White Shadows

by Susan Edwards

  Winona tore her gaze from his and dragged in a ragged gulp of air. Her eyes focused on the hard, rugged line of his shadowed jaw. A few strands of pale brown hair clung to where his face was rough with the stubble of a beard. His hair was almost a golden brown, soft and silky-looking. Hair much like her nephew’s. Hair almost like that of a white man.

  Her eyes narrowed as she examined the warrior’s face. The dappled sunlight revealed a portion of his features. Winona carefully picked out the signs of mixed blood: the shadow of stubble that would become a full, thick beard if not plucked or kept checked by the blade of a sharp knife, the earth-colored hair and a deep dimple in his chin.

  “Wasicun!” she spat out, disgusted to have been captured so easily by a white man.

  “Get off me,” she ordered, this time in English. Between her own father’s foresight in learning English from the trappers they traded with, and her brother and his French-English wife, she was fairly fluent in several tongues.

  Incensed that she’d allowed herself to be taken by a white man dressed as a warrior, she twisted and bucked to gain her freedom. But her captor was larger, heavier and stronger. “You will die!” she said, reverting back to Lakota.

  Furious dark eyes glittered down at her. “Ovanohoo’estse!”

  Winona froze. She recognized the soft, melodic language, though she did not understand it. This man was Sahiyela—Cheyenne. He might carry white blood in his veins, but he was Indian where it counted—in his heart and soul. And cold, dark hatred burned in his gaze. Fear slid through her, and she shivered when he broke eye contact to pull a length of rope from around his waist

  Afraid as never before, Winona renewed her struggles. Her senses sharpened. The crisp morning air seared her heaving lungs, the silence of the forest rang loud in her ears, and the acrid scent of fear mixed with another scent, one she didn’t recognize, but knew belonged to this man. The churning in her stomach crawled and clawed at the back of her throat.

  Despite her struggles, the Cheyenne warrior made quick work of binding her hands in front of her. With her heart racing and pounding against her ribs, Winona glared into the eyes of the enemy. Drawing in a ragged breath, she tried to look away but couldn’t.

  There was something in those hard, emotionless eyes. Something that lived deep within his soul, something that frightened her more than anything he could say or do. It wasn’t just hatred or cruelty. It was more. Much, much more. This man had no light in his soul. In his eyes she saw only darkness. Bitterness. Despair.

  The Cheyenne warrior stood and yanked her to her feet. In his hand he held tight to the short length of rope he’d left dangling when he’d bound her wrists.

  “Noheto!”

  Winona stumbled at the obvious command. What was going on? The Cheyenne were allies of the Sioux, not enemies. “Wait,” she cried, digging in her heels. She had to hold on to the hope that Spotted Deer had managed to escape with the horse.

  Help would arrive and this harsh man would pay for his actions—with his life. She just had to stall. Normally she dreaded her father’s lectures on her foolish, impetuous ways, but right then she’d have given much to be soundly chastised by her father.

  Impatiently the warrior whipped around, revealing his profile. A stream of light fell onto his unpainted face, highlighting a long crescent scar that curved from his temple, past his ear and along part of his jaw. Shocked, she stared. She recognized this man. He’d been a visitor to her village several weeks ago. He and several other Cheyenne warriors had stopped to trade with the Sioux.

  In dawning horror, she recalled serving meals to him and three others. The Cheyenne warrior lifted a brow. He knew she recognized him, but he didn’t say anything—just turned his back on her and yanked hard on the rope binding her wrists.

  The fact that he turned his back on her showed he considered her no threat. Frantically Winona glanced around for a weapon but saw nothing of use—especially as her hands were bound. Stumbling into the cool shadows, she blinked. Then she blinked again at the sight of her horse grazing unconcerned several feet from her.

  “No,” she whispered, falling to her knees. If her horse was still here…

  Her legs shook as she searched for, and found, Spotted Deer. She was bound to the trunk of a tree a short distance from the horse. Gagged, her face pale, Spotted Deer blinked tears from her eyes. Behind her, sitting on his heels, sharpening a twig with his knife, a second warrior looked bored.

  Tears burned behind Winona’s eyes. “This is my fault,” she whispered hoarsely in Lakota. Glancing around wildly, Winona knew she had to do something to save them. She lunged forward and kicked her captor behind his right knee, then moved swiftly when he stumbled forward. With a hard yank she pulled free and ran for her horse.

  Curses and amused laughter followed her flight for freedom. She didn’t need to glance over her shoulder to know her pursuer was close. She felt him—felt his heat and his fury. She heard the low rumble of his voice. There was nothing soft or soothing about that voice. Or the words spoken. When he caught her, she knew she’d pay.

  The scrape of his fingers on her shoulder made her cry out. She leaned to the right, eluding capture, and eyed her horse with desperation. She had no hope of outrunning the warrior. He’d overpower her in seconds. Frustrated that she wouldn’t have time to mount the animal and ride for help, she figured she’d do what she could.

  When she came within a foot of her mare, she threw her arms high and snapped the loose rope binding her hands toward the now-startled horse. The mare danced away, then stopped, unsure of her mistress’s behavior.

  “Go!” Winona screamed, waving her arms.

  When a hard hand clamped down on her shoulder, she screamed and twisted, moving closer to the wild-eyed animal. For the second time that morning she felt an arm snake around her waist. Winona refused to go quietly. She continued to scream at the top of her lungs and wave her hands. Each time the end of the rope brushed the mare, the animal backed away with a fearful snort.

  With one last desperate attempt to send her horse fleeing, Winona kicked out with her feet. One foot struck the mare’s hindquarters. The horse, already skittish from Winona’s screams and struggles, reared up, front hooves pawing the air.

  “Tigli! Tigli!” she commanded the horse. Another kick sent leaves and bits of loose dirt flying toward the animal’s face.

  Behind her, the Cheyenne warrior tried to grab her hands. Out of the corner of her eye Winona saw the second warrior racing toward the horse.

  “No!” Desperate, she leaned her head down and bit the warrior on his upper arm. He yelped. The slack in his grip was all she needed to twist free. Lunging at the horse, knowing she couldn’t mount fast enough, she slapped the animal.

  “Go! Go!”

  The mare whirled around and shot forward, racing through the trees, hooves thundering long after the animal faded from sight.

  A loud curse in her ear made Winona smile. This time when the Cheyenne warrior snagged her she didn’t struggle. She’d done what she could. Turning, she faced her enemy with her chin jutting forward, her eyes twin slits of fury.

  “I am Winona, daughter of Chief Hawk Eyes, sister of Golden Eagle. Prepare to die.”

  Seeing Eyes felt the first icy finger of dread slide down her spine. Darkness crept like a rolling bank of fog across her vision. Not again, she thought. Not again. It had been years since she’d experienced the frightening and paralyzing effect of a vision.

  She fought the sensations, opened her eyes wide and tried to focus on the activities going on around her, but reality faded. The darkness enveloped her; her heart raced and her chest tightened as though a giant invisible fist were squeezing the air from her lungs.

  So cold.

  Something was wrong.

  Terribly wrong.

  The sun. Where had it gone? She needed warmth; her head screamed for the darkness to lift. She no longer existed. Or felt. Or was. Her spirit floated through the darkness, became one with the d
arkness.

  Down below she saw a child standing high on a cliff with arms outstretched. Sky-blue hair flowed around her body and tiny dots of light danced and became her shadow. As the girl-child danced, the light mingled with the darkness and swirled until everything appeared blue, black and white.

  Seeing Eyes smiled as she floated around the child. The child shimmered and glowed before slowly losing shape. Once more the scene spun until Seeing Eyes felt slightly sick and dizzy. To her horror, the tiny white dots turned blood-red. She held her hands up to ward away the vision. But she couldn’t. She was a part of it. In her head she heard screams.

  Blood.

  Death.

  It choked her. There was so much of it. Too much. And the child? Where was the child? Frantically Seeing Eyes reached out, not with her physical body but with her spiritual self. She had to find the child.

  Without warning, the sensation of death changed. The red remained, a dark glow, but now it glittered in the sun, the sparks of color nearly blinding her. The frightening roar in her ears became giggles. Soft, sweet laughter. The child had returned.

  She relaxed and reached out to the child. The child reached out a hand, then abruptly turned and ran. Laughter turned to screams.

  “Stop,” Seeing Eyes called out.

  With a suddenness typical of her visions, it was gone. So was the child, but not the echoing screams. Seeing Eyes opened her eyes and rubbed her arms in a vain attempt to warm herself. No matter how fast she rubbed, she felt chilled to the bone. Her heart hammered as her gaze slid over her people. Why had the visions returned? Who was in danger?

  Scanning the camp, she found nothing wrong or out of place. Just the opposite. Excitement over her daughter’s marriage to Hoka Luta lent a festive gaiety to the camp. Women were either cooking or working on gifts to present to the soon-to-be-joined couple. Young children ran every which way, many holding food from one of numerous cook pots.

  Seeing Eyes stood. A pouch of dried cherries fell unheeded to the ground. Her family. She had to be sure they were safe. She spotted her son, Golden Eagle, kneeling beside his tipi. In his hands he held a knife. Squatting in front of him, his two young sons, Striking Thunder and White Wolf, chattered as they watched their father fashion a small bow.

  In front of the tipi, White Wind nursed White Dove, their youngest child. Star Dreamer, White Wolf’s twin sister, stepped out of the tipi. Instead of running to play with other girls her age, the youngster stared at her grandmother.

  Seeing Eyes felt her heart tug. At the age of seven, her granddaughter already showed signs of having inherited from her a gift that often seemed more of a curse. Two hands on her shoulders startled her. Seeing Eyes spun around and stared up into the beloved features of her husband.

  “What is wrong?”

  “It is nothing,” she began.

  “You are not truthful, wife.”

  “This is a day of celebration, not—”

  Hawk Eyes cradled her face in his hands and forced her to meet his gaze. “The visions have returned.”

  Everything in her cried out for her to deny his words, but he knew her well. “Yes, husband.”

  As she’d done, he scanned his tribe. Coming up the rolling hill from the stream, a trio of unmarried women the same age as their daughter laughed and giggled as they eyed the visiting warriors.

  Realization hit them both in the same moment.

  “Our daughters,” she whispered. Winona should have been back from bathing a long time ago. It had been barely light when she and Spotted Deer had left the tipi. The sun had now risen fully.

  She turned to stare out at the hills a short distance away. The flowing stream near their camp led to the base of those hills. The rolling prairie broke away to climb steeply, far above the prairie floor. Her gaze found and rested on the tip of massive gray flat-topped rock. It was a favored spot for warriors to seek vision quests, for praying and for giving thanks. It was also Winona’s favorite place to go when she needed or wanted to be alone.

  “She would not leave camp without asking permission,” Hawk Eyes said. But the frown between his eyes belied his words. They both knew Winona had on many occasions done just that.

  Icy fear clutched her heart. “Something has happened.”

  Hawk Eyes put his arms around his wife. “She is most likely down at the river.”

  “No, she is not.” Seeing Eyes didn’t need anyone to check. Movement out on the prairie held her gaze. A horse rode toward them.

  Hawk Eyes nodded. “There is nothing to fear. She has returned.”

  Seeing Eyes shivered and shook her head. “No. Only the horse.” She wasn’t sure how she knew; she just did. Hugging herself, Seeing Eyes stared up into hills so dense with pines that they looked black. The Paha Sapa. The Black Hills. Her daughters were there. Somewhere. She clutched at her dress and twisted the softened hide with nervous fingers.

  Hawk Eyes gave a shout. Seeing Eyes was grateful that he didn’t wait for the horse to confirm what she knew in her heart.

  “I will find her. She probably fell asleep and something startled her horse into fleeing.”

  Meeting her husband’s worried gaze, Seeing Eyes prayed it was so. But they both knew the appearance of her visions meant that something was wrong. She watched her husband handpick a handful of warriors, including Hoka Luta.

  Watching the warriors ride out across the prairie, Seeing Eyes had never felt so helpless. Or alone.

  A small hand slipped inside hers. Glancing down, Seeing Eyes stared into the dark, worried eyes of her granddaughter. No words were needed between them. Their eyes said it all. Together, with fear in their hearts, they watched the group of warriors ride away.

  Chapter Three

  Night Shadow curled his upper lip, disgusted about losing control of his captive. How could he have let her get loose? She’d spooked her horse and the animal wouldn’t stop until it reached home, alerting her father.

  Of all the possible scenarios that he’d taken into consideration, this hadn’t been one of them. Furious, he glared down at Winona. The moment he’d heard of the impending marriage, he’d spent the winter planning for this moment. And then he’d gone and tossed his perfect plan over his shoulder, ending up in a situation he’d lost control over.

  Still, Night Shadow couldn’t help but admire Winona’s quick and clearheaded thinking. She’d shown courage in defying him.

  She sent him a satisfied smirk, which only heated his fury. “You will die,” she repeated in English.

  Night Shadow reined in his emotions and forced the muscles on his face to go slack with indifference. He stroked the scar on his face…a daily reminder of all that he’d lost. The scars he carried, both inside and out, had come from his will to live. So did his deep-seated hatred and need for revenge. Soon he’d avenge the past and set his future free. If he died trying? It couldn’t be worse than living in a shell with no heart, no soul.

  “I have faced death before,’ he said in fluent English.

  Winona lifted a brow. “You speak the white man’s tongue.” Her lips twisted with scorn. “You have two faces but I see only the wasicun. Like the spirit of mica, the coyote, you are a coward. You take innocent women; there is no honor in your heart.”

  Her anger kept him from feeling guilty. Jenny was all that mattered. “I have no heart.” Night Shadow shoved Winona toward the tree where the other woman, Spotted Deer, watched with wide eyes. He knew little about her, and hadn’t even thought to include her in his plans. At least in this the stakes were raised in his favor.

  “Pray to your spirits that my demands are met, or it will be your life and that of your sister that are forsaken.”

  Winona swung her head around. “My sis—” She snapped her jaw tight. If this warrior learned that Spotted Deer was not her sister, not the daughter of Hawk Eyes, he might kill her here and now. She sent her friend a look of warning before tipping her chin at her captor.

  “Our father is a great chief, and Golden Eagle,
our brother, will show no mercy to those who dare harm us. They will come for us, as will Hoka Luta.”

  Night Shadow grabbed a handful of long, silky-black hair and wrapped the strands around his fist, yanking hard. “Say nothing more or I will cut out your tongue.”

  Night Shadow shoved Winona away in disgust. His fight wasn’t with either woman, but just the sound of his enemy’s name spoken aloud was enough to send his blood roaring through his body. As he had for so many years, he banked his emotions and brought back under control the hatred that had once saved him from the icy clutches of death.

  He’d lived for revenge. Soon he’d face his old enemy and have the satisfaction of watching him die a slow, painful death.

  With eyes glittering with what could have been tears of sorrow or fury, Winona stopped when they reached the others. She visibly squared her shoulders. “Let us go. Give us back our lives and I will give you this chance to leave and never come back.”

  Incredulous that this woman didn’t seem to fear him or realize the danger she was in, Night Shadow resisted the urge to battle with her verbally. “You are either very brave or very foolish,” he said softly, meaning it. She had no idea how far he’d go to find Jenny. Only then could he kill his enemy and taste sweet victory.

  With a none-too-gentle hand, he shoved Winona toward Crazy Fox, who caught and held her firmly by the upper arm. Night Shadow retraced his steps and retrieved her knife. Turning, he saw both women standing shoulder-to-shoulder. He nodded to Crazy Fox. “Noheto! Let’s go.”

  Night Shadow returned to the group, slung Winona over his shoulder and took off at a hard jog, careful not to break branches or kick stones loose from the dirt. He didn’t have time to cover all his tracks, but he wouldn’t make it easier than necessary for the enemy to track him.

  No more than a minute later, he found himself cursing beneath his breath. He’d thought he’d learned all he could about the chieftain’s daughter. She’d seemed meek, obedient and quiet during his visit to her tribe. Instead she was a she-wolf. Most women would be too frightened to fight and struggle. Not this woman.