Ice Princess

by Judith B. Glad

  He struggled briefly, then relaxed against her. Before long he had wriggled about until his head lay on the mound of fry grass that served her as a pillow and he was quiet. He seemed to sleep, but Flower did not.

  Oh, William! Your worst fear has come to pass. You are caught and they will make you a slave again!

  No! They will not! I cannot let that happen. Not to you!

  * * * *

  There was pale sunlight streaming through the crack in the roof when William awoke. He moved, a little at first, then a little more. His shoulders screamed hold still! but he ignored them.

  He sat up, the breath hissing through his teeth when he found that there were whip cuts clear around onto the sides of his belly. Deep ones, still seeping blood.

  Each breath was agony, for drawing it in and letting it out moved his ribs, and the skin over them was crusted with new scabs, wet with stripes not yet scabbed over. He pulled his legs in toward his chest, rested his arms across his knees, and lay his head atop them.

  He had been whupped before, more than once. And each time he had thought he'd never hurt so much in his whole life.

  This hurt more, though. Before he'd been a slave, and didn't know any different. Then he'd been a free man, and he'd learned that no man should have to suffer like this.

  Not clean to the heart and soul of him.

  * * * *

  The squaw came walking down the street, bold as brass. Muller was just opening the saloon when he saw her, filthy, with a sweat-stained buckskin dress and dirty feet. Her hair was short, stiff with grease, and there were dark stains across her cheeks. Tattoos? Some of the Indian women had them--beauty marks someone had told him.

  In his opinion, there wasn't anything could make a squaw anything but butt-ugly, but when he used them, he wasn't interested in their faces anyhow.

  He watched her as she drew near him. She was peering around as if she'd never seen a town before. Or like she was looking for something. The big dog at her side looked around too, sort of like it was wondering where its next meal was coming from.

  One of the stray mutts that hung around town barked at the woman. The big dog just turned its head and lifted its lip, and the mutt went ki-yi-ing off like he'd been burned.

  Dog? That critter had to be half wolf.

  "Hey, klootchman! You wantee tahla?" Muller called as the squaw walked by him. She wasn't too bad looking, once you got past the dark tattoo and the dirt. Bet she stunk to high heaven.

  She looked at him like she didn't know what he'd said. Hell! Maybe she wasn't local. He'd heard that a lot of the Indians from farther inland didn't understand pidgin Chinook. He made an unmistakable gesture, and received a skin-searing glare in return. The dog drew his lips back, showing sharp fangs.

  "Bitch!" You better not let me catch you without that dog, you worthless squaw. I'll show you what happens to them who sneers at Konrad Muller. He turned his back and went inside.

  * * * *

  Flower felt her fingers curling into claws when the big man in the door of the saloon looked at her as if she were his to use and abuse. His crude invitation made her want to force his words back down his throat until he choked on them.

  Instead she acted as if his words meant nothing to her. The pup, she noticed, liked him no better than she did.

  For the first time since William had brought her the pup, she was grateful for his presence, his great strength and his menacing appearance. Most men would think twice before attacking her as long as a wolf walked at her side. She dug her fingers into his ruff, murmured, "I am happy you are with me."

  His tail twitched ever so slightly, as if he knew that a public demonstration of affection would be out of place here and now.

  They were nearing the end of the street, only a hundred yards or so from the boat landing, when the pup pulled against the short leash that held him. She let him lead her between a large tent labeled 'Hotel' and the only building she'd seen made of sawed lumber. Its misspelled sign proclaimed it a general store, but the door was barred and refuse had piled up against its front wall. Behind the store was a flat-roofed structure of logs, looking almost like the icehouse at Lapwai. A heavy bar held the wide, iron-studded door closed.

  Flower walked past the structure as if she was going somewhere beyond it, although this seemed to be the edge of town. A pile of discards--a broken barrel, a wagon wheel without a tire, and bits of metal and wood--lay against the back wall. She went to it and began pulling things free, as if she were looking for something worthwhile. When the pup gave no alarm, she stepped closer to the wall. "William?" she called softly. "William, are you there?"

  A sound came from within, but she could understand no words in it.

  She dared to raise her voice. "William? Are you there?" Quickly she laid her ear against the wall.

  Her heart leaped when she heard, "Flower?" in a faint, weak tone.

  "Listen to me," she said, knowing she dared not risk more than a few moments here. "I will get help. Wait. We will free you."

  Before she pulled away, she heard, "No. Go 'way. Save y'rself."

  They had hurt him! She could hear great pain in his voice.

  The pup gave made a soft sound warning. Flower stepped back grabbed at a piece of wood in the refuse pile. Pulling on it, she found that she had hold of churn bucket, cracked and useless, but still smelling faintly of sweet cream.

  "What you doin', pokin' around here, klootchman? Klatawa! Get out of here!"

  She shrugged, laid hold of something else in the pile, a metal scrap of whose origin she had no clue. Forcing an ingratiating smile on her face, she held it up.

  "Put that down, you stupid squaw. Don't you understand me? You can't have none of that! Klatawa. Klatawa!" He made shooing motions with his hands.

  Flower shrugged, pulled on the pup's leash. She bobbed her head, as she'd once seen William do. How demeaning. He must hate himself every time he does this.

  The man followed her as she returned to the street. She knew he watched her all the way to the end of town, for she turned twice and saw him still standing in the gap, arms akimbo.

  Once they were well away, she lengthened the pup's leash. "You are a very good dog," she told him as he shook his head and sneezed. "I was hardly frightened at all."

  Not one man had approached too closely, not one had threatened her seriously. William had been right. In the dog she had a fine protector, even if he never showed his teeth.

  "You need a name," she told him as he sat before her, grinning.

  He cocked his head.

  "A noble name. A strong name." A name was a magic thing, and the giving of one was not lightly done. She searched her mind for something in her mother's tongue, found nothing. Nor did the Bannock language contain anything she would bestow on her brave protector. She looked at him, seeing his size, his strength. His eyes, golden as his wolf sire's, gleamed back at her. "Wolf? No, that is only a label, not a name. But something like...there was a story Everett told me, of a great hero. What was his name?"

  As she walked toward the Wasco village, she thought once more of a hero's name. Better than thinking of what they might have done to William. The pup ranged far, free for once of his leash. She was no longer worried that he would leave her, for he returned often, as if to reassure himself that he had not lost her.

  Like a wolf with one pup.

  "Beowulf!" She stopped walking. "Beowulf, that was it. A hero. Everett called him the greatest English hero, even more so than King Arthur. He told me many stories of him." Dropping to her knees, she called the pup--Beowulf--to her. He came willingly, slurping his tongue across her face as she hugged him "You are Beowulf, my noble hero," she whispered into his thick ruff. "And William's salvation."

  If only saying it made it true.

  The men were seated inside the lodge when she returned. She seated herself against the wall and accepted a bowl of fish stew. Words fought to burst free of her mouth, but she could not speak them. When Hilaire's uncle was ready to
hear her, he would say so.

  At last he did, and she told them what she had learned, while holding tightly to the fear and worry that urged her voice to tremble.

  Once she had spoken, Has Itswoot--Great Bear--said,"I also went to the town today. Many stories are being told. One spoke of the black man having much gold, and knowing where there is more. It is believed that if he is beaten enough, he will tell where it is hidden."

  "Gold? The coin--" Grief caught in Flower's throat. "He had one coin, a large gold one, and was to say it was mine."

  "It is said that his mistress--or his whore, some call her--is a rich woman who has a cave full of gold coin. That Konrad Muller--a very bad man--he speaks of seeing other coins like the one the black man had."

  She clenched her fists on her knees, pounded until her legs throbbed with pain. "We must save him. We must."

  "There are risks," Has Itswoot reminded her. "The place where he is held is watched. And the men in town have guns."

  "I know, but..."

  "We have spoken of this and I have said I will help. The young men will rescue him while I draw the attention of any who watch. I will pretend to be a drunken Indian, so that they will forget to be watchful." His mouth twisted, as if at something bitter. "The whiskey they sell our people is destroying many of our young men. And they think it amusing. We will give them more to laugh at."

  Flower extended her hands to him. "You are kind, Chope-- grandfather. Will you accept potlatch from me? I have more of the gold." She held out a shining golden coin.

  "If one is so dangerous to your man, it would be even more dangerous to me," he told her. "But I will take it, and someday the children of Tenas Eena may safely spend it." He accepted it and lay it beside him, where the flickering firelight caused it to glitter and gleam.

  "Now," Hilaire said, "We must plan."

  Flower said little while the men planned their attack. Has Itswoot would draw the attention of any who were awake in the predawn darkness, by staggering in the street, singing, and pretending an attempt at dancing.

  Hilaire and Tenas Eena would creep to William's prison and open it. If he was unable to walk on his own, Hilaire would carry him, while Tenas Eena stayed behind to take care of any pursuers. Flower would wait just outside of town with Beowulf, ready to help with William. Soon all retired, to sleep a little before their mission began.

  * * * *

  They approached the settlement silently. Flower had tied a thong about Beowulf's muzzle, and all three of them wore buckskin, which did not rustle as cloth did. Having climbed the bluff above town, they stole carefully down the slope and stopped just short of the first outlying cabin. When Tenas Eena held out his arm to halt their progress, Flower found she was shaking with tension. She sank to her knees, took deep, careful breaths. Hilaire sat beside her and caught her hand in his.

  "Are you well?" he whispered into her ear. The sound was as soft as a summer breeze. She nodded, and clung to his hand.

  Tenas Eena sat on her other side. They waited. An eternity later she heard, faintly, the sound of off-key singing, its cadence slightly reminiscent of the menstrual dance she had once watched, but never been invited to participate in.

  They continued to wait. At last a raucous shout told them that Has Itswoot's singing had reached the proper level of annoyance. As though they were linked, Tenas Eena and Hilaire rose to their feet.

  An instant later, so did Flower. Hilaire took her into his arms. "We will bring your man safely to you, Ats--little sister. Never fear."

  She clung, then released him, except for her grasp on one hand. "Take care."

  "We will return as soon as we can."

  His fingers tightened about hers, then loosened. "It should not take long to pry him from that feeble prison."

  Flower watched them walk away, almost disappear into the dark.

  "Wait," she called softly, when they were almost invisible. "Wait for me. I must come with you."

  Chapter Nine

  Flower pushed at the door as soon as the men had lifted the bar. It slowly swung open, onto a reeking blackness. She felt her way inside, stepping carefully, keeping one hand on the wall. Just past the first corner, her foot encountered a yielding object.

  "William," she called softly.

  A moan was her only answer.

  Kneeling, she touched him. The tight wool of his hair told her that this was indeed William. The stickiness of blood said that he was hurt.

  "William," she called again, more softly. "Can you move?" Running her hands over him, she found cloth below his waist, but his upper body was bare, crisscrossed with swollen welts and wet with weeping sores.

  He moaned again, but moved, his arms slowly lifting his torso. Flower was afraid to help, knowing she would cause him pain wherever she touched him.

  "Shouldn't 'a come for me, woman. Dangerous." She had to lean close to hear his words.

  She touched his cheek, feeling more swelling, more blood. "They hurt you badly, William. Oh, I could kill them!"

  "We must go, Fleur," Hilaire whispered, close to her, "before someone comes. Can he walk?"

  "No."

  "I reckon," William said at the same time.

  "No," Flower repeated. "You must carry him. But try not to hurt him"

  As Hilaire helped William to his feet, Flower heard hisses of pain and suppressed moans that nearly broke her heart. How he had suffered because she was too cowardly to enter the town. She vowed to herself that never again would she let him take risks to protect her.

  When he has healed from what they did to him, I will make him go back, she vowed.

  With an arm over the shoulders of each, Hilaire and Tenas Eena carried William from the shed. Flower pulled the door shut behind them, and replaced the bar. Perhaps no one would notice him gone for a long time.

  William was hanging unconscious between them when they reached the boat landing at the end of the street. Earlier the men had decided that if he was too injured to walk easily, they would take him to the village by water, rather than risk being seen as they crossed the mile of open land.

  Gently they maneuvered him into the waiting canoe, laid him flat in the bottom. "You two go ahead. I will bring him," Tenas Eena told them. "If anyone sees, there will be only a drifting canoe." He handed Hilaire his moccasins, pushed off. In the dim, pre-dawn light, Flower watched as he guided the canoe into the slight nearshore current, swimming behind it.

  "Come, Ahts. He will be there before us, and my aunt will help him carry your man to the lodge."

  "He is not my man," Flower murmured. "He is my friend."

  Hilaire's teeth flashed in a grin.

  * * * *

  Therese had already begun washing William when Flower and Hilaire arrived, they having taken a roundabout route back to the village. Even in the flickering firelight Flower could see what they had done to him.

  She was sick at the sight. His face was swollen, one eye completely shut and the other a mere slit. A cut marred the smooth, dark skin of his cheek, and the lobe of one ear was torn and dangling. But his back--she wanted to look away from the sight, yet could not.

  She had seen his back once before, when he had given her his shirt after their escape from the renegades. The skin had been welted with tangled scar tissue, evidence of more than one vicious whipping. When she had started to express her pity, he had cut her off. "I doin' my bes' to fergit," he'd said, and she'd respected his effort and said nothing more.

  Hattie had told her of William's dream--to find a place where he could be free. "A place where I be king, where nobody gon' whup me no more," had been the objective of his two-year journey on bare feet to the ice-crusted bank of the Boise River where Emmet had found him.

  Hattie and Emmet had taken William into their hearts and their family, had helped him to find his kingdom. They had given him a name, pride, and a place to belong, to be free.

  All Flower had done was take from him--his protection and, almost, his freedom.

  She kn
elt beside him, picked up a piece of soft doeskin, and began gently sponging the blood from his torn skin. As she did so, tears clogged her throat. He must have known what would happen if he was captured, yet he had willingly gone into the settlement.

  "Oh, William," she whispered, "if only you had gone back to Cherry Vale."

  "Hush, woman." His voice was low, strained. "I's where I wants to be. With you."

  She threw the doeskin scrap into the pan of warm water, splattering them both. "Oh, you foolish, foolish man! Will you never learn? I can only cause you pain." She picked up the doeskin, rinsed and squeezed it. Again she patted gently at the dirt-encrusted stripes on his back.

  Once in a while he hissed, but he made no other sound.

  "Am I hurting you?" she said, when he drew in a long breath and his whole body stiffened.

  "Every time you touch me, it's like angel's wings done brush over me." Once again he took a long, hissing breath. "Course, it might be better if he was to stop flappin' so hard."

  "How can you joke?"

  "Laughin' hurts a lot less than cryin," he said, burying his face in his bent arm as she touched the cloth to a still-bleeding place at the small of his back. His body jerked.

  Flower drew her hand back. "I cannot do this," she told Therese. "I am hurting him so much."

  Silently Therese took the damp scrap and applied it. William flinched again, then lay still. Flower swallowed the gorge that rose in her throat.

  She went to the door of the lodge and looked out. The sun was near the zenith and the day was warm. A short distance away Hilaire and Tenas Eena napped under a lean-to shelter. Beowulf, who had been tied up all night, was sleeping near them. He had not been happy with her this morning, apparently outraged that she had gone somewhere without him. Since William had left him behind, he had been as her shadow. Now would he transfer his affection once more?

  She hoped not. A dog's love was simple, uncomplicated to return.

  A motion caught her attention and she turned to see Has Itswoot approaching. He was limping. She ran to meet him.

  Beowulf and Tenas Eena's dog both woke and started barking.