The Soul Survivors Series Boxed Set

by Vella Munn

  "I wondered if I would find you here," Much Rain said. "What keeps you at this place? If I had any choice, I would never again look at the enemy's walls."

  "What brings you here, my friend?" Scooping up some of the berries, he handed them to Much Rain. "Nothing forces you."

  "Maybe," he said on the tail of a frown. "Maybe not. Black Wolf, I have done much thinking. Without my wife beside me, life has become like a dry creek bed."

  "I am sorry."

  Much Rain lowered himself to the ground and began sorting through the berries, eating only a few. "I spoke to the shaman, took his herbs, and prayed for a night filled with telling dreams, but they have not come."

  Much Rain hadn't looked at him since their initial greeting. Remembering times when his own musings lay tangled inside him, he waited.

  "My house has become too small," Much Rain continued after a long silence. "I look around and see my wife's relatives, my relatives. They take up so much space that there is none left for me."

  "That can happen."

  "Did it for you? When your wife died, did you feel as if you had grown to the size of a grizzly? You wanted to roar in pain and rage but were afraid that if you began, you could never stop?"

  "Much Rain, listen to me," Black Wolf insisted. "What you and your wife had was far from what I shared with mine. She was my wife, yes, but she never held the same place in my heart that yours did with you."

  Leaning forward, Much Rain idly picked up and then discarded several berries. "What I had was rare; I know that. She and I chose each other. When we came together in bed, it was with joy and laughter."

  What was that like? Black Wolf considered reminding Much Rain that he was a young brave and would surely find another wife, but although Much Rain knew he was expected to marry again, perhaps no one would ever fill the holes in his heart caused by Willow's death.

  "What do you want of me?" Black Wolf asked.

  "What?" Much Rain pressed his hand over his eyes, breathing deep and slow. "I do not know. I—when I awoke this morning, all that mattered was that she was not beside me and I would shatter into a thousand pieces, like ice, if I did not do something. I started to walk. And while I walked, I tried to look into the future. When you do, what do you see?"

  A few minutes ago Black Wolf had nearly convinced himself that he had nothing to think about except filling his belly and watching to make sure the leatherjackets didn't begin a new search for his people, but that was before Much Rain found him. Now, forced to face the question, he admitted he'd only been putting off the inevitable.

  "I am not a shaman," he said. "I cannot stare at tomorrow."

  "But surely you have thought beyond today."

  Not just tomorrow, but the rest of his life. "I see my son becoming a man. Nothing is more important to me."

  "What kind of a man? Free or slave?"

  "Free!"

  "Can you promise him that? Can you?"

  Wolf, his spirit, protected him and made it possible for him to walk within the shadow of the mission walls; he would always believe that. But Fox Running was too young to have made his spirit search and thus walked exposed and naked.

  "You could not promise your wife that she would live to be an old woman," he said. "Do not ask me to do more."

  "I did not mean to." Much Rain briefly met his gaze. "Black Wolf, there is none among us whose relationship with his spirit is closer. You say that your woman did not live in your heart, but your son does, just as my wife lived in mine."

  "Yes."

  "That is why I am here. To ask you, Black Wolf, what lives inside you."

  "Freedom," he said without having to think about his response.

  "Is that all?"

  "You think it is not enough?"

  "I have no answers," Much Rain whispered. "I want to hate the enemy. When I think of what the leatherjackets did to her, an earthquake builds inside me, but then the earthquake is gone and nothing is left except grief."

  "I do not want that for you!" he said as he gripped Much Rain's hand. The leatherjackets never touched each other; maybe they thought it unmanly. But how could he call himself a man if he didn't offer comfort to a friend in pain? "If I could find a way to make you believe in tomorrow, I would do it."

  Sighing, Much Rain nodded. "I think... maybe it is not answers I need from you. Maybe it is enough to know you will listen."

  "No, that is not enough."

  When Much Rain stared at him, he gathered his thoughts around him and then began. "I became a warrior because Wolf was strong within me. I am still a warrior, but becoming a father has changed me and made me look beyond myself.

  "That is what I thought about the last time I went to Humqaq," he continued. "I opened myself to the First People, Evening Star, the Gods of the Moon and Sun, the Great Unknown, and those beings filled me. I am Fox Running's father. Wolf has become my father, but he is guided by the spirits of our ancestors. No matter what the padres say, this is what I will always believe."

  "Humqaq," Much Rain whispered, his eyes misting.

  "It is where our hearts and souls belong. Without that place with its memories and spirits, the Chumash are nothing. You and I are nothing."

  Groaning, Much Rain picked up a blackberry and placed it in his mouth. "If the leatherjackets have their way, soon we will no longer be able to go there. Maybe soon there will be none of us left to make the journey."

  "We have only today," Black Wolf said. "And the belief that because we have Humqaq we will face tomorrow."

  Much Rain sighed but didn't drop his gaze. "Once I laughed and sang because I believed a woman and I would face that time together, but now I am alone."

  "No, you are not! Her spirit, our gods, the memories of our ancestors wait for you at Humqaq, but only you can seek them out."

  "Come there with me."

  "I cannot."

  "Why?"

  "Because..." Scanning the sky, Black Wolf spotted a distant hawk floating on an unseen breeze. "You need to begin your journey to tomorrow, but I am caught in today."

  Chapter 26

  His anger would have been better. Instead, silence pounded at the walls, the impact so great that Lucita thought she might scream.

  Perhaps ten feet away, her father stood staring out the same window that had held her attention a few minutes ago. Father Joseph had slipped close to her mother as if trying to give comfort and put distance between himself and the military man, but Father Patricio only watched from beneath lowered lids, what might be the threat of a smile on his lips. Pablo hadn't spoken, and she couldn't force herself to look at him, or maybe the truth was she didn't dare take her eyes off her father.

  "You refuse?" Sebastian asked.

  "Not refuse. I need more time." Time to comprehend the hold Black Wolf and his world has on me.

  "What do you want—for Pablo to shower you with gifts?"

  "No, of course not. Father, so much has happened since I came here; I'm confused. I—"

  "Are you?"

  There was something deadly in the simple question. Warned and terrified of what he'd say next, she remained silent.

  "You think me a fool, but I am not."

  "Sebastian, please," her mother moaned. "Your daughter would never—"

  "Quiet, woman! This daughter of yours who professes to be so enthralled with the way of life here? I wonder what you would say if you knew the truth?"

  No!

  "Shall I say the words, Lucita, or will you, finally?"

  "I don't know what you want."

  "Don't you!" Gray-red splotches appeared on Sebastian's cheeks, and the injured side of his face spasmed uncontrollably. "I know what happened last night."

  Suddenly colder than she'd ever been, she could only stare at Father Patricio. In an insane way, she waited for him to at least apologize for what he'd done, but a man who feels regret doesn't allow his smile to grow.

  "It was my duty to tell your father about the savage, Lucita," the padre insisted. "Surely you
know that."

  A thousand useless excuses slammed through her, but she dismissed them. "He isn't a savage."

  "Lucita!"

  "He isn't, Mother. He's a Chumash warrior named Black Wolf. He—"

  "I know his name," her father interrupted. "He's a killer."

  Killer.

  "Go on, daughter; deny that he was responsible for Mundo's death."

  "Mundo killed Willow," she said, her voice strong and level.

  "Willow?" Sebastian demanded. "What are you talking about?"

  If self-preservation were all that mattered to her, she would have remained silent, but she couldn't let the others believe Black Wolf was a cold-blooded killer; she couldn't! Dividing her attention among everyone in the room, she told them how Mundo had come across Willow and beaten her to the point of death when she tried to fight him off. Margarita looked in shock. Father Joseph kept shaking his head like a weary dog while her father's eyes hardened even more and Father Patricio stared without blinking. Pablo didn't look at her.

  "How do you know this?" Sebastian demanded.

  "Black Wolf told me." She kept her gaze steady, bold even. "And I believe him. He speaks Spanish nearly as well as we do. He isn't a savage; neither are the others he lives with. That's... that's what—there's so much hostility and hatred, the Church and military treating the Indians like animals. I—"

  "Enough!" Sebastian stalked toward her, stopping when he was so close that she could smell his hot breath. Grabbing her, he yanked her with him as he stalked from the room. Despite her need to concentrate on what was happening, she stole a glance over her shoulder, catching a glimpse of the tears forming in her mother's eyes and the disbelief on Pablo's face.

  Because resisting her father would only infuriate him more, she concentrated on keeping up with him. A number of neophytes stopped what they were doing to stare at them, but no one made a move to interfere. At first she thought he was taking her back to where he'd imprisoned her before. Instead, he made his way to the church, every boot step vibrating through her, and, after opening the heavy door, shoved her in ahead of him.

  "Go on!" he bellowed. "Repeat what you just said, only this time do it in God's house!"

  Knocked off balance, she fell to her knees but quickly scrambled to her feet. Her heart felt as if it might burst from her chest, and yet although she had never been more afraid of her father, her emotions went far deeper than that.

  "My daughter." He planted himself between her and the door. "My daughter fornicating with a savage!"

  "I haven't! Father, I—"

  His fingers formed a fist. "I'm not interested in your lies, Lucita. If you were a man, I would have already killed you."

  "Don't let that stop you."

  "What?"

  "You hate me. Why should it matter to you whether I'm alive or not?"

  "It doesn't."

  Pain slashed through her, but she struggled to keep her reaction to herself. "Then why—"

  "Why are we here? How little you know of a soldier's life, Lucita. When Father Patricio came to me with his story of seeing you and Black Wolf together, I no longer wanted to call you my daughter. My first thought was to marry you off as quickly as possible. No matter what happens between you and me, I must still face my superiors. I will hold my head high. If everyone believed I had arranged a successful marriage for you, the truth would never have to come out. But—"

  He cupped his hand over his chin, looking like a man contemplating a mathematical equation. "But heart and soul I am a soldier. I know my duty."

  She understood his rage and even his anger, but this coolly deliberate way of speaking made her half-sick with fear. Struggling against the emotion, she looked around as if fascinated by her surroundings.

  "That's why I wanted to come to La Purisima," she insisted. "Because I believed I had a duty to serve God's children. But I was wrong."

  He waved his hand as if dismissing her, but as long as he didn't shout her into silence, she'd fight to make herself understood.

  "The Indians aren't God's children; I now believe that. For thousands of years they embraced their own deities and were at peace with that belief, but we're trying to take that from them. It, isn't right."

  "If you believe that, you are the only one. Enough! I have no intention of arguing this point with you."

  "Then why—"

  "Why did I want us to be alone?" His laugh reminded her of a crow's shrill cry. "Because there's something I want from you. Once I have it, I don't care what you do—because you are no longer my daughter."

  "No longer my daughter."

  "What is it?"

  "How bold you are. How brave." This time his laugh sounded forced. "Oh, yes, you would have made a good soldier. One thing." He held up his forefinger. "And then I will never have to speak to you again."

  "Why? Because you are going to kill me?"

  "Do not tempt me."

  Their voices echoed in the empty high-ceilinged room—strange that she hadn't noticed that before. In the silence that followed his last words, she found herself being drawn to him, not because she held out a desperate hope that they could salvage anything in the way of a relationship, but because the man would always be her father. He held himself as he always had, straight and tall, refusing to let the years and miles and battles have their way with him. There were flecks of gray in his hair and tiny grooves around his eyes. His mouth had once been gentle, hadn't it? The child who still lived inside her remembered that he'd laughed as she toddled after him, held her, kissed her.

  Now nothing remained except the memory.

  "Where is he?"

  He. "I don't know."

  "Do not lie to me, Lucita."

  He leaned closer and invaded her space, but she refused to shrink away. He'd said she would have made a good soldier, and in some perverse way she wanted to prove him right. "I'm not lying."

  "No? How many times have you met with him?"

  "I don't remember."

  Something that might have been pain flickered in his eyes. "Why? What does he—never mind! The thought of you with that murdering savage disgusts me."

  Black Wolf had killed because a soldier had ended the life of one of his people, but reminding her father of that would serve no purpose. "He's an intelligent human being," she said, conviction coating every word.

  "Don't waste your breath, Lucita. The only thing that matters to me is defeating my enemy. Now, where is he?"

  "Why won't you believe me? I told you I—"

  "You think you can defy me? How little you know of a soldier's ways. If you believe nothing else of me, believe this. I have ways of forcing you to bring him to me."

  * * *

  Something was making him restless, and Black Wolf knew better than to ignore that. Although he'd sent Much Rain off with the rest of his berries, he didn't seek distraction by looking for something to eat. Instead, he crouched on a mound of earth and felt the day's heat seep into his feet and the top of his head.

  The wind had all but gone to sleep, which was often its way when summer beat down around everything. Like the animals and birds, maybe the wind, too, ran out of energy under the relentless sun, but he didn't dare.

  Awareness touched him with the strength of a hummingbird's feathers, first reminding him of the need to constantly survey his surroundings, then forcing him to his feet. There was little about the land to hold his attention, just softly rolling hills and dry grass shimmering with heat waves. The sky was hazed and in the distance it was impossible to tell where the land let off and the heavens began, but because he could see for miles in all directions, he became convinced that what he felt had nothing to do with his immediate world.

  He pulled air deep into his lungs, but although his senses were keen, they told him nothing. Perhaps he was reacting to the things he and Much Rain had said and shared. Perhaps...

  Lucita.

  When her name touched him, he wrapped himself around it, held it close, tested and tasted, found n
o danger.

  Not danger to him, but...

  What is it, Wolf? I trust what my body tells me about my world, but this is not about me.

  Not all of the grayness came from the hazy sky. Some of it, a hard and powerful shape coming toward him, stood apart. On legs that felt strong enough to carry him to the ends of the earth, he walked toward his spirit until they stood only a few feet apart. Wolf's eyes were both red and black, his teeth white and sharp, his nostrils flared. The powerful chest could survive the strongest arrow—not that any warrior would ever raise a weapon to Wolf.

  My heart embraces you, my spirit. I take your presence into me and know I am blessed.

  Wolf never spoke. What he thought and believed had always come to Black Wolf in the form of emotion. Today he felt an icy ripple down his spine.

  You warn of danger. To me?

  A brief nod of the great head.

  To my people?

  A shake.

  Then who?

  Wolf leaned forward and lowered his head, his snout pressing against Black Wolfs chest.

  Danger to my heart?

  A nod.

  To someone I hold close to my heart?

  Another nod.

  To my son?

  A shake.

  * * *

  Lucita would never know what had transpired between her father and Father Patricio, and even if she did, it wouldn't have mattered. All that did was that the padre had opened the church door and was stepping inside.

  He wasn't alone.

  "What are you doing?" she demanded when she realized that the boy she'd rescued from Father Patricio stood behind the padre, his hands tied behind him and a rope around his neck. "My God, what are you doing?"

  "Stacking the deck," Father Patricio replied. After closing the door, he pulled the boy with him to where Sebastian stood.

  "Father, what is this about?"

  "I am not your father, Lucita! Not any longer. So you believe you know more about how this child should be treated than Father Patricio does, do you?"

  "He's afraid of him." This wasn't happening! How could her father possibly care about this child? He had no use for him, no reason—