Lost Vegas Series

by Lizzy Ford

  I remember hearing about this when it happened, the skinwalker thought. He had been around twelve at the time and believed the numbers to be an exaggeration. It was clear there was some truth to the stories that spread two thousand miles.

  “Those were our people,” the scout said quietly. “It is why our blood war exists.”

  “Four hundred of our people survived,” Diving Eagle added. “We were once the largest tribe on the continent and were reduced to beggars who barely survived the winter. My father has spent seventy years as our chief, rebuilding our tribe.”

  “You somehow retained your lands?” the skinwalker asked.

  “The Hanover’s have never been interested in taking our lands, only in preventing us from taking the city. We were forced to trade over half our lands for food and shelter and the pity of our neighbors.” Diving Eagle’s jaw clenched when he finished speaking, and the muscles of his cheek jumped in agitation reflected in the sudden fire in his gaze.

  “How can one city withstand an army this size?” the skinwalker puzzled, searching his memory for any mention of the events. However, he had been too young and uninterested in the goings on of a place so far away to take note of this war.

  “Everything you have heard of Lost Vegas is true,” his younger brother explained. “The city is … sacred. Built upon or with magic and ruled by a madman who burns his own people every week, and who is feared even by the peoples who want his seed wiped from the earth.” He grew quiet then glanced quickly at his brother. “It is said the dead fight for the Hanover’s.”

  “Quiet, brother,” Diving Eagle said with a disapproving look. “Do not mix fantasy with reality. The city has never been taken. This much is true, but there are more practical reasons for why Arthur Hanover is the greatest prize on the continent,” Diving Eagle said. “The Hanover’s control all trade between here and the ocean. Many men would like to take his father’s place, or at least, to seize what the Hanover’s have guarded and controlled for five centuries. Wealth is the motivation, not some fantasy about the dead.”

  His brother rolled his eyes, as if this were not the first time he had heard this lecture.

  “How did you come to capture the heir?” the skinwalker asked, intrigued by their tales of the mythical city and its ruler. He was attuned to magic in a way most men were not, and he sensed either the siblings spoke around the possibility that the Hanover’s possessed some sort of magic, or did not know it existed.

  “By accident,” Diving Eagle replied. “He crossed into our territory with another man. We captured him at the river dividing our lands from those of our neighbors. When we realized who he was, we demanded our neighbors turn him over to be tried for war crimes against our people.”

  “At a river?” The skinwalker shifted forward in interest.

  “Yes.”

  “Does this man have red hair?”

  “He does,” the scout said.

  The skinwalker reached into one of his pockets and pulled out the crude drawing he had made of the marking the man who kidnapped his wolf had shown him as a means of identifying his sister. The skinwalker had not been hired to kill a woman in some time, but the man at the river had claimed the gift of clairvoyance. The skinwalker thought it prudent to recall the tattoo, for the man had offered to pay him anything – which was a price the skinwalker never turned down. It was also wise to listen to someone with precognition, a lesson he learned as a child.

  “Does he bear this marking?” he asked and held out the drawing of the eagle.

  “Yes. It is the Hanover crest,” Diving Eagle said with a glance.

  The skinwalker wanted to laugh bitterly. He had been tracking this very man and spoken to him without knowing who he was. In fact, the Hanover heir had done everything humanly possible to draw the skinwalker’s attention by kidnapping his guide.

  How had he missed so many signs? Or … had his target’s clairvoyance kept him a step ahead of the skinwalker, until now? Was this also how his family maintained control of the city, by foreseeing threats and acting to stop them?

  The skinwalker dwelt on this then dismissed it. The city was none of his concern. Only Arthur Hanover was. His guide had allowed herself to be kidnapped by the stranger and never allowed any other human near her, aside from her companion. Had she been trying to tell him the man he sought was right before him, or was there something more to the Hanover heir?

  He had not thought to ask her this, either, instead respecting her decisions and instinct.

  “I understand now why so many people wish to possess this boy,” the skinwalker said and tucked his drawing away. “He is powerful.”

  “His father is. The son appears … different,” Diving Eagle said.

  “The son is powerful as well,” the skinwalker said.

  “We may underestimate him,” Diving Eagle allowed politely.

  The skinwalker snorted. It was rare when someone tried to treat him with the respect this man did. “My employer offers any amount of silver and gold and copper wires. Or anything else that can be bought with an endless amount of silver and gold. Whatever you desire of him, he will guarantee you. Any offer made by another, he will double it.”

  The siblings exchanged a look. Diving Eagle was too careful to read, but excitement and happiness flared across his brother’s features.

  “Does your employer understand what happens, if we turn the prisoner over to him? The potential war that could break out?” Diving Eagle asked.

  “My employer’s intentions and concerns are his alone,” the skinwalker replied. “He has offered to pay any cost. I believe he does not care about a war.”

  “I would have to agree,” Diving Eagle said softly. “We are not as eager for war. Our conditions will include preserving the life of the Hanover heir.”

  “What my employer does to him once he has paid for him is not your concern,” the skinwalker said. “How is your blood war with the Hanover’s to be settled, if you do not wish them dead?”

  “In a hundred years, we will be in a position to challenge them,” Diving Eagle replied. He released a slow breath, as if he had not agreed with his father’s decision to spare the Hanover heir. “We will not attack, until we are guaranteed victory. We are a patient people.”

  “And a poor one. Hence the reason you need my employer’s wealth. To reclaim your lands and honor,” the skinwalker said, understanding.

  “Our honor is not in question. Our position to influence others is,” Diving Eagle said firmly. “We will win by building a coalition greater than any created to date. And yes, this requires wealth we no longer possess.”

  “Understood.” The skinwalker hid the smile that wanted to creep across his face. Diving Eagle bore a hundred year old grudge as if it were his own. The skinwalker understood vengeance, but not vengeance for the sake of pride or for someone else’s lost battle. He understood only true revenge: the kind that came after watching his family being cut down by a man like a Hanover.

  “We are neighbors to the great city this man’s father rules, and he will seek us out first, once he hears of all that has transpired. He cannot die. This is my father’s decision,” Diving Eagle said with effort. “If you cannot agree to this condition, on behalf of your employer, we cannot hand over the prisoner.”

  The skinwalker was quiet. He could lie and promise falsely, which was the easier route, second only to slaughtering everyone and taking the Hanover heir. Or …

  “I can guarantee his life,” he began slowly. “But you will have to agree to pay my price.”

  “Your price?” Diving Eagle studied him once again. “I do not believe you understand how this negotiation works.”

  “I cannot guarantee my employer’s actions, but I can mine. He will pay you what you ask for the prisoner, and you may hire me to ensure the Hanover heir’s life, once my employer has him.”

  Diving Eagle folded his arms across his chest, unimpressed. “Would your price happen to be the same amount we receive from your employer?�
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  “The price is insignificant. I will not ask you to sacrifice your vengeance,” the skinwalker replied. “I ask that I deliver the Hanover to my employer instead of you.”

  Diving Eagle frowned, and his younger brother appeared confused. “Why would you ask this?” the chief’s son questioned.

  “My reasons are my own. He will be safe with me, and I will protect him, should my employer decide to take his life.” It was the skinwalker’s turn to be firm. “I have survived every danger or threat for two thousand miles. If so many people wish to possess this Arthur Hanover, you will need my protection to deliver him alive.”

  There was a pause. The skinwalker could almost see Diving Eagle’s shrewd mind working. If their tribe were in as poor of shape as the skinwalker suspected, Diving Eagle would understand the inherent danger in moving a prisoner through territories not his own.

  “I must discuss this with my father,” Diving Eagle said. “There is risk involved in allowing you to leave here with him. If you do not arrive to your destination, we will be held responsible.”

  “I can handle any danger I cross.”

  “Not the beast in the woods,” the younger boy said in a hushed tone.

  “Even the beast in the woods,” the skinwalker said, fully aware he was the greatest threat in existence.

  “Why would we trust you to deliver him in the first place?” Diving Eagle asked. “You are a stranger, working on behalf of someone else.”

  The skinwalker debated how to respond before he opened his satchel and pulled out a leather wrapped trinket the size of his hand. “Show this to your father. Allow no one else to see it.” He said and held it out. “I will respect his decision.”

  Diving Eagle accepted the small item slowly. “I will consult with my father,” he said. “You are welcome to visit our village and show him this yourself.”

  “We will remain here,” the skinwalker said.

  Diving Eagle stood. “I will return in the morning. If you need food or supplies, my brother will assist you.” The chief’s son left.

  His brother ducked into one of two rooms off the main common area and returned with blankets and pillows. He set them down beside the skinwalker. “I must return to my duty. I am not far, if you need anything,” he said.

  The skinwalker nodded.

  The boy left, and the skinwalker shook out a blanket to drape over his dozing wolf. He stripped out of his warm second layer of clothing and boots and wrapped himself in a blanket, content to sleep inside for the first time in months.

  The crackling of the fire was joined by the wolf’s deep breathing, and the beat of only two hearts. The chief’s son had taken his escort with him, leaving his brother and another scout, both of whom were far enough away for their heartbeats to tap but not pound the skinwalker’s brain.

  He relaxed, full and content, and gazed at the ceiling overhead.

  “Arthur Hanover evaded me once and then tracked us from the site of the hunt party,” he whispered to the wolf. “Our paths are meant to cross, for more than this one reason, or he would not have taken you.”

  She breathed out a sigh. She had not just allowed the Hanover heir to kidnap her, but she liked him, too.

  “You made the right decision,” the vengeful spirit said with a giggle.

  The skinwalker turned his head to view the child.

  “Sleep well,” the boy said before disappearing.

  For a long moment, the skinwalker mentally ran through everything he knew about his current situation twice. While it was true he could not predict all the dangers he might face on this leg of his journey, he did know he was the scariest creature he would run across, and he could handle any kind of threat.

  Was the vengeful spirit toying with him?

  I will slay any danger I face, spirit. The skinwalker closed his eyes and slid into sleep.

  Chapter Twenty

  Tiana and the tracker walked until dawn without stopping. The tracker kept to narrow trails and avoided the two dirt roads they crossed, opting to remain in the forest. With all sense of her direction gone, Tiana could not fight her rising worry. She had not slept to see if the vision changed, and no premonitions seized her during daylight.

  The confrontation with the Ghouls, and lack of sleep, were beginning to dull her senses. The ringing had quieted in her injured right ear without leaving entirely, and she had wiped the blood from her neck. Her hearing was not what it should have been, adding to her growing disconnect with her surroundings.

  Just when she felt ready to drop into sleep forever, they reached a small settlement among the trees consisting of concrete buildings and log houses. She tugged up her hood once more.

  Bonfires burned periodically throughout the active village. They passed a group of women skinning and chopping meat to place into a concrete bunker lit by electricity, and men forming wood logs to be used for new buildings. The scent of food came from one direction, while, at the village’s center, a massive pine tree had been wrapped in tiny lights and glowed.

  She gazed up at it as they passed, admiring the symbols carved into the trunk.

  The tracker continued walking. A couple of people called out to him, and he waved in response. He stopped finally in front of a medium-sized log house and entered.

  Tiana followed him into a small clinic consisting of half a dozen beds, a hearth at each end, and vials, boxes and jars of medicine stacked on every level surface. Drying herbs hung from the ceiling rafters. A laboratory was off to the side of one hearth.

  The tracker rested Warner on a bed and motioned for her to sit on the one beside it. Tiana did so, grateful for the chance to rest. She studied Warner’s pale features and willed him to live through this.

  The tracker returned with a middle-aged Native carrying several items, to include a stethoscope and a battery-powered torch. He examined Warner and spoke to the tracker.

  “Your brother cannot be moved,” the doctor said in perfect English. He lowered the stethoscope.

  “Will he survive?” she asked.

  “I cannot say. His condition is critical.”

  She said nothing, afraid to break down in tears.

  “Laughing Tree says you are hurt?” he turned to her.

  “I am well,” she whispered.

  “Ear,” the tracker said.

  She hesitated and closed her eyes, then removed her hood and twisted so her right ear faced the doctor.

  “Punctured ear drum,” he said before touching her. He gripped her earlobe and peered into her ear. “It will heal. Might be painful for a few days, but your hearing will return. I will give you medicines to prevent an infection.” The doctor released her.

  She pulled her hood into place before opening her eyes. “Thank you,” she murmured.

  “You are fortunate. People do not usually survive the Ghouls,” he added and rose.

  She said nothing. As with the Matilda incident, Tiana had no explanation as to what happened or how. That it was connected to her left her sick to her stomach, when she considered how strong her deformity could be and how little control she exerted over what happened to those around her when it was unleashed. Did her father know? Was her deformity connected to the dream of her death on her eighteenth birthday?

  “Rest,” Laughing Tree, the tracker, told her. “We leave night.”

  She glanced around, feeling exposed in the large bay and afraid someone was going to see her eyes.

  “Safe,” he added.

  “Yes, you are safe here,” the physician seconded. He approached, clothing in hand. “If you would like clean clothes?”

  She glanced down, unaware of how muddy her own clothes had gotten. She accepted the offering.

  “You may change here. No one will disturb you today.”

  She nodded and clutched the clothing to her chest. The two of them walked towards the exit and left, talking quietly. She waited until the door closed and then stripped out of her muddy clothing, changing quickly into the soft cotton clothes. She
wrapped her cloak around her once more protectively and pulled up her hood.

  She sat on the bed beside Warner, hesitating to sleep when he was so hurt.

  “You will survive, Warner. You have to,” she whispered. “You can come with me to the Free Lands. And Arthur, too, after we find him.”

  Tiana stretched back on the bed with a deep sigh. Expecting to stay awake out of discomfort from her unfamiliar surroundings, she closed her eyes – and dropped into deep sleep.

  *

  Tiana awoke to the crackling of a fire and the calming scents of herbs. She sat up, alarmed, not recognizing her surroundings at first. Warner’s body was on the bed beside hers, his chest moving up and down steadily, and she relaxed. Aside from the fires, the patient bay was kept dark, while bright light outlined the closed doors of the lab and other rooms off the main bay.

  She swung her legs off the bed. Someone had placed a bowl of stew and bread on the nightstand between her bed and Warner’s. Before the scent of the hearty food reached her, she had the warm bowl in her hand. Her stomach roared with hunger. She ate fast and with no concern for etiquette, since she had never been permitted to eat in public before.

  “For ear.”

  At the tracker’s voice, she looked up and instinctively reached for her hood with the hand holding her roll. He held out a piece of gauze. She glanced from it to his face before lowering her hand to take it. Tiana stuffed the soft gauze into her ear and continued eating, hunched over her food. Only when she had soaked up the very last drops of stew with her bread did she take a deep breath and straighten.

  Suddenly aware the tracker had not left, she wiped her mouth on her cloak and then pulled her hood up.

  “Horses,” he said. “Ready?”

  She nodded and stood. Her ear was achy. He handed her a satchel and a canteen similar to the one carrying penicillin tea that Warner had worn. The tracker walked towards the exit, but she lingered over Warner, worried.