The Native (A Legacy Series Novella) (The Legacy Series Book 6)

by Sheritta Bitikofer

  A twig snapped to the south and Adam honed in on it, just as he did when Geoffrey went into the village. He tested the air, breathing it in until he caught the distinct scent of deer fur. He knew its smell well after the countless time he had to make leather out of their hides. Listening more closely, he could hear its heartbeat and the grinding of its teeth as it munched on grasses under the moonlight.

  He opened his eyes and looked in the direction of the doe. In the darkness, he could just barely make out its shape on the horizon. So far away and, yet, he could see it perfectly as if it were daytime. It was then that he realized it was the wolf’s eyes that allowed him to spot it so clearly.

  A wild thought came to Adam. He could get that deer. He was more than fast enough and it’d be a straight shot to get there. Nothing to trip over, nothing to collide with, except the warm body of the potential meal before him.

  He slowly rose to his feet, as if his prey would sense his movement and run.

  “Now what are you doing?” Hugo groaned impatiently. Adam was only vaguely aware that his uncle had been trying to tell him a story about a certain adventure in the far north. He hadn’t been listening. Not when there were so many other interesting things to observe.

  Adam only held out his hand to silence him.

  It didn’t take long for Hugo to figure it out.

  “Don’t you dare run off after some – “

  Too late. Adam darted toward the deer as fast as his legs could carry him, beseeching the wolf within him to help. His feet pounded against the dry earth with every long stride that carried him through the night. The spindly thorns of the bushes slashed at his trousers as he went.

  Adam was almost upon the doe and it didn’t even lift up its head from grazing.

  A sharp crack rang out, as loud as the thunder during a rainstorm. Adam had once experienced lightning striking outside the village and just like now, he felt the force of the blow in his chest.

  He tackled the deer and sank his teeth into its neck out of pure instinct. To his surprise, he drew blood and it gushed out over his lips. Yet, he couldn’t feel the thrumming of its pulse anymore. The doe’s heart stopped before he ever latched on.

  That’s when a new smell drifted through the haze of instinct.

  Gunpowder.

  Geoffrey had shown him his pistol once before when he was young, and he even fired it to show the kind of damage it could do. But that had been years ago and none of the Diné owned a gun or musket.

  Adam let go of the doe and looked to the source of the gunshot. Tucked away atop a ridge, so deep in the shadows that he could scarcely make out his shape, was Geoffrey, clutching that same pistol in his hand. A wisp of smoke plumed upward from the barrel, catching the moonlight to give away his position.

  Adam stood and looked to his own hands. His nails were no longer dull, but long and sharp like the talons of a hawk… or a wolf. Dark red blood covered his fingers and glistened as he turned over his palms to see if fur had grown during the hunt. Not yet. He tried to speak, but his tongue pricked against the pointed fangs that had taken the place of his human teeth.

  “You should have waited at camp,” his father scolded as he slid down the incline to join his son by the kill.

  The seconds ticked by, but Adam’s fangs and claws didn’t recede, and he wondered what he could do to push aside the wolfish part of him that expressed itself so unconsciously. He stretched out his fingers, feeling the tight muscles beneath his skin strain with the effort. Only then did the claws slowly shrink away. His teeth were soon to follow when he flexed his jaw in just the right way.

  Geoffrey was already hoisting the deer over his shoulder, lifting it with such ease that shouldn’t have amazed Adam as much as it did.

  “Why use a gun when you can kill it yourself?” he asked as they walked back toward the lambent campfire in the distance. It was no more than a mere twinkling light, like a star.

  “Sometimes, it’s best to do things the hard way than the convenient way.”

  Adam huffed, and he wiped the blood from his lips onto the clean shirt sleeve. “I don’t understand. Now, you have to buy more gunpowder and bullets. You could have done what I tried, and you would have wasted nothing.”

  Geoffrey gestured to his son’s shirt. “And look at you,” he insisted. “Now, we have to clean that shirt. There’s blood all over it.”

  Adam looked down and saw the dark speckling against the formerly unblemished cloth. “Another reason to not wear clothes at all,” he murmured under his breath.

  “Trust me, you’ll need clothes. You may think it’ll be sufficient to live out in the wild all your life, but it won’t be possible forever. You’ll need to be with people at some point, take a wife, travel… You can’t do any of these things without clothes and manners.”

  A wry smile spread across Adam’s mouth. “I don’t need a shirt to take a wife.”

  Geoffrey slid him a look that spoke volumes of what he thought on that subject and ruffled Adam’s hair the way he used to when he was small. Instead of swatting his hand away like he had done so often before, he allowed his father to tease him.

  It had been far too long since they’d shared a moment like this. So many years spent in silence, estranged from one another, all for a reason that seemed so silly to Adam now. He should have been spending his time embracing this future, not scorning it. Even now, with his chin and hands covered in the doe’s blood, he felt more in balance with the world around him than he ever had before. There was no Diné song or ceremony that could ever bring him this close to nature.

  But this man who played a part in giving him life, had also given him the one thing he had desired most – to belong. He wanted to take back every scathing glare, every harsh word he had spoken in anger toward his father, and all the years he had spent festering in his rage.

  Not knowing the words to say, Adam simply met his father’s gaze, and hoped that it would serve as enough. It took a moment, but Geoffrey understood and nodded, a silent granting of forgiveness.

  It might have been a mistake to take the path straight through Santa Fe to the presidio on the other side of the sprawling settlement. Adam exhibited such outstanding control over his abilities that Geoffrey thought he might be able to rejoin society sooner than he had anticipated. They discovered a slight disagreement on the best method for hunting, but other than that, Adam didn’t display any of the obvious unrestrained behavior that younger werewolves were given to.

  As they rode their horses through the dusty streets, Geoffrey still couldn’t understand it. Adam had only been a werewolf for one day and he had mastered skills that had taken his father years to learn. The way he commanded his claws and fangs to retract, how he was able to pounce upon that doe without Geoffrey even realizing what he was doing, all of it was too fantastic to believe. The boy who had scorned what his father was in his youth, was now on his way to becoming the most remarkable werewolf that Geoffrey had ever known.

  Looking at him now, however, Geoffrey wondered if it was too good to be true. Adam might have been too proud to openly admit it, but the faint scent of fear was undeniable. Trotting past the Spanish settlers in Santa Fe, his son was the picture of calm with his chin up and shoulders back. Even his stare stayed fixed upon the path ahead.

  All the while, Geoffrey could feel that tension building.

  As far as he knew, Adam had never stepped foot in what they called a civilized community. He would have never seen houses and shops lining the thoroughfare, nor the carts laden down with crates and goods to trade in the marketplace. The attire of the settlers alone would have confused him if their foreign speech didn’t. Even after spending years in Spain before they’d come to the new world, Geoffrey had a little trouble keeping up with their quick conversations.

  If any average native had stepped into Santa Fe, they would have been awed by the sights. As a werewolf, Adam should have been too overwhelmed to even bear the constant noise and myriad of odors for too long. And yet, he
braved it all like the warrior his people proclaimed him to be.

  On the other side of Adam, Hugo waved and cheerfully greeted the women who passed them by. He had no problem integrating into society. They accepted him – as well as Geoffrey - though the men were still paler than the Mexicans and Spanish who were pushing their boundaries northward. Adam, however, wouldn’t mesh in so seamlessly. Though his skin was lighter than the Navajo or other natives in the region, his facial features and strong cheekbones were a clear giveaway that one of his parents was not European. If that wasn’t enough, Adam was riding bareback upon his horse. No cultured man did that in this community.

  It was because of this that many people stared and whispered to their neighbors about Adam being a scout for a coming raid. Men, though they held their tongues, gave the threesome hateful sneers as if they had already committed some crime just by walking into the town. Children hid behind their mothers’ skirts when they pointed and cried out in fear of the stranger who meant them no harm whatsoever.

  Adam, of course, didn’t speak Spanish, so he wouldn’t have known what they were saying, but Geoffrey did. He heard and understood every word, which he did not care to translate to his son.

  He kicked his horse into a canter and the other two followed. If they could just get Adam out of the crowds, then perhaps he would be more at ease.

  The presidio, a garrison established to protect the settlers from threats like invading native tribes, came into view with its adobe walls and wooden towers where soldiers watched for trouble night and day in shifts. From inside, he could hear the men laugh and joke as they settled down for their noonday meal after being put through drills earlier that morning. Perfect timing. Now, Captain Hernando Ortiz de Cadiz would be free to have a talk with his old friend.

  The three approached the fortified gates and a guard shouted down to them.

  “Quién eres tú?” he asked.

  “Necesito consultar con usted capitán,” Geoffrey called back.

  “Again, I ask, who are you?” the guard repeated a little impatiently.

  Geoffrey knew the man must have been eyeing Adam by the way he didn’t open the gates as readily as he did before. The scent of Adam’s own fear was coupled with that of the Spaniard’s.

  “Just tell him I’m an old friend. If that won’t do, remind him of the Apache raid in Albuquerque and who saved his ass from being scalped.”

  Hugo stifled a laugh and Adam looked to his father, probably puzzled as to what he was saying since he wasn’t speaking either English or Navajo. But he would have picked up the word “Apache” rather quickly. The two tribes were well aware of one another.

  The guard chuckled and turned to his fellow soldiers to gossip about what event Geoffrey had been referring to. The message was relayed across the presidio and soon, the gates were opened and half a dozen guards with their rifles came out to greet them.

  Adam stiffened upon his horse, but when he saw that the men didn’t charge forward to seize him, the boy relaxed a little.

  “You two stay here while I go in to talk,” Geoffrey said to the others as he dismounted. He passed the reins to his son and followed two of the guards inside.

  Something must have happened to make them so ready to arm themselves against their visitors. Maybe it was Adam, but Geoffrey suspected it must have been something else. He had been to this presidio once before and they should have recognized him, unless they’d had to enlist new soldiers recently. That could mean one of two things. Either the old company transferred to another presidio, or there was a raid that diminished their numbers enough to call for reinforcements.

  He and the guards crossed the spacious courtyard speckled with canvas tents where the soldiers slept. The stables along the north wall of the presidio were packed with their horses, who looked weary and gaunt from hunger. To the south, men congregated where the cook ladled out meager portions of rather thin looking soup. They appeared just as famished as the horses.

  The officers’ quarters were erected on the opposite side of the presidio from the gate, and inside he could hear the captain talking softly with some of his subordinates about the latest supply inventory. It didn’t sound favorable and Geoffrey questioned whether Hernando would have any medicine to spare at all.

  He ducked into the adobe building. The cool air was refreshing, but the cramped, musty smell of wood, earth, and sweat was less than appealing. Through a few adjoining rooms, they came to the captain’s office where he sat at a desk covered with maps of the known territory. The Spanish had been trying to expand their settlements to the north, but the natives of this land would not be so easily conquered.

  The Spanish might have been a mightier, more sophisticated fighting force than the Navajo, Apache, Ute, or Comanche, but they couldn’t understand the kind of resistance they faced. These natives would fight until their last breath to defend their homeland. No amount of gold or promises to share resources would convince them to simply step aside.

  Seated at the desk was a man who enjoyed his natillas a little too much. His chubby face was covered in a thick dark beard with a touch of gray that matched his bushy brows that furrowed at the slightest displeasing thought. It looked like they had been furrowing quite a lot, as the wrinkles on his forehead could attest.

  As soon as Captain Hernando lifted his eyes and saw who was coming to pay him an unwarranted visit, he immediately brightened up. “Mi amigo!” he cried in his booming voice as he stood with his arms outstretched. The younger officers around him looked to Geoffrey, but each of their faces were new and didn’t alight with that same recognition.

  Geoffrey grinned and made his way past the guards to clasp arms with the captain.

  “It is so good to see you!” Hernando said. “You look like you haven’t aged a day. What has it been? Thirty years?”

  “I believe it was twenty since that fight in Albuquerque,” Geoffrey returned.

  Hernando shushed him. “We don’t speak of that battle,” he warned in a hushed voice as he glanced to his officers with a playfully suspicious look. “These children don’t know about it.”

  “Ah, is that why you won’t tell them how – “

  “None of that!” Hernando laughed, waving away the rest of the embarrassing story that Geoffrey was about to tell. He dismissed the men who appeared to be eager to get in line for the soup outside in the courtyard, and soon Hernando and Geoffrey were alone to discuss business.

  “So, why have you come to visit an old, humble captain such as myself?” Hernando asked as he heavily sat back in his rickety wooden chair. “Surely you’re not interested in joining the militia here in Santa Fe?”

  Geoffrey spotted a chair on the other side of the room and went to retrieve it, so he might sit down as well. “Nothing so insane,” he teased. “I was surprised to hear that you were transferred here after Captain Benito de Rivera retired six months ago.”

  Hernando flicked his wrist as if it were a matter of no importance. “After an altercation with the Tigua natives, I haven’t been able to lead an army into battle. So the generals were content to give me Santa Fe. After last week, however, I don’t think I’ll be on this assignment for much longer.”

  He sat the chair down on the other side of the desk from Hernando and straddled it while crossing his arms over the back. “Por qué?”

  The Spanish captain heaved a heavy sigh and gestured toward the pane-less window that looked out over the courtyard. “Comanches, that’s why. They didn’t even touch the town, but made straight for the presidio. Stole most of our food and supplies. We’re not due to get another shipment of rations in for another week and my men aren’t paid enough to eat in town. Some of the women have been nice enough to bring us bread and tortillas, but they’re just as poor as we are.”

  Geoffrey’s heart sank. The Comanche natives were known to be ruthless raiders. He understood that they took what they needed for their own survival, but they also left broken homes and empty storehouses in their wake. “I think I
have the answer I came for, then.”

  Hernando’s brows furrowed again. “What was the question?”

  “I was going to ask if we could do some trade. I’m in need of some medicine.”

  The captain laughed until his fat belly jiggled under his uniform. “You don’t look sick, and in all that time we fought beside one another, I never saw you so much as stop to catch your breath.”

  “It’s not for me,” Geoffrey said, his hands tightening over his upper arms nervously. “It’s for… It’s for my family.”

  Hernando gave him a sly smile. “I also never thought you’d settle down and take a bride. I am sorry to hear they aren’t well, though. Have you come a long way?”

  Geoffrey shrugged. “The distance isn’t important. My wife and her people have – “

  “Her people?” he interjected.

  This was what he had wanted to avoid. Prejudices were just as sour between the Spanish and the Navajo as they were with the Comanche. “Yes, my wife is Navajo.” Hernando’s soft smile faded and he nodded while he waited for Geoffrey to continue. “She’s the first to come down with the fever in her village, but many more tribes are suffering.” He went on to explain the symptoms and how he had seen this same disease sweep through the Spanish and Mexican settlements to the south. “Do you have the medicine to cure it? I thought that perhaps since Santa Fe suffered its own outbreak, you’d still have some on hand.”

  Hernando let out a heavy sigh and shook his head. “If I had any, I would give it to you, amigo. I’d forget the fact that this would be aiding the enemy, and I’d give you as much as you asked, no charge. I owe you that much. But, the Comanche took the medicine too. If you want it, you’ll have to go steal it back from those percantas.”

  Geoffrey rubbed at his cheek, deep in thought. Most of the Comanche were nomadic and the raid was a week ago. What was the likelihood that they would still be relatively close by? Could they track the raiding party from the presidio to their current camp?