The Soul Survivors Series Boxed Set

by Vella Munn

  She kept her head bowed, but her senses hummed as she attempted to judge his mood. "If you had insisted, I would not have stood in your way. You know that."

  "Hm. Tell me—no, no, go on. Now the stockings. Tell me, what do you believe my plans are for her future?"

  Still not meeting her husband's eyes, Margarita slid her hands under her skirt. "To secure an advantageous marriage for her."

  "Correct! I don't want either of you to forget that."

  "Senor De Leon is wealthy. Why didn't you—"

  "Why?" He seemed to be pondering that, and she regretted not having the courage to ask him before. "Because my mind was taken up with the details of this new assignment. Besides..." The working side of his mouth curled inward. "California is a land embraced by wealthy and ambitious men."

  "Have... have you told her that?"

  "There is no need. The decision as to her future is mine. It will do you no good to stall, Margarita. I want what is mine, and I want it now."

  Her body feeling hot and cold at the same time, she did as he'd ordered, exposing her legs. Once done with her stockings, she immediately smoothed her skirt down around her limbs.

  "What are you hiding from?" he challenged. "Do you think I haven't seen everything you have to offer, such as it is?"

  He wasn't going to berate her today, was he? I turn myself over to you, Lord. If it is your desire that I do this I will, but—

  Sebastian's broad hands clamped around her waist, and he pulled her close. Then he demanded she undress him. She did so, not thinking, working automatically.

  "Have you no curiosity, Wife?" he asked as he bunched her skirts around her hips. "It doesn't matter why I want you now instead of tonight?"

  "I... why?"

  "Because I have something more important to do then. I will be meeting with all adult male neophytes."

  "What—"

  "It is time for them to learn who is in charge." As if to prove his point, he pressed a thumbnail into her thigh. "And for them to understand I will not rest until I have Black Wolf in chains. Or dead."

  Chapter 8

  Walks at Night took two bites of venison and then passed the tightly woven basket to the man on his left. As the other adults did the same, Black Wolf felt his belly tighten. Tonight's meal was taking place in the wot's hut as proof that having Black Wolf back among them represented a special occasion. Although he wanted to eat with his son and wife, he understood how important his presence was. What bothered him wasn't the endless questions about what he'd seen and heard and done but how little his people had to eat.

  "When will you leave?" his friend Much Rain asked.

  "I am not sure," he answered. "First I will spend time with my son."

  "And with your wife?" Much Rain gave him a teasing glance. "You have been gone from her bed for a long time."

  "That will not happen," he admitted softly so the others wouldn't hear.

  "Poor Black Wolf. He is so ugly, so unmanly, that even his own wife cannot abide to sleep with him." Much Rain's features sobered. "I am sorry. I should not have joked about this. It is wise that she keep herself apart from you until she knows that the danger has passed."

  Although it was more complicated than that and surely Much Rain understood, Black Wolf agreed and then asked his friend when he'd last gone fishing.

  "Three days ago, but my spear remained dry There is little water in the creeks now; you know that. I want to go to the sea, but it is so far and the journey dangerous. My heart weeps because we have been forced to leave what should be our valley home."

  Much Rain was one of the tribe's better fishermen, and his frustration at his inability to provide for his people was etched in his too-dark eyes.

  "I have listened to you speak of the richness at the mission, their crops and livestock," Much Rain went on. "They make us live like grub seekers while they sell everything they do not need to sustain life. It is not right! I cannot sit here doing nothing."

  "Neither can I."

  Reluctantly Black Wolf turned toward his wot, who had just entered the conversation. Although he knew what was coming, he remained silent.

  "This time you will not travel to the mission alone," Walks at Night said. "I have spoken to the Paha, the Ksen, and with the shaman. It is wrong that we are hungry. It will be no more."

  . "My wot, I escape discovery because there is only one of me. A single deer slips easily through the forest, but a herd is easy to find."

  "That is true, but we have no choice. If we remain like hibernating mice, we will starve. Tell me, Black Wolf, if I were dead and you had become leader, would you say any different from what I just have?"

  Feeling both trapped and resigned, Black Wolf shook his head. Nothing, not even his life, was more important than giving his son and the other children the food they needed to turn them into strong adults.

  After much discussion, it was decided that Much Rain and his young, healthy wife, Willow, along with three other men would accompany Black Wolf. Willow had just announced that she was carrying their first child and was determined the child be born full of courage, and what better way to instill courage in the unborn than by enabling him or her to accompany his or her parents on a perilous journey?

  * * *

  Black Wolf spent the evening with his son. Although Fox Running's ability to concentrate on any one thing for more than a few minutes was limited, his father didn't mind. The boy's high-pitched chatter filled the air as they played and talked, but at length his laughter turned into a whine and then tears.

  "Are you tired, little man?" Black Wolf asked.

  "No. Tell me a story about whales."

  "I already did, twice."

  "Tell me another one. This time, this time there has to be a grizzly and a sea monster and five elk and an eagle and—I want an eagle for my spirit helper. Lots of eagles. Have a whole bunch of them in the story."

  "Wait a minute. I can't put all that into one tale."

  "Yes, you can."

  Touched by his son's confidence in him, Black Wolf pressed the boy against him. "All right," he said when the emotion that had clogged his throat receded. "But I want you to lie down with me while I tell it. Once we are rested, we can get up again."

  Fox Running grumbled that he didn't need to rest but didn't object when Black Wolf stretched out on his mat and held the boy against his side. Black Wolf kept his voice to a whisper, his hand gently rubbing the small, warm back. As Fox Running's breathing slowed, Black Wolf pressed his lips against the boy's forehead.

  "Listen to me, child of my heart," he whispered. "I love you as I have never loved before. Because you exist, I know why my father gave up his life for me. Thoughts of you bring sunlight to my days and strength to my body. You are why I live, why I will not run from the enemy, why I risk my life when I would rather be with you."

  Fox Running snuggled closer but gave no other indication he'd heard.

  "Wolf gives me the courage to do what I must, but if you did not exist, I would not care whether I had a skaluks."

  The boy sighed, the sound ending in a soft squeak that brought a smile to Black Wolfs lips.

  "Leaving you is so hard, my child. So very hard. I would give anything to..." Throat constricted, Black Wolf matched his breathing to that of his son; he would always remember the way the boy's body, limp and trusting, fit against his.

  Finally, because sleep was still far from him, Black Wolf got up and made his way to where his wife was. She started as he entered the makeshift shelter, her reaction letting him know that she'd been dozing beside her inert patient.

  "He still lives?" Black Wolf asked.

  "Yes," she whispered back. "But not for long. His lungs do not have the strength to fight what rages inside him."

  Coming a couple of steps closer, he listened. She was right. Every breath took so much effort that he hurt for the unconscious man. "His fever is no less?"

  "No. I hate this! Hate what is happening to our people!"

  R
abbit Dancing was like a slow-moving river. Although she walked as if she had nothing to do and no concerns, beneath the surface she churned. Perhaps it was her depth that he admired the most about her.

  "So do I, my wife. Most of all, I hate having to be away from our son."

  She hadn't yet looked up at him; that didn't change as she went on. "You do what you must," she said, whispering again. "You alone of our people understand the newcomers' language. When our son is older, you will teach him what he needs to know so he can carry on your wisdom, but for now..."

  Now Rabbit Dancing had to comfort Fox Running when he cried for his father, a fact that tore Black Wolf apart. "I pray it will not always be so," he admitted.

  "So do I, my husband, but what we want and what must be done cannot always be held in the same hand."

  Nodding, he ran his hand over her long graying hair.

  She looked up at him, her mouth soft. "It is good to have you here, but I fear that this sickness will touch you."

  "It already has."

  "What?" she gasped.

  "At the mission. I stood outside the infirmary, walked in the cemetery. And yet I remain well because Talks with Frogs has blessed this." He indicated his charm stone.

  "I pray you are right. Black Wolf, what happens between a man and his shaman should be for them alone, but I cannot let it be like that now. Please, what did Talks with Frogs say to you?"

  Taking a breath, he forced himself to continue. "He called his spirits around him and looked into the future. He saw danger there."

  "For you?"

  "Yes."

  Other than briefly lacing her fingers together, Rabbit Dancing gave no indication of her reaction. Scooting closer to her patient, she laid the back of her hand against his forehead. Black Wolf wanted to believe the man's illness would die with him but had seen it spread so quickly among the Chumash that it seemed capable of outrunning the swiftest deer.

  "Our son sleeps," he said softly. "I would like to be like him, full of energy and curiosity about his world."

  "I wish you could be, too, my husband. The enemy robbed you of so much of your childhood."

  That was the past; he refused to dwell there when only the future mattered. "If anything happens to me," he said, "if I die, take Fox Running far from here. Keep him safe."

  "Black Wolf, this is where the bones of our ancestors are buried. Our legends come from this land. Everything we are springs from this ground."

  Why couldn't his wife be like the women forced to live at the mission? Along with their freedom they seemed to have lost their ability to feel, to think, to look into the future, to embrace-the past.

  "I know," was all he could say.

  Rabbit Dancing tucked the deer hide blanket around her patient's body and got to her feet. She first pushed her hair back from where it had slid across her cheek and neck and then reached for but didn't touch Black Wolf.

  Her sigh came from deep within her. "I will do as you ask, my husband, not because I want to hear your words, but because they live within me as well. If I must raise our son without you, I promise it will be in a safe place."

  He needed to ask her where she planned to take Fox Running, but the question would have to wait, because she wasn't done speaking.

  "What you ask of me," she whispered, "I ask of you."

  "You speak of your death? That will not—" he began, then stopped himself because they'd always been honest with each other. "I promise. Whatever I must do to keep him safe, I will."

  Rabbit Dancing's eyes glistened. He didn't want to think of her dying, not just because Fox Running needed his mother, but because she was a good woman, gentle and wise, peaceful when he might be wild.

  "There are some who say it is foolish to bring more children into the village when we cannot promise them safety and enough food," she said. "But I say that without babies, there will be no more Chumash."

  Rabbit Dancing seldom had her woman's bleeding anymore. He hated placing his seed inside her only to see her pain when her body didn't begin to swell with life. Still, they might never again be man and wife.

  "Earlier you did not want me in this place," he told her. "You have changed your mind?"

  Her mouth worked and a thin line of tears slid down her cheeks. "I want... I want you."

  He held out his hand, but she didn't take it. Instead: "Go! Please go, husband of my heart."

  Fighting not the need to release himself inside her but his desire to comfort her, he remained where he was.

  "You believe your faith protects you from illness," she whispered. "I want to share that belief, but I prayed over this one." She indicated her patient. "So has the shaman and still he is dying. Go. When you return we will..."

  Once again she was alone. Hoping to protect herself against that pain, Rabbit Dancing busied herself by first finger-combing her hair and then braiding it, but finally the silence caught her in its grip. Dropping to her knees, she wiped sweat from her patient's temple.

  "He will return," she whispered. "And when he does, his seed will be strong and my desire for him even stronger. It will be different then, my body no longer old."

  "Yes," she continued. "The spirits protect him, guide his feet. Surely they want his courage to run through the veins of all his children. Our children."

  * * *

  Split between fear for Rabbit Dancing, exhaustion, and apprehension about tomorrow, Black Wolf fell into a light sleep all too easily invaded by discomforting dreams. His son kicked him lightly once, waking him. He tried to bury himself in nothing again but couldn't find his way back to oblivion.

  Wolf would lead him where he needed to go and guide his feet. Wolf, his skaluks, knew what was in his heart. Walk with me into the future. Show me what will become of my people. Tell me what I must do to protect them. This I ask of you, beg of you.

  Shadows swirled closer. Made up of grays and black, they settled over him, softly trapping him. He couldn't tell whether they were warm or cold, wondered briefly if they now encompassed the entire world of the Chumash, and then it no longer mattered. Someone—maybe him—floated into the great dark shape. It seemed a wonderful place to be.

  For a long time there was nothing, and then the grays and blacks returned and Black Wolf—at least what of him he could command—embraced the shaded world and pulled it in around him.

  He wasn't alone. Forcing his heavy legs to walk, he approached the figure. Only he'd been wrong, as there were two figures.

  Black Wolf, my son, one of them said without words.

  Black Wolf, son of my son.

  Although the two men were surrounded by mist, making it impossible for Black Wolf to make out their faces, he knew their voices. The spirits of his father and grandfather had come from the resting place of all Chumash spirits and were waiting for him; either that or his dream-self had found its way to them.

  Where are we? he asked.

  We do not know. Maybe C'oyinashup. Maybe 'Alapay.

  The difference between the lower and upper world was great, and he should care which it was, but he didn't. His grandfather showed himself first. Although Black Wolfs memories of Lame Deer were of a man imprinted by time, the years had blown away, leaving a warrior in his prime. His eyes glowed with a red light, and his mouth hung slightly open like that of a panting animal.

  You are well? Black Wolf asked, but his grandfather didn't answer.

  Carrying a broken spear, Black Wolfs father stepped close to a fire that hadn't been there before. As Black Wolf watched, his father threw the spear into the fire, but before it could be consumed, it began to rain and the fire went out.

  What does that mean? he demanded. What does that mean? His grandfather was still panting. His chest heaved as if he couldn't catch his breath.

  Answer me! What are you doing?

  The two men had started to kneel beside the embers, but he must have startled them, as they suddenly looked up. Their eyes changed color and when he looked deep into them he saw a world of spring-
green grass.

  Are you looking into the future? Is that what you see?

  They were gone; perhaps they'd floated up to join the smoke, but he couldn't be sure. The gray and black shadows were returning, and he felt an almost overwhelming desire to lose himself in the dark colors, but he couldn't because his spirit still belonged to his earthly body.

  The only sounds were his son's soft grunts and groans. Fox Running had pulled himself into a tight ball, his head resting on his father's outstretched arm. Black Wolf absently brushed the boy's coarse hair back from his face and then slid his arm out from under the surprisingly heavy head.

  To dream of one's dead ancestors meant a warning of danger.

  Suddenly cold, Black Wolf sat up. No light reached the sleeping area, which meant the sun was a long way from chasing away the night. He had been unable to give his father a Chumash burial. Despite his sorrow over a task not completed, he had been careful not to think about his father in the evenings. To have both men in the same dream—

  Preparing himself for what might be the inevitable, he vowed to take along a tule blanket in the morning so his people would have something to carry his body back in. Much Rain and the others who accompanied him would see his burden and know but not question, because no Chumash ever asked another about his thoughts of death. Even Rabbit Dancing would remain silent; only her eyes would speak.

  Not thinking, Black Wolf clutched his son to him. The boy stirred and let out a small squeak but remained a limp and trusting bundle in his arms.

  "I love you," he whispered. "And if it takes my death to keep you safe, I gladly sacrifice myself."

  * * *

  A week had passed since she'd seen Black Wolf, and in that time Lucita had come to half-believe he'd been a figment of her imagination. Her days were taken up with what she had to do in the infirmary, and what little time was left over was spent either in prayer or watching the neophytes, particularly the children.

  Another neophyte, a middle-aged woman, had died, but Lucita concentrated on the fact that the boy with the wounded leg seemed to be getting better. The last time she'd taken him outside, another boy a few years older than the one she called Midnight because his eyes reminded her of that had joined them. From the way the two acted around each other she decided they were related, brothers perhaps. She still had no idea where their mother was or if the woman was alive but would continue to watch and observe and encourage the older one to visit.