“But they were fine in the years before the drought?” Cheveyo asked. They looked at each other and nodded. “And when they were sick? What were they eating?”
“Jerky and fish, roasts and rabbits. There was always meat, though it did become harder to find towards the end,” the chief acknowledged.
Cheveyo spent a few days wandering the foothills and studying the vegetation near the village. Ganali would dance around him, lost in her private realm of euphoria and thrilled to be with her warrior. Cheveyo gathered a basket of different plants, nuts, and seeds, and brought them before the shaman and chief.
“You have always eaten these?” he asked.
“Except during the drought,” the shaman answered. “There were barely leaves on trees during that time. The wild fires broke out all over the forests and the prairie.”
“I’m surprised Ganali did not tell you this,” Cheveyo said, and quickly added, “though she probably didn’t remember or would lose it in a story. I met her in college. We were both studying plants and nutrition. I wanted to learn the natural ways our tribe treated illness, and she wanted to learn how to eat right and eventually open a health food restaurant.”
He thought of Rebecca, back then. She was always so bubbly and cheerful, and he was impressed with her goal and dedication. He had convinced himself that because he was Indian there was no way she would ever date him. When she had laughed at him in class, he was hurt. He heard none of the others… only Rebecca, humiliating his heritage.
Vacation began the next week, and he had never seen her again to apologize for his cruel words. When his grandmother told him how she conned Bobby into befriending her and sending her here alone, he quit school and moved to the reservation. He spent his time with the shaman, agonizing over how afraid she must have been. So afraid that she crept into her fantasies and could not come back to tell them how to fix things.
“Your children ate too much protein during the drought. All of these things in the basket are things that are plentiful and they eat everyday. There is enough calcium to keep their bones strong.” The chief and shaman studied him, and Cheveyo could tell they were trying to see if he did not want Ganali to be a cow. “They don’t need the milk,” he insisted.
The shaman fixed his eyes on the basket. “I think what Spirit Warrior says is true. It would explain the journey casting. The cow horn is split in half, and no longer in the circle. I feared it meant the warriors would not let their women feed the children. Seeds dotted the casting circle and I did not understand this. What Cheveyo says makes sense.”
It was not as easy to explain to the mothers, until Awi pointed out that with only Ganali the children’s share was only half a walnut shell. Ultimately, they agreed… with the condition that if the children’s bones became weak they would get their cows back. Waka found herself gasping every time a child fell from a tree branch. She could just picture the uproar when the first of them broke an arm or a leg.
Unofficially, Cheveyo became a medicine man. Ganali would surprise everyone by touching base with reality on occasion when she was helping him. Cheveyo spent most of his time with the shaman and spirit women. It had become accepted that when the shaman stepped down, Cheveyo would take his place.
The weather turned much cooler at night, and the Wehali prepared to move to their winter home. It made no sense to Wacasa. “Why do you go up into the mountains in the winter? Isn’t it colder up there?”
“We have a valley, protected by the mountains. Down here, the wind blows and the teepees fall. Our food is spread on the prairie, and we can starve,” Noshoba explained.
“Why don’t you build cabins?” Wacasa leaned over to stir the pot of vegetables and meat.
“Bah… I do not want to live in a rabbit cage.” He walked up behind her and wrapped his arms under her breasts. He whispered in her ear, “Don’t you want a reason to be next to me to stay warm?”
Wacasa felt her nipples stiffen, and she sighed. “I don’t need a reason to do that.” She turned her head and kissed him. She combed her fingers through his long hair, leaning over and kissing the tight muscles of his chest. Her fingers worked at untying the lacings of his breeches and breechclout until his erection was freed.
Nashoba swept her into his arms, and carried her to the furs. They could eat their dinner later. He pulled her shift over her head, and she shivered slightly in the cool air.
Nashoba pulled her towards him, pressing their mouths together in a deep kiss. She crushed herself against him, stroking the inside of his mouth with her tongue, drinking him in.
Nashoba pushed her back onto the furs, and he leaned over her and trailed his lips down her throat. Wacasa felt her muscles tighten, releasing the slick wetness squeezing from her channel. She quivered when his mouth captured her nipple, gently sucking and nipping while his other hand traveled lower.
He left her breast and his lips traveled down, moving across her flat belly, while her hands gripped his hair in passionate urgency, willing him to continue. His fingers parted her lips, stroking her slick folds and slipping across her clit.
She trembled in aroused agony while her cream drooled from her moist depths. The sensations tormented her, and she gasped at the feel of his tongue on her slit, arching in passionate need. Soft moans escaped her lips, and her thighs pressed together.
He slid a finger into her warmth, and she released his hair and gripped the furs, gasping and writhing while he teased her clit with his tongue. He nipped her gently while his fingers moved inside of her. “Oh, god. Oh, yes, Nashoba.” She felt her nerves shatter and electrify with her climax.
Nashoba’s cock quivered when he saw the desire in her eyes. He filled her, plunging deeply while she ran her fingers down his biceps, gripping onto him and pulling him down until he felt her peaked nipples against his chest.
The heat of their passion warmed the tent, and Wacasa felt the heat seeping through her. She needed him deeper, faster, inside her, and she pulled his hips towards her with her clasping thighs.
Nashoba curled his hands around the cheeks of her bottom, spreading her wider and grinding against her. He felt the shuddering grip of her channel as she climaxed. It sent a rolling wave of tightening spasms down his shaft, forcing his seed to jet deep inside her with each of his thrusts.
They fell back on the furs in silent exhaustion, letting the trembling subside until they had calmed. It was several minutes before they returned to the fire for dinner.
Despite her protests, Wacasa found herself on the back of Nashoba’s horse, trailing a travois with their winter supplies. She turned to look back at the village. The land was bare where the teepees had been, and empty tanning frames stood by the rock circle rings of fire pits. Everything else was taken to the mountains, and it was hard to imagine the bustling settlement of two days ago.
It took a week to travel to their winter home. By the end of the first day, the new settlement was already standing. Leotie showed Wacasa and Wyonet where seeds and nuts could be found, and they used pinecones to start the fires.
There were springs in several of the caves. The water in the mountains was warmer than their stream on the prairie. By the first snowfall, Wacasa was settled into their new home. Nashoba made her a soft fur cape, and heavy fur moccasins to keep her feet warm. He had certainly been right about snuggling under the furs in the evenings.
Several months had passed, when Wacasa awoke to Nashoba and Tocho sitting by the fire. “What’s wrong?”
“I am sorry, Wacasa. I did not mean to wake you,” Tocho said.
She wrapped the fur around herself and joined them. There were lines of worry on Tocho’s face. “Tocho, what is it?”
“He must leave tonight for the wheat field. Something has happened, and he needs to get to his woman. She is his responsibility,” Nashoba answered. “Wacasa, gather some food from our supplies.”
She rose, and realized Nashoba did not want to tell her the rest when the two men began to whisper out of earshot. Wacasa felt
a sense of dread for the farmers.
Chapter XII
The blizzard began howling in the middle of the night. Henry tied a rope securely to the cabin door and made his way through the blinding sheets of snow towards the barn. He needed to make sure the animals had enough food and water to last the storm out.
He put his head down against the wind and struggled across the yard. He tied the other end of the rope to the old barn door. After he cared for the animals, he headed back towards the house.
Clara waited, nervously stirring her warm tea. He’s been gone too long, she worried. With no clocks, she was not sure how long Henry had been gone. She convinced herself she was overreacting, and he would be walking into the cabin any minute. But… he did not.
Halfway through her second cup of tea, she was crying. When she finished it, she wrapped herself in her fur cloak and grabbed the rope that held up the curtain hiding the bedroom. She stared at the jumbled quilts, and smelled Henry’s scent on them. Oh, god… please. Please don’t leave me here alone. The storm terrified her.
She tied her rope around her waist and opened the cabin door. The wind blew it open and it banged against the wall, making her jump and sob out loud. “Oh god, Henry. Please.”
Clara tied the other end of her rope to the line leading to the barn. She could only see a few feet in front of her. There was no light, other than the sideways driven snow. Within minutes, her face was freezing and her teardrops turned to ice and burned. She pulled herself forward through the deep drifts. She was certain she should have reached the barn. The next tug on the line, and her mittens touched something hard. It was wood, and she realized it was from the plank door of the barn. “Henry!” Clara screamed, and could barely hear herself over the wind.
She knotted her waist rope to the line and trudged through the snow until her lips burned and she could barely breathe. “He’s in the barn. It’s from the door, so he must be in the barn.” Clara tried to convince herself as she pulled her way back to the cabin.
The blizzard roared through the night. Clara warmed frozen limbs by the stove, staring at the cabin door and willing Henry to walk in. He’s in the barn. He’ll be back when the storm lets up. At some point, her head lay on the table and she fell into an exhausted, tortured sleep. When she woke up, it was daylight but she could still only see a few feet in the blizzard.
A few hours later, the storm broke. Clara put on her soaked fur coat and boots, and plowed through the snow towards the barn. The animals were fed and watered, but there was no sign of Henry. She turned and looked at the door. The plank on the end was ripped free.
Clara walked back to the cabin, and she followed the line and dug through the snow until she found the plank. She took off her mitten and cried while she slid her fingers across the blood.
Tocho battled the end of the blizzard, pushing his horse forward down the path. He found Sahkyo sitting by the barn. There were footsteps from her boots all over the yard, and piles of snow from her digging.
Tocho swung off his horse and walked towards her. She was sitting in the snow, rocking back and forth, with Henry’s head in her lap. Clara was not crying any more; she was singing softly in a rasping voice. Henry was less than ten feet from the barn. Tocho knelt down beside her. Her lips were blue and her cheeks were as red as fire. It was the vacant look in her eyes that scared him.
“Sahkyo,” he said softly. He put an arm around her shoulders and turned her face to look at him. “Sahkyo, you must come to the cabin. You need to get warm.”
“I need to help Henry.”
Her voice was raspy and dry. Tocho moved Henry’s head off her lap, and he picked Clara up and carried her back to the cabin. He helped her out of her cold, wet clothes, laid her in bed, and covered her with quilts. After building a fire, he checked to find her sleeping.
Tocho walked out to the yard and pulled Henry from the snow. It was deep, and the ground frozen, so he buried him under rocks by the stream. Kohana was riding to the south tribe to bring their travelers to the cabin. It was their tribe’s turn to watch the wheat field. It would take four days for them to travel to the farm.
Tocho felt Clara’s fever. He fed her broth and kept her warm, wrapping her in quilts and holding her in his lap in front of the stove. When she woke, she cried quietly until she fell asleep again. It took two days for her fever to break, and she slept soundly through the night with her head on his chest.
In the morning, she stared blankly at the wall. Her mind was gone, but Tocho knew it would come back when she was ready… and then she would grieve for her farmer. Tocho knew she had no passion for Henry, but she had been alone with him for so many years.
Tocho kept her fed and warm, sitting her by the fire where she silently sipped tea while he cared for the animals. Two days later, Kohana rode in with the traveler couple and two warriors from the south. Tocho told the new farmers where he had placed Henry and he told them to bury him in the spring when the ground thawed.
In the morning, he packed Clara’s few dresses and summer moccasins onto Kohana’s horse. He held Clara in front of him, wrapped in her fur cloak and a quilt that still had the farmer’s scent. She was comforted by this, and she lay her head against his chest, sleeping with the motion of the horse.
Kohana could see the worry and sadness in Tocho’s face. “You know to trust the castings, Tocho. She will come back. She will come back, and she will join the Wehali as your wife. The signs are not wrong. Sahkyo will come back to you.”
Tocho brushed his chin on her hair. “I was mean to her,” he said.
“You were possessive and jealous, because you knew she was to go to the farmer. You were as young as I am now, Tocho. It is easy for me to be jealous when I see other warriors claim their women. I trust the casting will someday be in my favor, if it is meant to be.”
Tocho looked at him. “What would you have done with the raven if you had beaten Ahiga?”
Kohana smiled. “I would have challenged him again, until he won. Wyonet does not want any other warrior, any more than you want anyone except your Mink. I do not want a woman who desires another man.”
“You are wise, for a young warrior.”
“I have watched you and Nashoba,” Kohana replied.
When they reached the village, Tocho sent for Cheveyo. Ganali was with him, and she prattled and chatted her silliness while she fixed broth for Clara.
Cheveyo examined Sahkyo, and then he joined Tocho by the fire. He convinced him that she was healthy, and they discussed what Tocho had seen when he got to the farm.
Ganali sat down next to Clara, stroking her hair. “You and Henry were right about most things, Clara. But, you didn’t know my Tommy was coming back to me,” Ganali said.
She went on for several minutes, and then a weak voice quivered, “He’s gone?”
Tocho jumped up and walked over to her. He knelt down and sifted her hair through his fingers. “Yes, Sahkyo. The farmer is gone. He was brave to save the animals.”
Clara knew better than to ask how Tocho had known. She belonged to him, so the shaman would have seen it. “Did you know when you came for the travelers?”
“No, Sahkyo. I was riding once with Nashoba, and I told him I wanted to bring you back for the winter. It did not feel right to do that. I decided to buy a captive at the rendezvous, but I could not do that either. Maybe my spirit knew that something would happen.”
Cheveyo and Ganali slipped out of the teepee.
Clara’s eyes filled with tears. “Where is he?”
“I placed him by the stream. The new farmers will bury him in the spring.”
“What happens now?”
“The south tribe will care for the farm, and you will stay with the tribe… with me.”
“I am your captive again.”
“You have always been mine,” he reminded her.
“I don’t know if I can do this again, Tocho.”
“It is different now. There will be no new travelers for many years.” Toc
ho stretched out on the furs next to her. “When you were given to me, I knew you were to leave me and go to the farmer. I did not know that I would ever get you back.”
He ran his hand over the fur, watching it with an intense dark stare. “I was angry, and it did not seem fair, but I knew I could not question the spirits’ sign for me. I wanted you to stay with me and I did not want to share you with the farmer, but the sign did not change until the casting when we arrived at our winter home. Even then, the shaman only knew that you were to return to me in the future.”
Tocho looked into her eyes. “I was hunting on the mountain and I saw the storm clouds far away. A heavy feeling filled me, and I knew that I had to get to you quickly. It was dark when I returned to the village, but I woke Nashoba to tell him I was leaving and he needed to send for the southern tribe’s travelers to come to the farm. It is my spirit’s connection to you, Sahkyo. There is no other way I could know this.”
Clara was beginning to understand that her other time with the warrior had always been compromised by his pride and the knowledge he could not keep her. “Henry… took care of me.”
“I will take care of you now, Sahkyo,” he whispered. “The shaman sees that you will join the tribe. He sees… I will not have to share you again.”
“When we travel to the prairie, I would like to see the farm and say goodbye to Henry.”
“I will take you back there, Sahkyo, so you can wish his spirit well. I understand that you must do this for you to be with me.”
Clara sighed. “I love you, Tocho. I loved being with you, and being part of the village. I hoped you would want to keep me. I cried for a long time when you traded me to the farmer.”
“I have you back with me now, Sahkyo. You will not leave me again.” Tocho lowered the fur, and his fingers stroked over her breasts. The years had made her softer, more comfortable, and it suited her. He smiled when her nipples peaked, and his fingers absorbed the puckered nodules before brushing across the tips.
Captive Travelers Page 21