Walking Through Shadows

by Sheri Lewis Wohl

  “I believe you’re right on that one too. We are stronger together.”

  “We are, and it is as it should be.”

  “We will stop him, won’t we?” Fear of a different kind flitted through her, and she squeezed Aquene’s hand. If she didn’t embrace courage and confidence, they wouldn’t just fail to stop him. They would die.

  * * *

  “I can’t do this,” Winnie wailed to the sky. Her shoulders were screaming, her quads burning with pain. With each step, Angus seemed to grow tens of pounds heavier. He hadn’t moved or made a sound since she’d given him the water, and twice more she’d stopped to part his lips, trying to get a little more water down his throat. She wasn’t sure her attempts were helpful, but trying made her feel better. He was so heavy on the litter she was certain they were moving only inches with each step, each pull. At this rate, it would take her days to get him to the cabin, and that kind of time she didn’t have if there was any hope of saving her man.

  When she could see finally see a bit of the cabin through the trees, tears sprang to her eyes. Fear had begun to chip at her confidence and make her believe they wouldn’t make it. She was failing, and Angus, well, she didn’t even want to think about what was happening to him. Each time she’d stopped to give him water, she was certain his skin had turned a different color: from pale to white and finally to gray. She could handle the paleness of his skin, but when it developed the gray tinge, the panic she’d managed to shove to the background flamed back in full force.

  The glimpse of the cabin’s roof bolstered her spirits and buoyed the last of her strength. She managed to close the distance in what she considered to be a record amount of time. Carefully, she lowered the litter to the ground and bent over with her hands on her knees. Asthma didn’t usually bother her, but right at the moment, she would have paid a million dollars for an inhaler. Her lungs seemed about to burst from her chest. Her shoulders were roaring in protest and her legs quivering. It would be incredibly easy to drop to the ground, curl up in a ball, and sob.

  She didn’t. Now wasn’t the time to feel sorry for burning lungs and an aching body. Big effing deal. Though she might feel like she’d done a marathon at warp speed, Angus was in far worse shape than she was, and that took the sting out of her physical complaints. She could see this through. Standing tall, she pushed open the door. It was just as they’d left it, so no one—translation, the frightening stranger—had been here while they climbed the basalt rocks. Good. She certainly didn’t need someone else to worry about. What she needed was to keep her attention entirely on Angus.

  Inside, she shoved the table that still lay on its side over to the far wall. That gave her an unimpeded path from the door to the fireplace. It was the best she could do, and she went back outside. Moving her makeshift litter as close to the door as she could, she maneuvered herself around until she had her back to the interior of the cabin. With some effort, she was able to slip her arms under Angus at his shoulders and drag him up and over the threshold.

  By the time she had him in the middle of the cabin, sweat drenched her body. She could easily haul a twenty-five-pound bag of flour around the kitchen without a problem. The dead weight of a full-grown man took all her strength. Again, she wished she could lie down beside him and sleep for a year or two.

  Winnie not only didn’t lie down and sleep, but she also didn’t stop moving. The gray color to his skin still scared her. For just a second, she studied him, and his words came back to her: keep the bite below heart level. Okay, so that’s what she needed to do now that she had him under some cover. Leaving him prone on the floor wouldn’t cut it. Too dangerous.

  Glancing around the room, she didn’t spot much that might help. This place wasn’t exactly a modern home with all the usual conveniences. It provided pure wilderness living at its most basic. Comfortable for what it was, which really wasn’t saying much. Only the fireplace could even come close to being considered a comfort item. As she studied her limited options, she decided the overturned table was her best bet. She dragged it back across the room and positioned it with the tabletop close to Angus’s head. Then she circled around the table until she was standing beside what would be the underside, if it were upright. Once more she grabbed him beneath his arms and, calling on strength she was surprised she still had left, hauled him to a sitting position, with his head and back against the tabletop. So far, so good.

  She stood back and studied what she’d accomplished. Hand with the snake bite beneath his heart, check. Stable position, no check. He looked like he was ready to tip over at any second. That wasn’t going to do. All she needed was for him to hit the hard, wooden floor with his head. Snake bite and concussion? Not on her watch.

  Once more she had limited choices. There was, however, a narrow bed. Like the table, she dragged it over and positioned it on one side of Angus. Good. It would keep him from tipping over in that direction. Half the problem solved.

  The bed had a nasty-smelling blanket on it, and though she loathed to even touch it, in a pinch, she’d do what she had to. Gingerly, she picked it up and took it outside, where she gave it a hard shake. Dust flew like a Nebraska snowstorm, sending her into a coughing fit. A couple more shakes and she figured it was as good as it would get.

  Inside, Winnie rolled the blanket and then tucked it next to Angus, with the roll bunched up a bit at his neck to create a sort of pillow. When she stepped back and surveyed her work, she figured it wasn’t too bad for a chef stranded in the wilderness with an unconscious man. He was sitting up and semi-stable. Entire problem solved.

  If it wasn’t such a dire situation, she’d find it amusing. In a way, her support for Angus looked like the framework for the kind of fort her parents had let her and her brothers build in the living room when they were kids. They would move furniture and use any blanket they could get their hands on to create their masterpieces. However, they constructed those forts in a room with heat, running water, telephones, and emergency services only three numbers away. Not to mention a refrigerator stocked with yummy snacks. Oh, what she wouldn’t give for a turkey sandwich right about now. Like Pavlov’s dog, her mouth began to water.

  Once more she put her hand against his forehead, and the feel of his skin against her hand shook her up. He was hot, very hot. The implications felt like a knife to the heart. She reached for her cloth, dismayed to find it almost dry. Now more than ever, she needed the cool, clear river water.

  With a sigh she stood up and looked toward the open door. She had two options: stay with Angus and watch him burn up with fever, or run back to the river for water that would keep him hydrated and possibly break his fever. As much as she hated doing it, she decided to go with option two. She needed water, cold water, and she needed it now. The only upside was that, on a shelf, sat a water kettle. Made of black cast iron, it had a narrow curved handle, a small round lid, and a swooped spout. It was sturdy and undoubtedly heavy even when empty. Before she could talk herself out of going, she grabbed it and headed for the door.

  With a backward glance at Angus, she felt her heart take a painful lurch. “Don’t you dare die on me,” she said with a sob. “Don’t you dare.” Then she was out the door, kettle in hand, running as fast as she could.

  Chapter Twenty-eight

  Aquene felt uneasy, as if something dark and oppressive pressed against the back of her neck. The spirits were telling her that their time was growing ever shorter. Danger was just beyond their vision, and it was closing the distance between them. Before a new day dawned, everything would change. She knew it with a certainty she could not explain to any other.

  If only Tilla were with them now. The ground they must cross was still long, and with Tilla they could fly across it like an eagle. In a way she understood that this was how it was supposed to be. The journey was for her and Molly alone. Why? She did not know why—only that it was meant to be. They would walk the earth and return to the cabin of the woman who had been her friend. They would end this, on
e way or the other.

  She reached out to Molly. It was uplifting, the feel of her hand. In their short time together she had come to understand this woman was in her heart. Molly had always been there, and she had been waiting for her to come. That was why she could not give herself to another. She was promised to only one: Molly.

  The sadness that truth brought almost made her drop Molly’s hand. She could not turn away from this pleasure. Yet it also brought bitterness, for once the battle had ended, so too would her time with this woman. She wanted to hold her hand forever, and that, she knew, would not happen. Molly would go back to her time, and Aquene would rejoin her people and prepare them for what was to come. That was the way of any great journey.

  She did not let go of Molly’s hand. “We must hurry,” she told her, and she could hear the fear in her own voice. She wished to be strong as a warrior, yet she could not free herself of the troubling knowledge of what followed at their backs.

  “What’s wrong?” Molly heard it too.

  She wished that they could be shown what awaited them. She knew the man chased them. But because she could not clearly picture what pressed at her now, she was afraid. She was certain it was a test, and she hoped she could meet it with courage and triumph.

  “He is drawing near, and I am afraid we will have only one chance to stop him. If we miss it, he will destroy others. We cannot allow him to harm any others. It is why we have been brought together.”

  Molly had started walking with her and now stopped. Turning, she faced Aquene, their eyes meeting. Once more Aquene thought of the power she witnessed in her eyes. She believed deeply that she was the one, the only one, with the power to stop the dark man who walked her lands.

  Molly put her hand against Aquene’s cheek, her palm warm and comforting. She almost cried. When this day ended, she would to miss this woman’s touch. Their lives would be forever changed, and she could do nothing about it.

  “I don’t know what it is about you, Aquene, but you make feel alive for the first time in forever. It’s an incredible feeling that I don’t ever want to go away.”

  “You are alive.” Aquene did not understand what Molly meant. She might have walked through time, but she was very much alive. She could feel her breath on her cheek, and Aquene knew that if she placed her hand on her chest, she would feel the beat of her heart.

  Molly’s smile made her face even more beautiful. She shook her head. “That’s not what I mean. My life has been about work and building my business. I’ve devoted myself to learning my craft so I could be the very best. I didn’t have time or energy to be anything except a baker. I didn’t have the courage to let my heart feel for another woman, and until I met you I had no idea what I was giving up.”

  She still spoke strangely, though this time Aquene thought she understood. It was much the same for her, despite the efforts of all around her to match her with young warriors. No one understood where her affections truly lay, and she did not explain. How could she? While her people were more accepting than those who came here on their horses and in their wagons, she still kept her silence. They came with their peculiar ways and beliefs very different from hers, and she did try to understand them. It did no good, for she could not. It was easier to stay quiet and simply listen. She had learned much while remaining true to herself.

  “I understand.”

  Molly’s smile grew warmer. “I thought you might. I’m trying to explain, not very well, that you are the most fascinating woman I’ve ever met. You make my heart race and my blood pump. I look into your eyes and want to spend every day getting to know you better. It’s crazy, Aquene, when you consider we come from different worlds, yet it doesn’t make any difference at all to my heart.”

  Warmth flowed through Aquene, as did another emotion she could not quite define, perhaps because she had not felt it before. “I do understand, Molly, for it is much the same for me.”

  “Really?”

  It was Aquene’s turn to smile. “It is true. I have never felt this way before.” She took Molly’s hand and held it to her chest. “I envied my friend Alumpum for the partner she chose and the life they have created together. They are happy, and the tenderness they have for each other is a gift from the Great Spirit. I did not believe that would ever be true for my life.”

  “Until now.”

  She nodded. “Until now.” Then she pulled Molly into her arms and kissed her.

  * * *

  Excitement raced through Matthew’s body. Despite the setback of losing his horse and having to proceed on foot, he was finally nearing the witch’s cabin, and everything was coming together; he could feel it deep in his bones. A noise from behind made him pull up and turn around. After what he had seen some distance back, he fully expected to be face-to-face with another of the witches he had sent to eternal retribution.

  This time it was not a ghost. Several deer were running from the trees as if they had been startled. He listened for the sound of another, thinking it could very well be the one he was hunting. That would be fitting and would tie up his journey faster than he could have hoped. He heard nothing further. Were the ghosts that seemed to be lining his path now scaring wildlife?

  It was of no consequence. Ghosts could not harm him, and knowing that he had always acted in good faith through the years freed him from even a flicker of guilt. He smiled. Guilt was for others, not men like him.

  For centuries, he had done God’s will, and he would do so again now. The witch was nearby, and he would be ready to once more banish evil to the fires below his feet. Just the thought of it left him feeling as giddy as if he had finished a bottle of French wine all by himself. In fact, once he made it back to civilization, that was exactly what he intended to do. That and find a woman. He had a need to relax, and only a woman of certain talents would be able to assist him in that endeavor. They were easy enough to find in cities and towns alike.

  Once he walked away from the river, the landscape became more peppered with trees and underbrush. It also became more familiar. He had followed this path enough times to be acquainted with its look and feel. Soon enough, his faith in his sense of direction was rewarded, for ahead of him, appearing through the trees, was the cabin.

  She had chosen well by deciding to stay here, for it had provided cover while situated near enough to the river to provide her with water and fish, and close enough to the cliffs for her to climb for an excellent lookout. He supposed even a foolish woman was entitled to one or two good ideas.

  Except in her case, it had also proved to be her undoing. It had not taken him long to track her down once she had left Chicago. She had not chosen well when she stayed in that town. People remembered her, especially the ones who had found her talents useful. At first, many had hesitated to speak of her, and he quickly realized they were trying to protect her. He had just as quickly disabused them of that notion. With his particular brand of persuasion, he was able to discern her probable path.

  His ability to not just track her but recruit able and willing helpers proved the righteousness of his journey. It had taken weeks of tracking, sleeping outside in the wind and the rain, and hiding from the natives who lived off the land. In the end, he had been successful, although it had taken an arrow in her side and the ensuing trail of blood that had led him and his soldiers to her hiding place. How he had reveled in putting the rope around her neck and hoisting her bleeding body on that tree branch. How he loved the warmth of the flames that had consumed her flesh, breathing in the heady scent that wafted off the blaze. Everything about it had been magnificent, with the exception of one small detail. The wound in her side had taken her life before the flames did. He liked to see their eyes when the flames burned their souls.

  He felt the same self-righteous glory now as he walked slowly to the door of the cabin. His hands trembled at his sides. This time there would be no arrow in the side to deny him the satisfaction of seeing her eyes in the flames. No. This time it would be perfect.

 
For a moment he studied the closed door and then kicked it open with one booted foot. At first glance, the room appeared just as he had left it yesterday. After a more studied examination, he realized it was quite different. Someone had shoved the table into the center of the room, and leaning against it was a man. He had most definitely not left a man inside.

  “Who are you?” he bellowed and loved how strong he sounded. His voice filled the tiny room. The power of his words echoed off the walls. He left no doubt as to who was in command.

  When the man on the floor neither responded nor even opened his eyes, Matthew stepped farther into the room, stopping only when he stood over him. “I said, who are you?”

  He kicked him with the toe of his boot. Only then did he notice the pallor of his skin and the way his arm was bound tight to his body. When he tipped over onto his side, his head hitting the wooden floor with a thump, Matthew wondered if he was already dead. Probably, though he didn’t care one way or the other and did not intend to touch his flesh to find out. He did not dirty his hands when it was not necessary. This man might or might not be an ally to the witch. That he was dead, or near dead, and would be able to do nothing to help her meant he was no threat. He did not warrant further attention.

  Though he posed no threat, his very presence was intriguing. Why the man on the floor was even here, particularly considering the very strange clothing he wore, was mysterious. Matthew had never seen anything quite like it. Curious, he leaned down to touch the outerwear, though doing so went against his code. It felt strange, the texture quite different from what he himself wore. Something was wrapped around his body, and given how he was lying on his side, Matthew could not make out what it was. His boots were unlike any he had seen before and his pants of a cloth unknown to him. Nothing about the man seemed right.