Spirit of the Sky

by Paty Jager

  Table of Contents

  Spirit of the Sky

  Copyright

  Praise for Paty Jager

  Dedication

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Epilogue

  A word about the author...

  Thank you for purchasing this Wild Rose Press publication.

  Spirit

  of the Sky

  by

  Paty Jager

  Copyright

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.

  Spirit of the Sky

  COPYRIGHT © 2012 by Patricia Jager

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author or The Wild Rose Press except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

  Contact Information: info@thewildrosepress.com

  Cover Art by Kim Mendoza

  The Wild Rose Press

  PO Box 708

  Adams Basin, NY 14410-0708

  Visit us at www.thewildrosepress.com

  Publishing History

  First Faery Rose Edition, 2012

  Digital ISBN 978-1-61217-168-5

  Print ISBN 978-1-61217-169-2

  Published in the United States of America

  Praise for Paty Jager

  SPIRIT OF THE MOUNTAIN

  1st Place Paranormal Category

  The Lories Best Published Book

  “...from the first chapter, I realized that I was reading something truly special.”

  ~Cloudy with a Chance of Books (5 Stars)

  ~*~

  “This trip into the paranormal certainly takes readers away from the usual and lures them into a world that pulsates with passion and possibilities of ‘what-if.’ ”

  ~Long and Short Reviews (4.5 Stars)

  ~*~

  SPIRIT OF THE LAKE

  “This was an awesome book. The many facets in this tale take the reader on an unforgettable journey.”

  ~Night Owl Reviews (5 Stars, Top Pick)

  ~*~

  “I highly recommend this book to readers who enjoy paranormal romances and find pleasure in discovering different cultures. This story is sure to touch you in ways you didn’t expect.”

  ~The Romance Review (4 Stars)

  Dedication

  To my “sisters”

  at Mid-Willamette Valley RWA and Rose City RWA: you ladies gave me faith in my writing

  and warmth from your friendship.

  Ná-qc

  (1)

  Big Hole, Montana, 1877

  Sa-qan’s heart raced with anxiety. Her wings faltered as she circled above the devastating scene. The large number of soldiers moved with stealth through the growing light of day toward the Nimiipuu camped many moons from their beloved Wallowa country. The same soldiers who would soon invade the camp of her sleeping people had given Joseph and the other chiefs no choice. It was either move to a reservation under a treaty they did not sign or dash for freedom. They chose freedom and now must fight to survive.

  She screeched out a warning, but no one would heed the call of a bald eagle. Short of showing herself to the Nimiipuu in mortal form, she could do nothing but hover over the carnage as the white soldiers first shot an unarmed old man checking his horses, and then charged into the sleeping camp spraying bullets into everything—women, children, the old—it did not matter to the soldiers if they were warriors or not. They called the Nimiipuu savages, but the Wallowa band had only killed those who tried to harm them on their flight from the soldiers forcefully taking their home.

  The violence sickened Sa-qan. She was a spirit of the Nimiipuu, but she was useless against this many. Her wings weakened with each slain Nimiipuu. What can I do? she beseeched the Creator.

  Warriors stumbled from tepees, scrambling for cover and weapons. The celebration the night before now scoffed their good luck in finding a peaceful place to rest. With each spark and crack of a rifle and swipe of a sword their safety vanished.

  Sa-qan landed on a rock on the hillside. Her chest ached. Screams, war cries, and rifle blasts echoed up the ravine. The acrid smoke of burned gun powder, stench of fear, and tang of blood filled the crisp morning air. She couldn’t call upon Wewukiye and Dove. Her brother and his wife kept watch over the forked-tongued leader of the soldiers, Cut Arm. His large group of soldiers were in pursuit, crossing the mountain pass, Lolo, the Nimiipuu traversed seven suns earlier.

  Her keen eyesight sought Dove’s daughter, Girl of Many Hearts. The child had come to this earth nine summers earlier after a Whiteman raped her mother. Wewukiye had helped Dove, a mortal at the time, and fallen in love. But their working together to prove the Whiteman’s deceit had ended Dove’s mortal life and the Creator gave her the gift of being a spirit. Sa-qan caught a glimpse of Silent Doe, the child’s adoptive mortal mother, pushing Girl of Many Hearts into the willows along the river bank moments before the woman collapsed.

  Dove’s daughter needs me! Sa-qan swooped down the hillside, spread her wings, and hovered at the top of the willows. Her body dissolved, changing to smoke, then restructuring into a mortal form. She dropped into the knee-deep, cold water beside Girl of Many Hearts.

  “Shh…” she whispered into the child’s ear, hugging the small body close. She would not allow the soldiers to harm the child. Going against the Creator’s rule to not show herself in mortal form ticked at Sa-qan like an irritating woodpecker, but she saw no other way to save Dove’s daughter. She’d sworn nine summers ago after Dove became a spirit that she, Sa-qan, would always be there for Girl of Many Hearts when Dove was not around to care for her daughter. The mortal girl had become the child she would never have.

  Splashing at the river’s edge heightened Sa-qan’s need to protect the child. With slow movements, she eased the child deeper into the cold water careful not to make ripples that might cause the tall, stiff weeds to reveal their hiding spot. She used her spirit txiyak, power, to fill the child with warmth. Her sharp sight watched for movement in the reeds. The rustle of the reeds behind her drew her attention. Would the soldiers try to surround a woman and child? A slight breeze fluttered across her tense face. The wind.

  A deep voice cursed and splashing grew nearer.

  Girl of Many Hearts stiffened in her arms as water rippled past their still bodies.

  The plants parted, revealing the contorted face of a soldier squinting down the length of a rifle pointed at them. Girl of Many Hearts squeaked. Sa-qan drew the child behind her, using her body as a shield. As a spirit she could not be killed by a mortal’s bullet.

  A man dressed in buckskin pants and a soldier’s shirt with leader markings appeared behind
the soldier pointing the rifle at them.

  “No, Private! Leave them be!” The command rang with authority. The man’s dark eyes, shaded by the brim of a hat, narrowed, staring at her. “We’re only after the warriors. Go.” He pushed the soldier from the water and stepped closer.

  “Are you a captive?” He held out his hand not holding a weapon. “I can help you. Take you from this.” His voiced dropped to a deeper, calming tone.

  Sa-qan met his gaze. Should she let him know she spoke his tongue? The compassion in his eyes was a harsh contradiction to the violence still raging through the village. She shook her head and pressed Girl of Many Hearts farther into the river.

  He took another step forward. “I can help you. We’re going to keep after these people until they give in. I know the army. They don’t give up.” The sorrow and weariness in his tone puzzled her.

  She thought all soldiers thrived on attacking and harassing the Nimiipuu.

  “I can get you away from this now, before it gets worse.” He took another step.

  His nostrils flared as the stinging scent of burning hide filled the air along with terrified high-pitched screams.

  “Damn!” The soldier lunged out of the river and ran toward a group of teepees being lit on fire.

  Now was her chance to save Silent Doe. Sa-qan led Girl of Many Hearts back to the edge of the river and instructed the child to stay out of sight. Keeping an eye on the soldiers burning the dwellings, Sa-qan crawled to Silent Doe and dragged her into the river. Tears glistened in the child’s eyes at the sight of the only mother she knew. Sa-qan’s heart went out to Dove who after becoming a spirit was not allowed to have contact with her only child.

  “You must not tell anyone you have seen me or of what I do.” Sa-qan clasped the child’s hand, drawing her young gaze to her eyes. “One day the truth will be revealed, but for now, it is our secret. A secret between us and the Creator.”

  The child nodded slightly, but her brow wrinkled in puzzlement.

  Sa-qan placed her hand on the entry and exit wounds of Silent Dove and chanted quietly. Healing the woman would weaken Sa-qan, but it was necessary. Silent Doe had to keep the child alive. She, Sa-qan, could not live among the Nimiipuu. Even though many tribes and bands had come together for this escape from the soldiers, she would not go unquestioned. Her moonbeam-colored hair and eyes the color of sunshine would not put her in favor. Her two qualities would mark her a spy for the so·yá·po, Whiteman.

  Silent Doe’s eyelids fluttered and slowly opened. She was strong of heart. This helped the healing. When the woman stood in the water next to them, Girl of Many Hearts wrapped her arms around her mother. The fighting had moved down the river bank and up the hillside.

  “How?” Silent Doe stared, her gaze moving from Sa-qan’s eyes to her hair. She sucked in air and nodded. “Wewukiye. You are of his band?”

  Silent Doe had been present at the birth of Girl of Many Hearts and knew Sa-qan’s spirit brother and his deep love for the child’s birth mother.

  “Yes. He is my brother.” Sa-qan nodded toward the area opposite the fighting. “Go there and wait. The warriors will drive the soldiers away and the leaders will find you.” She patted Girl of Many Hearts’s head and dove into the river, swimming to the far side. She needed cover to regain her strength and return to her bald eagle form to monitor the fighting.

  ****

  Lieutenant Wade Watts yanked the torches from the men’s hands. “You’re killing women and children. Go after the warriors!” The dwellings weren’t catching fire quickly due to the dampness in the early morning air and the fresh hides stretched on the frames. Those that caught fire gave off a foul odor. Even more discomfort curdled his guts. The men were easy targets for the marksmanship of the Indians. His odd assortment of troops were lucky if they could hit the horses the Indians rode.

  Stories told by the few survivors of the 7th Cavalry’s run-in at Little Bighorn and the way the Indians surrounded the troops sparked through his mind as he ordered the men to drop the torches and head for cover.

  A small contingent of soldiers had fallen back from an unseen onslaught by the Nez Perce. A bullet buzzed past Wade’s ear. He bent, hoping to make his over six foot frame a smaller target and dodged strewn bodies of men, women, and children as he hurried to catch up to the others. War and combat no longer surged his blood and fed his adventurous side. It only saddened and sickened him ever since Custer’s ill-fated campaign. He’d been lucky that day. His commanding officer had sent his troop to guard a supply depot.

  This campaign could have been avoided. If only his government would have listened closer to what the chiefs asked for and relented a little, they could have all come to a mutual agreement. But instead, he had to control a bunch of killing-crazed soldiers and civilians. Only a handful of the men under him had ever fought Indians before. The rest didn’t include the Nez Perce as part of the mortal race. His head pulsed and his gut soured stepping over a small child. The carnage took him back fourteen years to his first battle in the war. He’d been sixteen and torn between the ways of his southern roots and the belief all humans deserved to be free. In the end, he followed his conscience and saying good-bye to his family had fought against his brothers, cousins, and friends. His side had won, but the only winners were the government and the freed slaves. The men who’d fought in the war and the families torn apart or dead—they became the biggest losers.

  He stared at the child’s body, his mind replaying scrimmage after scrimmage he managed to walk away from. Not so true for many of the men and boys he fought beside. How could men do this to other men?

  “Lieutenant? You hit?” Sergeant Cooper, a man who’d been beside him since the war between the north and south, hurried around the dead bodies. “Sir, we gotta get out of here if we want to keep our scalps.”

  “Why did the men do this?” Wade unleashed his rage. “Women and children aren’t a threat!” He couldn’t calm his voice or his anger. “Why the hell did they do this?”

  “Lieutenant, sir. We need to follow the others.”

  The man studied him like he’d caught a bullet to his chest and his guts hung out. The flash of a corporal he’d witnessed in just such a display weakened his knees.

  Cooper grasped his sleeve and pulled. “I seen a squaw fire on our men. She picked up the rifle after her man was shot. She killed one of ours before we shot her.”

  “Self-defense. She was shooting to save her own life.” Wade fought the bile rising in his throat. This whole mess could’ve been avoided if only the officers higher than he would listen. He hated killing. Had ever since he returned from war and saw his family…He squeezed his eyes shut and wondered again how he, the traitor, had survived that war and his family perished.

  Bullets sprayed the ground around them. His years of staying alive kicked in. He jerked Cooper to the ground by the scruff of his neck, and they both crawled toward a bush for cover. How did things get so turned around? They’d caught the Nez Perce off guard yet the soldiers were the ones retreating. From his cover, he watched soldiers making their way up the hillside they’d stealthily descended in the dark to surprise the Indians.

  Cooper gurgled next to him. Wade rolled to his side. Blood gushed from a wound in Cooper’s neck. Life drained from the sergeant’s eyes at the same rate blood covered the ground. No time to grieve for a man he’d called a friend for fifteen years.

  Wade crawled out from under the bush and ran up the hill. He ducked behind trees, calculated the direction the bullets came from, and worked his way toward his retreating regiment. Fifty yards from soldiers hastily digging a trench, a warrior rushed from behind a tree.

  The knife in the warrior’s hand slashed Wade’s arm, shooting pain and igniting his anger. Rage fueled his counter attack. He grabbed the assailant’s arm holding the weapon. They fell to the ground wrestling for control. The downward slope of the hill carried their struggling bodies away from his chance of help. Jagged rocks pummeled his body as they rolled, kno
cking out bursts of air from him and his assailant.

  His head cracked against a rock, ringing his ears and fusing his concentration on being the victor. He would not die here. Wade twisted the sharp blade and rolled, slamming his body into their hands gripping the handle. The warrior’s eyes widened as the blade sunk into his chest.

  Wade didn’t wait to see if the impaling had been lethal before springing to his feet and scrambling for cover. Behind a clump of willow shoots, he evaluated his situation. He’d lost his rifle, pistol, and side knife in the struggle, and suffered a wound. He pulled the neckerchief from his neck and wound it around his arm, tightening it to stop the bleeding. He studied the area and found himself nearly back in the village.

  The scuffle landed him an unhealthy distance from his men. His arm throbbed. He bit down on a corner of his mustache and peered into the sky. Only mid-morning. How the hell had this day gone so wrong? He could head east and not look back. He’d be a casualty of war. Let the others chase the Nez Perce for God knew how long and come up with more casualties than the Indians. His conscience wouldn’t let him. He fingered the insignia on his shoulder and knew he couldn’t walk away. He’d walked away from his family before the war to join the side he believed in. Now the cavalry was all he had.

  Wade battled the urge to race up the hill and join the others. Most of the Indians had dispersed, leaving a small contingent to keep the soldiers busy. The only way he saw a possibility of rejoining his troop was to wait until dark and slip between the warriors holding the soldiers on the side of the hill.

  Wailing from the village began low and sad, building to an ear-aching chorus and standing the hair on his arms. He sat, hidden in brush, but with a fair view of the village. Wade watched the women begin dragging off the dead and tending the wounded. He stared at each one, hoping to glimpse the blonde-haired woman. She had to be a captive. Why hadn’t she allowed him to save her? Was the girl she shielded her child? Gradually, the area filled with more warriors as they one by one came back to help take care of their families.

  They took care of their own but left the soldiers where they’d dropped. He didn’t witness a single scalping of the dead soldiers. The day wore on. Sporadic gun fire kept the soldiers on the hill as the villagers gathered and moved out of the river basin in a southerly direction.