and filled with hopes and dreams. This was why she’d insisted her marriage take place now instead of at the end of summer. She sighed happily. Even her name, Winona, which meant firstborn daughter, had given her parents new hope after so many years of not conceiving. So it was fitting to start a new life during a time of rebirth.

  Lifting her hair away from her neck, she released the long, silky strands, giving them over to the gentle breeze to tease and stroke. With so much emotion filling her to bursting, she felt as though she were on the brink of something wonderful. Her laugh rang out, drawing an answering call from an eagle soaring far above her.

  Life was good.

  A wisp of smoke in the distance drew her gaze. She sighed at the reminder that she and Spotted Deer needed to return. It wasn’t hard to imagine her friend paci
ng below, eager to return before someone learned they’d left camp without permission.

  She sighed. There was so much to be done upon her return that selfishly, she gave in to the need for a few more stolen minutes. Stretching out on her belly, Winona stared down at the pines below. A handful of crows flew over the treetops. The long drop from her perch didn’t make her nervous. This tall throne was her special place.

  Her gaze shifted to a ribbon of water cutting a wide blue swath through the green prairie along one side of her tribe’s camp. The tiny tipis perched atop the green swell of land looked as though they’d sprouted from the earth. Smoke curled from many cookfires. Another contented sigh slipped from her lips.

  Home.

  A pang of regret at the thought of leaving her family settled in her belly. Hoka Luta’s tribe wasn’t of the same clan as hers. The Teton Sioux were seven nations. She was Hunkpapa, while Hoka Luta belonged to the Sichangus. His was a much larger clan. Only the Oglala had more members.

  The cool early-morning breeze brushed bits of dried sage across her arms. Winona glanced over her shoulder, noting the pile of rocks that formed a circle where she’d sprinkled sage and sweetgrass from a tanned leather pouch hanging from her waist. Her offering of thanks to the spirits had been swept away by the hand of Tate.

  Closing her eyes, she rolled to her side, then sat up slowly and turned her back on the magnificent view. Small pebbles ground into her palms, but she didn’t care. There was something wild about being perched so high above the world.

  The massive rock she sat upon rose like the strong trunk of a tree from the forest floor. One side of the rock was smooth, unclimbable, while the other side was rough and jagged, with enough rocky crevices, boulders and scraggly, woody brush to offer hand- and footholds.

  Directly opposite from where she sat, two large boulders with round, wide bases marked the path down. One rose to shoulder height and was slightly angular; the other was short and squat. Movement on the tall one drew her attention. A small lizard warming itself in the rays of the sun eyed her and flicked its tongue in and out, but didn’t move.

  Winona sighed. She knew she needed to head back, but the bright rays of Wi warmed her face, leaving her as drowsy and contented as the lizard. She, too, could sit here in the sun all day.

  As she watched the lizard, her sight blurred from the brightness of the sun rising in the east. The air shimmered like the ground on a hot summer day. And then, without warning, a snarling igmuwatogla appeared.

  Winona froze as she stared into the eyes of the mountain cat. Her heart pounded painfully against her chest, her blood racing through her body. It took all her courage to keep from scooting backward. Death at the hands of the cat, or by falling. Neither appealed.

  Her eyes burned until she was forced to blink, and it was then that she realized that only the face of the mountain cat appeared to her. No tawny, powerful body—which meant this was a…a vision.

  Stunned, Winona held her breath. She’d never experienced a true vision. Not like this. Animals had appeared before her. All living things communicated—whether animal, bird or insect. Even the land spoke to her people. But this…this was different.

  Igmuwatogla taught power. What did he want her to learn?

  “Why do you appear?” she asked breathlessly, her voice shaky from excitement and fear. But as quickly as the vision came, it faded. Winona blinked again and it was gone. Only the familiar shape of the boulder remained. Even the tiny lizard had vanished.

  Jumping to her feet, breathless and charged, she ran to the rock, touched it reverently, then started down. Mindful of the tricky descent, Winona was suddenly eager to get back to camp. She needed to tell her father, and together they’d consult with their shaman—and Hoka Luta. As a medicine man, he’d know what this vision meant.

  Power. Hoka Luta was powerful. Was she to add to his power, or he to hers? Of all the things a vision could have imparted, power was not one she ever expected to receive.

  Loose shale rolled down the path, making the descent difficult. Finally she reached a large outcrop of boulders at the base of the stone tower. Winona jumped easily from one to another until her feet touched the soft forest floor once more.

  Glancing around for her horse and Spotted Deer, she left the sunshine for the damp, chilly forest. The sudden ruckus of a squirrel’s scolding to her right drew Winona’s attention. She spotted the small animal clinging to the trunk of a pine tree. Flicking its tail back and forth, nose pointed to the ground, twitching madly, the squirrel made his displeasure known.

  With her mind still in a daze over the vision and its possible meanings, she smiled up at the small animal. “Do not scold,” she admonished as she approached. “I am leaving.” If she could find Spotted Deer.

  With hands on her hips she scanned the area. “Spotted Deer, where are you?”

  Winona groaned. It was a fine time for Spotted Deer to wander off. Whenever she and Spotted Deer sneaked away to come here, her friend used the time to collect plants and roots for food and medicinal purposes. That always provided the cover for Winona’s trips to Gray Rock—not that her mother had ever been fooled.

  The snap of a twig made her smile. She turned. “I’m over here,” she called excitedly, eager to share her vision yet knowing she had to talk to her father and their pejuta wicasa, medicine man, first. Winona hurried past the chattering squirrel. “We need to return quickly. I have news for my father—”

  Winona’s smile faded when a large warrior stepped out from behind the tree. It took only a quick glance to realize that this was not one of her father’s men. Nor did he appear to be one of Hoka Luta’s warriors. Worse, he didn’t look friendly—she didn’t need to see the knife in his hand to tell her that.

  Hatred blazed from nearly black eyes, and his lips were drawn back into a snarl every bit as fierce and as deadly as the mountain cat’s. Taking a step back, Winona felt an icy shiver run through her. When the enemy warrior took a step closer, Winona’s heart stopped.

  Instinct took hold. This was no game of frightening a lone woman. Something about this warrior warned that whatever he was about, he meant business. Winona had no intention of waiting around to determine who he was or why he was there.

  Whirling around, she ran.

  The ground, wet from recent rains, gave way beneath her leather-clad feet as she ran surefooted through the dense forest. Leaping over fallen logs, running through thick clumps of trees, Winona deliberately chose a path difficult for the pursuing warrior.

  Pulling branches down, she released them as she ran past so they slapped at the warrior. All the while she had to fight to keep her feet from slipping out from beneath her.

  Shoving a twiggy branch forward, she ducked her head and then released the branch. It whipped back over her head. The low curse behind her would have made her smile if she didn’t have to concentrate hard on trying to lose the furious warrior.

  Coming to a small clearing, Winona zigged to the left, heading for more low branches. One good swat at the warrior might give her enough time to gain her freedom. She put on a burst of speed.

  One minute her feet were flying across the ground, the next they were swinging in midair. She screeched when she felt an arm tighten around her waist. The forest spun as he swung her around. He tightened his arm, cutting off her breath. Her scream came out a weak croak.

  “Hiya! Hiya! Nanpoi yuze sni ye!” He ignored her commands, spoken in Lakota, to take his hands off her. She clawed at his arms and kicked. One foot made contact with the warrior’s thigh. Twisting, she formed a claw with the fingers of one hand and snagged a fistful of his hair.

  The warrior cursed. Baring his teeth, he used one hand to squeeze her wrist until she released his hair. Despite the pain, Winona became more desperate to gain her freedom. She scratched, pinched, even tried to bite the warrior. One elbow connected solidly with his face. She felt a surge of renewed strength as she continued her assault. She was the daughter of a courageous chief. She would
n’t go down without a fight.

  Lifting her knee to her chin, Winona grabbed her utility knife from the sheath wrapped around her upper thigh. At the same time she kicked both feet outward. The momentum of her arched body sent her would-be captor stumbling back. He fell, his arm still firmly holding her around the waist

  The air whooshed out of Winona’s lungs at the impact of landing against his hard chest. She gasped. That one moment of weakness was all the warrior needed. In the blink of an eye he flipped her over onto the ground, pinned her arm above her head and forced the tip of her blade into the softened ground. With one knee in the small of her back, his muscular thighs and legs pinning her legs, it took him almost no effort to pull both her arms behind her back.

  Though stunned by how fast the warrior had immobilized her, Winona refused to give up. She spat dirt and leaves from her mouth. “You will die,” she promised. “My father and brother will kill you for this,” she said in Lakota.

  Breathing hard, Winona lifted her head and glanced around frantically. Spotted Deer…where was she? Had the enemy hurt her? Fear crept through her. If anything had happened to her friend, Winona would never forgive herself. Too late she wished that they hadn’t left camp.

  Winona prayed that Spotted Deer’s absence meant that she’d had time to flee. Closing her eyes for just a moment to gather her strength, Winona didn’t struggle when she was turned over. Both hands were now pinned overhead, and for the first time Winona got a good look at her enemy.

  Hard. Cold. Those were her first impressions. His face could have been carved from stone. And his eyes… Winona tried to look away but couldn’t. Anger boiled in the dark depths and warned that when unleashed, a storm unlike anything she’d ever experienced would erupt.

  His rage made it impossible for her to swallow. Or breathe. The hatred rolling off him choked her as though his hands had closed around her throat. This warrior hated. He thirsted for revenge. She’d seen that same look far too many times on warriors in her own tribe when they lost loved ones in battle.