by Wesley Ellis
“You need a weapon.”
Ki replied, “I am not unarmed,” and the woman just stared up at him, wondering if he was perhaps a madman the outlaws had captured for some reason she could only guess at.
“I don’t have a horse to give you—” she began to say.
“I thank you for what you have already done, but I don’t need a horse just now.”
The woman didn’t understand at first. Then she did. “The girl inside, the blond gringa? You mean to try to save her as well?”
“Yes,” Ki answered quietly. “I mean to save her as well.”
“Impossible! Mad one, that cannot be done. If it could, don’t you think I would do it?” There was fire in the woman’s eyes, bright and defiant. Ki smiled gently.
“Run. They will know who struck Halcón.”
“You can’t go back there.”
“I can try,” Ki answered.
“And defeat Mono and all his thugs? And rescue the gringa? And maybe the other captive women, the two they are using for dancing? Later they will have other uses for them. I know. Mono has been here before. One woman he drove mad. She was a woman of the church and Mono raped her. He raped her in front of all of his men and laughed when the woman screamed and cried and thrashed. My father saw it. He also saw a chance and told me to run. Now!”
“Then run,” Ki repeated very quietly.
Before the woman could respond, the back door of the cantina burst open. Miguel, rifle in hands, charged out into the night.
He was looking for Ki apparently, looking for whoever had slugged Halcón, but he came out too quickly, not giving his eyes time to adjust to the darkness, not giving himself enough time to find his enemy before he ran right into him.
There was no hesitation at all in Ki’s movements. He spun the girl away from him, crouched, and as the startled Miguel brought his rifle to his shoulder, Ki sprang from the earth, his foot striking out at Miguel’s throat.
The leaping kick nearly decapitated Miguel as Ki’s foot caught the bandit under the chin, crushing cartilage and snapping his head back. Miguel’s eyes bugged out of his head; a strangled cry gurgled through his broken throat. Ki landed softly and turned, his hands poised, but already he knew he would not have to strike at Miguel again. The man was dead, lying still and dark in the wedge of light that bled out into the alley from the cantina.
Softly Ki closed the door, glancing at Maria who had her fingers to her lips. “I never saw—” she began to say, but Ki took her hand and quieted her.
“Not now. Come. There will be others.”
“You will run away with me?”
“For now I will run. Get moving now; there will be more.”
“My father’s house ...” she said breathlessly as they started at a trot up the darkened alley behind the cantina.
“That is the first place they would look,” Ki said. “There must be another place, a place the bandidos would know nothing about, a place you played in when you were a little girl, perhaps.”
“There is.” Maria panted. “I know a place. Just a goatherd’s shack—back among the willow trees on an island in the river. The goatherd has been dead many years.”
“All right. That’ll have to do,” Ki said. Behind him there were shouts and curses from the cantina. They had found Miguel. “Hurry, Maria. Hurry now or we’ll never see morning.”
They crossed the plaza, Ki moving in a crouch, and ran on past the closed church. The river ahead of them gleamed dully and wound through the willows like a blue satin ribbon.
They stopped at the bank of the river, Maria holding her breast, breathing raggedly.
“Which way now?” Ki asked, and she pointed one finger.
“We wade the river. It’s very shallow. The island ...” She paused for breath. “When the goatherd lived there, it wasn’t an island, but the river has changed its course.”
They walked into the water, which rose to Ki’s knees and slogged across toward the island. An owl dipped low and then veered away sharply as Ki and Maria waded past the center of the stream and worked toward the far beach.
Ki glanced back once and saw no pursuit, but there would be some—if not tonight when the drinking seemed momentarily more important, then at first light. Ki could not be allowed to escape. He had killed one of their own.
And he was still worth something. There was a cartel bounty on him, and Mono, mad as he was, wouldn’t be willing to throw that away.
Nor would he now be willing to take Ki to the Don Alejandro alive—not when Ki’s severed head would serve just as well.
They reached the far bank, which was muddy and steeply sloped, and clambered up and into the willows, using the tangled roots projecting from the bank.
Into the willows they moved slowly, fighting off the brush and the swarms of mosquitoes. Maria lost her way, found it, lost it again, and then they changed directions until the willows suddenly parted. In a small, well-concealed clearing, they came upon the old goatherd’s shack.
It was of bark and willow branches, but the door was made from sturdy pine planks and showed little signs of rot or time’s depredations.
Ki jiggled the door and got it to open on its ancient hinges. Inside it was dark, still, smelling of age. Something scuttled away in the darkness.
As their eyes adjusted, they could see the ancient bed made of leather straps tacked to a framework of two-by-fours, a tilting table, and two wooden chairs. Ki crossed the room, opened a window, and stood looking out and listening for a long while.
Maria watched him. He stood silhouetted before the stars, tall and handsome and competent. She felt a small stirring in her belly and was surprised by it.
“Are they coming?” she asked.
“I don’t see anyone. I’ll stand watch outside, though. I don’t think anyone can cross the river without me hearing them.”
Maria just nodded. She looked to the bed. Ki followed her eyes there. By the starlight he could make out her weary expression, the fine structure of her facial bones, and the swell and thrust of her young, ripe breasts. Her skirt was soaked through, her shoes wet.
“Lie down,” Ki told her. “Take off your skirt before you catch a chill. I’ll be outside. Don’t worry, I won’t bother you.”
Maria started to say something in answer and failed to accomplish it. She poked around and found an old blanket rolled up under the bed. When she shook it, a few moths and a cloud of dust flew out, but it would keep the chill away through the night.
Ki had gone to the door, and with a last backward glance, he went out to watch and wait. He had spent much time doing just that—watching and waiting—for Ki was a warrior and much of a warrior’s time is filled with waiting.
The stars were full and bright. The willows stood as dark, slowly shifting creatures responding to the whims of the night breeze. Downstream frogs in abundance cho rused. If anyone were coming that way, the frogs would stop abruptly and so would the crickets that chirped all around Ki as he sat quietly, feeling the night.
For hours he watched, barely moving, until he heard the door open behind him, heard the soft footsteps, felt the gentle hand fall onto his shoulder.
“I am frightened,” Maria said. “It’s dark and cool, and I’m alone. Come in with me.”
Chapter 7
Ki turned and rose slowly. The night air was cool, the woman before him young and beautiful. There was something in her soft, dark eyes beyond the obvious fear and uncertainty. Perhaps it was nothing more than the timeless longing of a woman for a man, a man strong, protective, and capable of keeping away hunger, danger, and the night.
“Come inside with me,” Maria said again, and her small hand closed around Ki’s.
Ki looked into her eyes once more and then he nodded. Death was roaming the streets of San Ignacio and the desert beyond, but he could do nothing about that just now. What he could do was drive the fear out of a woman’s heart for just a little while and lose himself in the forgetfulness of lovemaking.
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nbsp; She had made the little bed neatly. Inside she stopped, turned hesitantly, and kissed Ki’s lips. Then she slipped from the white chemise she wore and stood before him naked and lovely in the starlight.
Ki touched her with his eyes before his hands so much as stretched out to her. He looked at the sleek lines of her neck and her full, slightly parted lips. He let his gaze drop to her dark-nippled, full breasts and then to the slender waist and the flaring, womanly hips.
He stepped to her and his hands went around her waist, his fingers tracing patterns across her bare, smooth back and then dropping to her ass, so full and solid and sheathed by flawless honey skin.
He kissed her and drew her closer, feeling her shudder. Then with a smile he stepped away, just studying her for a moment. She bowed her head, leaning against Ki, her fingers going to the buttons of his shirt, unfastening them as her lips found his chest. She tasted the small dark nipples and then found his navel, which her tongue explored as Ki’s hands rested on her shoulders.
Maria lay back on the bed and watched Ki kick off his soft shoes and remove his trousers. She caught her breath when she saw him standing naked before her, his manhood erect and proud. Ki went to her and she sat on the edge of the bed, one hand encasing his erection, stroking it gently. Her thumb moved across the tender head of it. Her other hand clenched his buttocks and drew him nearer. Her cheek was against his belly; her hair soft and dark was loose and pleasant against Ki’s eager flesh.
“Come down to me,” Maria said. “Come down and show me how to make love to you.”
She lay back, her eyes bright, her skin smooth and glossed by starlight. Ki knelt, kissing her soft inner thighs. He felt the quivering there as his fingers found her core and searched her soft inner flesh.
Ki kissed her belly, found her breasts with his lips, and moved on top of her, his body seeming weightless but strong, very strong.
Maria closed her eyes partly, her mouth opened to meet Ki’s gentle, searching kiss. She responded eagerly, arching her back. Her tongue tasted Ki’s lips as he positioned himself, feeling the heat from her body, the urging of her kisses.
Maria reached down, found his shaft, toyed with it, her legs spreading slightly and then lifting as she wriggled onto him. Her breath began to come in short gasps, her body responding with a rush of liquid.
Ki drew her to the side of the bed without losing her. He knelt on the floor beside the bed as Maria locked her legs around his waist, her arms around his shoulders. Her full, round breasts flattened themselves against his chest.
Ki stroked the woman with his knowing hands, touching her ears, tracing them, moving slowly across the nape of her neck to her spine where his fingers trailed downward skillfully. Then with a sudden, powerful grip, he clutched at her ass with both hands and lifted her onto him as Maria gasped.
Ki reached beneath her, spreading her still more, stroking her, feeling the sweet dampness there, feeling the pulsing of Maria’s body, the increasing urgency of her kisses, her warm, moist breath against his cheek and ear.
Maria’s legs, locked around his waist, clenched him as if she would squeeze him in half. Ki paid no attention to that. He had begun to move against her—slowly, deftly, letting his body find each fold and tender button of Maria’s trembling body.
He held her to him, looking into her eyes, eyes that revealed the depth of her pleasure.
“Harder, Ki. Please. Now a little slower.”
Ki smiled and did as she asked, sometimes plunging his shaft into the hilt and lifting her from the edge of the bed with the power of his strokes. At other times he moved gently, almost teasingly, with slow care, driving inward a bare inch at a time.
Maria made small sounds deep in her throat, small hungry sounds. She still spoke to Ki, but the words made no sense. Half of them were in Spanish, half in the language of passion.
Then her body spoke very clearly as she, arching her back and reaching down with one hand to find where Ki entered her, trembled and let loose a torrent. Maria cried out loudly, bit at her wrist, and settled to a deep, constant trembling.
Now Ki began to sway in rhythm, a slow, deeply thrusting rhythm that caused his own thighs to tremble, that lifted his own desire to need, that brought his need to a gushing climax.
Maria cried out again with pleasured satisfaction and held Ki’s shaft as he finished, throbbing and spasming within her.
“Lie with me,” she said finally, and shaking, she pulled herself back onto the bed. Ki followed without slipping from her. He followed and lay beside her, letting her touch his shoulders, chest, and hard thighs with a kind of primitive wonder until the Mexican girl fell off to a contented sleep, her mouth slightly parted to reveal her teeth. Her long lashes now and then moved and once opened to reveal dark, deeply satisfied eyes.
Ki let her fall into a sound, lasting sleep and then he rose. The bandidos were still out there somewhere and he couldn’t afford the luxury of a night’s sleep. He went out quietly, stood beneath the stars, watched the silky river run, and listened to the night sounds of insects and frogs and night predators.
They still had Jessica Starbuck.
They had her and that could not be allowed. Ki frowned. He had effected his own escape, but that might or might not have been to Jessie’s advantage. Would they now bind her more tightly, increase the guard, chain her ... or worse?
The head of Jessica Starbuck would still bring a huge reward from the cartel, from Don Alejandro as Kurt Brecht had taken to calling himself.
Something moved in the darkness and Ki crouched, his muscles bunching, his hands positioning themselves. The night held something, someone. Ki could feel it, but he could see nothing. The frogs still croaked in the cattails; the crickets still chirped as if whatever was out there moved invisibly, without a whisper of sound.
The feeling lingered for a time and then passed and Ki gradually relaxed. For another three hours he kept his silent watch. An hour or so before dawn, Maria, yawning, came to the door of the goatherd’s shack. She came to him, put her arms around his waist, and rested her head on his chest.
“Is everything all right?” she asked.
“I think so. Yes.” Ki didn’t explain about the silent thing in the willows.
“What will you do now?” Maria’s dark questioning eyes met Ki’s.
“I will free Jessica Starbuck,” Ki answered. He shrugged and kissed Maria’s forehead lightly.
She didn’t smile in answer. “How, Ki?” she asked. “How do you plan to free her from Mono’s bandidos?”
“Now,” Ki replied, “you have asked the difficult question. I don’t know how I will do it.”
“If I can help you...”
“You can’t go back into San Ignacio, not now. They know you helped me.”
Maria’s temper flared briefly. “Do you think I am a coward, Ki?”
“No, I think nothing of the sort.”
“Then I will help you.”
Ki held her for a minute. The air was damp and cool, the river a whispering thing moving past them. To the East the sky was graying. Birds were beginning to stir in the willows.
“We have to find out what they are doing, where they have Jessica,” Ki said thinking out loud.
“It will be daylight soon.”
“That might be a disadvantage. On the other hand, the nearer it gets to dawn the more the bandidos will have drunk and the more likely they will be to fall asleep or at least be off their guard.”
“I have many friends and family in San Ignacio,” Maria said. “Some of them might help.”
“I don’t want help just now.”
“Maybe you need some,” Maria said. She bit her lip thoughtfully.
“You have something in mind?” Ki asked.
“Clothing. What you wear is too obvious. A peon costume, a serape. You are just dark enough if someone doesn’t look too closely.”
The woman was right. It wasn’t a bad idea at all to try disguising Ki. The moment he was spotted, Mono’s people
would try to kill him. Perhaps the moment of recognition could be delayed with a disguise.
“My cousin Fernando is not quite as tall as you, but nearly. And, he is a barber,” Maria said with sudden inspiration.
Ki frowned. “What has that to do with this?”
“You will see. Let’s go now. Fernando is on the far side of town. We can follow the river without being seen.”
Ki was dubious, but he had no better idea. He was ready to accept any help that was offered just now.
They moved along the bank as the first colors of sunrise began to streak the sky. The river absorbed the colors and reflected them darkly. Ki stopped suddenly.
“What is it?” Maria asked, her eyes widening. She crouched a little as Ki was doing and looked around.
“Just this.” Ki pointed it out. A footprint in the sand, a very fresh footprint. It had to have been made during the night. “So,” Ki said, “he is not a phantom after all.”
“What are you saying, Ki?” Maria asked nervously. “What does this mean? Does Mono know where we are?”
“No, this was not one of Mono’s bandidos. You see, this was made by a moccasin.”
“There are no Indians around here,” the Mexican girl said.
“There is,” Ki corrected, “at least one.” One who had come a long way, following them from the Canon del Dios in Arizona, one who had killed Carlos back at Tinaja Caliente. Ki stood and looked around carefully, his eyes—eyes used to searching, to careful watching—still failing to find anyone, anything. There was only the single track in the sand as if in a careless moment this phantom had become a creature of flesh, blood, and bone and formed it in his passing.
“I don’t like this, Ki,” Maria said. She hunched her shoulders as if a sudden chill had crept over her.
“No,” Ki answered, “neither do I. Let’s go on to your cousin’s house before the sun rises.”
They went on, hurriedly now, Ki with the strange feeling that there were eyes watching his back, dark eyes that waited, wanting what?
The golden rim of the sun had crept above the dark line of the desert horizon before they reached Fernando’s house.