by Karen Kay
Later, when she was alone, she would confront her sorrow. Later, she would vent her grief. For now, she had to pretend that her father’s decision hadn’t deadened her spirit. For now, she had to be strong.
“Nitsiitsistapi’taki, I understand,” she said.
“Do you truly?”
She could not bring herself to say more, not even to agree. All she could do was nod and hide her face, hoping that none of her emotions communicated themselves to her mother. “Noohk, please, my mother,” she said, keeping her voice as steady as she was able. “I need to be alone.”
Her mother nodded and let go of her shoulders as the younger woman arose and negotiated her way, as well as she was able, to the niitoyis’, the tepee’s entrance, the sound of her moccasins against the buffalo hide rug making a dull, flat sound as she moved. Pulling back the entry flap, the girl stepped out into the day, the brightness and cheer of Sun seeming to mock her.
She kept her gaze downward, refusing to note where her feet took her, refusing to look at anyone.
She needed to be alone. She wanted the silence of the plains, the magic of the gurgling streams, the sighings of the wind. She needed these to enter into her spirit, to take away the hurt. But most of all, she had to regain her composure.
Her direction took her toward the stream and she wished she had remembered to bring her water hide so that she might fill it. At least she could have made herself useful.
But she could not go back into the village. Not now. Not until she had come to terms with what was to be.
She bolted across the creek, which was only knee deep, and struggled onto the other bank, scrambling up a ledge which would lead her out onto the prairie.
Once there she ran, as fast as her legs would take her. She ran until she was out of breath, ran until she could run no more. Then she let the tears come, as she sank down onto her knees, hiding her face in her hands, sobbing as though her heart might never be the same again.
Truly, it might never be.
Soon, the healing rays of Sun drew her spirit upward, however, and she realized she floated free above the prairie, above her home. She felt herself fly and for the moment, she drew comfort from such a simple action, admiring the tremendous show of nature and thanking Sun that she was being allowed to see it.
A hawk soared by her, its squawk a gentle reminder that she had to leave this place and go to her home. Her parents would worry.
She glanced at the hawk, but for a moment she saw not the bird, but a woman. A woman with terribly pale skin, a woman with hair the gold color of autumn leaves and eyes tawny like those of a mountain lion. Giving a squawk, the hawk turned all at once and flew away, but as it left, the young girl could have sworn she saw the bird transform into something else yet again. A warrior. A warrior she knew and recognized.
Shock made the Indian maiden plummet instantly and suddenly back into her body, the impact of her return to it momentarily sending the young girl sprawling onto the ground. But she quickly picked herself up.
Who was this woman, what importance did she hold, and why had she turned into a warrior?
Had she, an Indian maiden, imagined this, or had she obtained a vision? She, a woman, receiving a message from Sun? Surely not. Only the wise men of the tribe were so gifted.
Yet she could not deny what had happened.
What did it mean?
Perhaps, after she made her way back to camp, she would tell her father and they could seek out a medicine man who could relate to them the significance of the vision. If it were a vision.
No one would believe her, she was certain. Others might even laugh at her.
Still, it was her duty to tell one and all of this vision if it were truly a message from the Sun.
Picking herself up and drying the tears from her eyes, she set out on wobbly legs, making her course one that would return her to the village. And as she glanced up at Sun, Blue Raven Woman sent a prayer of thanks for the wisdom shown her, vowing that she would do all she could to learn of this thing she had seen, that she might do honor to herself, to her family, and to Sun.
Night Thunder despaired as he glanced down at the sleeping woman in his arms.
She had fallen asleep standing up, still nestled in his embrace. He tightened his hold on her and grimaced.
How was he to save her, himself?
The enemy’s singing had continued on and on throughout the night, as had the dancing. What sort of war party was this that these warriors celebrated through the night—in enemy territory? Night Thunder wasn’t mistaken about their identity, was he? No, he couldn’t be. He had seen the cut of their moccasins, had listened to their talk. They were not Blackfeet, nor from any allied tribe that he could fathom.
He didn’t recognize their speech pattern, either; which was odd. He might not be able to utter the different languages of the plains, but he could usually distinguish one tribe from another by their words. This one he could not.
There was more. Why had no one from this war party come to challenge him? He was certain he and Rebecca had made more noise than they should have. He was positive, too, that these warriors should have heard the two of them, or at least have felt their presence. Why had the men not attacked?
Had he been on his own, he might have challenged these men. He might already have had the glory of waging battle. But he could not do that now—not with Rebecca with him. True, her life might be spared by this enemy, but he did not wish to put that particular assumption to the test.
Which brought him back full circle: why was he being left alone? Was it possible his and Rebecca’s lovemaking hadn’t been heard? It seemed improbable.
But more important, hadn’t these warriors “felt” that they were being watched? As a hunter and a warrior, Night Thunder had been trained never to observe the enemy too closely, since it was well known that they could sense the attention of others upon them.
Were these warriors delaying the inevitable for some reason of their own? And if they were, how could he spare Rebecca? He glanced down at the sleeping woman in his arms.
Aa, Rebecca. He sighed.
She remained a mystery to him. She had been distant from him for so long that he found it incredible to envision that she might desire him. Yet she had kissed him, had loved him, with as much ferocity as he had loved her. Surely this must mean that she held some fancy for him.
She had also been a maiden. Surely, no young miss would give the gift of her virginity without strong affection, would she?
She had said that she held a loving place for him within her heart, but her utterance had been whispered in the heat of passion, said at a time when she had not known if she might live from this moment to the next. These were the sort of words one could come to regret within the light of day.
Would she? Would she rue their lovemaking? Especially when she discovered that he could not change his alliance with Blue Raven Woman?
He tilted his head and frowned. Why, he wondered, did it matter to him?
Yet it did.
Looking away from her, another thought occurred to him. What if they lived? What if the enemy truly had not seen or heard them? What would he do then? How could he make Rebecca understand that he loved her, though he must marry another woman? Especially when, by the laws of his tribe, he had now made Rebecca his wife, too?
He didn’t want to think about it.
Rebecca stirred and wiggled against him, and had Night Thunder been anything but the trained warrior that he was, he would have groaned.
His body answered hers, his manhood stiffening as though to reassure her that he remained in readiness for her.
He should make love to her again.
The thought came to him unbidden.
He should make love to her, yet he must not. The enemy lurked outside. Both he and Rebecca had been spared the danger of discovery once; they would be fools to tempt fate yet again.
Still, with her so near to him…
“Night Thunder?” she whis
pered.
He brought his attention back to her. “I am here,” he said unnecessarily, and pulled her body in toward him.
“Night Thunder, has it occurred to you that this enemy is not keeping their presence well hidden?”
“That is true.”
“If they are in dangerous territory, shouldn’t they be? That is, shouldn’t they be trying to keep hidden?”
“Aa, yes, that is as it should be.”
“Then, why?”
“I do not know. I have been wondering the same thing.”
She stirred against him again, her stomach up against his stiffness.
“Night Thunder, you are—”
“Sh-h-h. We must not talk about it.”
“Why not?”
“Is it not obvious? There is an enemy close by and we must remain silent.”
“But we are talking now and—”
“Sh-h-h.”
She wiggled against him and he let out a low growl.
“Be still,” he said, even as his hands reached down to massage her buttocks.
“But you are—” He captured her lips, then, ravaging her mouth with his.
Haiya, this must be a madness with him. With the enemy so close to them, he could think of nothing but her and he lifted her up against him, even while he was certain the enemy would discover them.
He wanted to be gentle, but he was not. He parted her legs, wrapping them around him as he drove into her with all the finesse of a buffalo bull in heat, and he sent a prayer of thanks to Sun that Rebecca appeared to welcome him.
He covered her sighs with his lips, and as their movements began to keep time with the beating of the drum outside, Night Thunder lost himself to the wonder of her, to the incredible feeling of being one with this woman. Never had he felt the powerful draw of another female, never could he remember having had such glorious pleasure.
He could sense her nearing her climax, and as he felt her tiny muscles tighten up around him, he emptied his seed within her, praying that the sound of their lovemaking would not betray their presence.
Her breathing was as ragged as his, and he held her even more closely to him as he drifted back to earth, content for the moment in the knowledge that the wind blew against them, carrying his moans and her sighs away from the danger of the enemy.
He would not let her go, he realized. Now that he’d had her, he wanted her even more. What this would mean to her, to Blue Raven Woman, and even to himself, he dared not consider. At least for the moment.
He only knew he would keep Rebecca with him, somehow, in some way. And despite himself, despite his troubled thoughts, Night Thunder drifted off into an amazingly contented sleep.
The silvery rays of early morning trickled into the hollow tree, while outside, the lyrical call of the lark and the mourning dove proclaimed the start of a new day.
Night Thunder came instantly awake and glanced around him. Shock kept him silent; his stomach fell. He had slept through the night.
How could he have done it? Now there would be no chance of escape. He groaned inwardly, trying to remember a time when he had acted so irresponsibly. He couldn’t recall one.
He nudged Rebecca awake, putting a finger to his lips to silence her.
The enemy hadn’t yet found them. Perhaps there was still a chance…
He chided himself for his foolishness. There would be no chance once Sun was fully up.
But it was still early morning. Maybe if the enemy still slept? The warriors had danced and sung most of the night away. Surely he might find the men resting?
Cautiously he drew Rebecca out of his arms, and positioning her so that her back rested against the tree, he motioned toward her to remain where she was. Meanwhile, he crept back toward the opening of the tree.
He peered over his shoulder at the outside, slowly, making certain to create no sound.
He saw nothing.
He turned, and bending, crept out a little farther. He glanced out.
Nothing.
He slunk back into the protection of the tree. Where were the warriors? Had they already broken camp?
And if so, why had they not attacked and killed these two who had been hiding within a tree trunk? He was certain that he and Rebecca had left a trail. Why had the enemy not acted?
Night Thunder bent down on hands and knees and crawled forward, taking care to make no sound.
Nothing.
He stood up and glanced around him in a full circle before stooping to examine the ground.
What was this? Not only could he see no warriors, he could detect no evidence of their having been there; not a blade of grass bent where they might have stepped, not even a broken twig.
Surely there would be some evidence. Had their fire not been here, in this place where he stood? Yet he could find no trace of it. Of course the warriors would have tried to erase all signs of a fire, but there still would have been some sign of it left behind, if only a warmer piece of ground. But as he covered the dirt all around him, he could find nothing.
What did this mean? Night Thunder could make no sense of it. Unless…
A cold chill ran down his spine. It couldn’t be. Yet…
Spinning around, Night Thunder hurried back to Rebecca.
“Oki, come!” He reached a hand into the hollow tree and took her elbow, propelling her forward and out. “Let us leave this place.”
She followed him, albeit reluctantly. “But the war party…?” she asked, her voice a whisper.
“Do not worry about them.”
“They are not here?” Her voice was louder. He shook his head.
“We are free to go?”
“Aa, would I ask you to come with me if we were not?”
“But I thought that—”
“Later I will tell you about it. We must leave this place now.”
“Yes, of course, but—”
“Now.” And with nothing more said to enlighten her, he ushered her from their hiding place, onto the prairie, setting their course to intersect with that of his fellow tribesmen.
He only hoped that the danger would not follow them.
Chapter Ten
“Did I hear you correctly? Ghosts?”
“I do not know what this ‘ghosts’ is. I only tell you about the shadow of those who were once living.”
“Ghosts,” Rebecca repeated, saying it more to herself than to her companion. “I don’t believe in ghosts.”
“I do not ask you to believe,” he replied over his shoulder, his intention clearly on keeping pace with the others from their party. Night Thunder had found their companions’ trail easily this morning and had caught up with them, losing little time in doing so. “I am only explaining to you,” he continued, “why there was no trace of the enemy warriors. A great fight must have taken place where we were encamped last night, and those who are still there must have been blinded or had body parts cut off in the fight, for they are unable to find their way to the Sand Hills.”
“But I heard them, I saw them. One cannot see ghosts,” Rebecca frowned. “And what do you mean, body parts cut off?”
Night Thunder didn’t answer right away. Instead, he kept his stride on a par with the others, not even glancing over his shoulder to ensure she followed. When he finally did speak, she had to strain to hear him. “Most people cannot see those who are departed because they no longer have the physical body to identify them. But their shadow can be felt and experienced if one will only let himself be aware of them.”
“But I wasn’t trying to be ‘aware’ of them,” she complained. “And I didn’t feel them. I saw them.”
“Perhaps it was because you were with me.”
“With you, but—”
“Within my family runs the power to see into the future, to change the weather, even to call to the buffalo. And sometimes, there are those of us who can talk to the dead. It is something I have been trained to do.”
Rebecca quickened her pace so that she kept stride with Ni
ght Thunder. “Trained? What do you mean, trained?”
“Perhaps this is not the right word. I have long been an…apprentice with our medicine man. It is something I have learned to do, to talk to the dead.”
“I don’t believe in such things. What are you, a mystic?”
“I do not know what this thing is, a ‘mystic,’ and I do not ask you to believe.” He paused and seemed lost in thought, though he quickly picked up his pace. “Still there must be some reason why they chose me to see them, to hear them. Perhaps they are hoping that I can discover a way to free them from the spell of those they fought, so that their shadows might yet find the Sand Hills.”
“Night Thunder, I—”
“I will have to think on it. Perhaps there is something I can do. Come here now and let us not talk of this again.”
“But what did you mean by being blinded or having body parts cut off? What has that to do with them?”
He stopped and let the others move off away from him as he turned to face her. She froze. Despite the intimacy she had shared with this man last night, she felt herself cower from his imposing figure.
“It is a belief of my people that the way in which one departs this world is the same way he must spend the rest of eternity. And so there are those warriors who, after a fight, will blind an opponent or cut off a part of his body, that his enemy might have to go to the next world so burdened. There are those who, having departed this world with a missing body part, choose not to seek out the next life, but determine to stay in this one, hoping to find someone who might at last be able to reverse the spell.”
Rebecca didn’t utter a word in response to this bit of Indian lore, though she stared hard at the man who had only last night held her and made love to her. She frowned and silently fought a battle within herself to hold back her opinions about such things. It was not her place to pass judgment on the beliefs of another. Still, these things of which he spoke were so foreign to her, she found herself wondering about him, and perhaps even more about herself. Had she really given her heart to this man?