"Grandfather," Little Raccoon spoke with respect, "tell us how to alter this vision. For I will cleave to this man. I trust him with my life and the lives of our people."
"So be it. Walks With The Wind, though my dreams tell me different I agree that you have shown yourself to be honorable. I will perform the cleansing ritual to cast out demons and evil spirits. Then the vision will be altered."
"As you say, shaman. Tell me what I should do."
"I will perform this rite after we reach the sandy beach near the sea. The Great Salty Water will wash any lingering evil to Glooskap's home for him to deal with. Until then you must keep yourself pure. You must not touch a woman."
Little Raccoon could have sworn that the old man's eyes twinkled. He chuckled at the look of embarrassed pain that crossed Walks With The Wind's face.
Amazed that the shaman acquiesced so quickly, she dropped Walks With The Wind's hand. A small gesture, but Talks Much nodded his approval. A frown marked Walks With The Wind's brow.
"You do well to accept this proposal, Little Raccoon," Talks Much said. "If you would keep faith with both your people and this man, the log you traverse will be narrow and slippery at times. He'll need your strength in the days to come. I see that much has already passed between you."
Walks With The Wind nodded. "I agree to your plan, Grandfather. I pray that the time flies."
The gaze he turned on Little Raccoon left no doubt in anyone's mind as to the meaning of his words. Warmth crept into her cheeks.
"Come, you will paddle my canoe this day. You see, I am not so against you that I wouldn't help keep temptation out of your way." Again the old man chuckled. "Patience, Walks With The Wind, is a virtue prized by hunters and women. Our journey is shorter today. By the end of it we will see the Great Salt Sea."
Walks With The Wind turned one last, longing gaze at Little Raccoon before following the shaman. With a smile of encouragement, Little Raccoon watched them leave. Her heart felt lighter after the shaman's words, though apprehension remained. She loathed separation from Walks With The Wind even for so short a time. Foreboding shook her as the wind began to blow up the river. She hurried to help her father and sister prepare for the last stage of the trip.
Yesterday the river had helped their travel. Its swift flowing channels had swept the canoes between its tree-lined banks. Today it appeared as sullen as the sky. Its temperament was that of a colicky child.
Choppy waves splashed water over the sides of the canoes. Though they traveled with the current their progress was sluggish and labored. Almost, Little Raccoon mused, as if the river and skies did not want them to go on. At that moment the skies opened. Rain fell down in a heavy torrent.
The wind screamed with increasing fury. Shining Rock bailed water from the canoe. Between the wind-blown waves and the driving rain, water threatened their pile of belongings. This was more inconvenience than catastrophe. Her people prided themselves in their skill on the lakes and rivers in their seemingly fragile craft. Getting wet, though uncomfortable, held little danger. They pressed on through rain that fell so thick that Little Raccoon could barely see the other canoes surrounding them.
Shining Rock was making some headway with the minor flooding when Mother Nature's fury took a nasty turn. Thunder boomed and lightning crashed as a fury of hailstones mixed with the rain. Amazed at this new outpouring, Little Raccoon helped her father turn the canoe out of mid-stream. The hailstones were heavy enough to damage canoes and people. Just visible through the grayed air around them, she saw the shaman's canoe. Walks With The Wind knelt in the stern plying his paddle with skill.
Now they were in danger of swamping. The bottom of the canoe filled with a hand's breadth of icy pellets, some the size of her fist. She felt the resistance of the canoe as if the water tried to hold them back. Soaked to the skin and bruised from the storm of ice, Little Raccoon trusted to her father's skill to bring them to safety.
At last they moved out of the swift current at the center of the stream and into a comparatively quiet cove. The wind blew but the overhanging willow trees gave a semblance of shelter from the ice and rain compared to the savage fury of the unprotected waterway. Fleet of Foot steered them close beside a willow's sunken roots. Little Raccoon leaped out and held the canoe steady.
Canoes came ashore to either side of them along the riverbank. Two hands joined Little Raccoon's on the prow of the canoe. She looked into Walks With The Wind's face. He streamed with water but the look he cast on her was filled with enough desire that she wondered why her clothes were not dry from the heat.
Over his shoulder she saw the shaman walking into the grove of trees.
"I was instructed to help you," Walks With The Wind said. "He also made sure I understood to keep my hands off."
Fleet of Foot and Shining Rock joined them. Together they made short work of emptying the canoe and tipping it protectively over the belongings they left on the shore. Unless the storm continued, this was just a temporary stop. They needn't carry everything under the trees.
At that moment a shaft of lightning struck a nearby oak. A flaming branch crashed down, missing them by inches. It hissed into the stream.
"Is there shelter besides under the trees?" Walks With The Wind shouted to Fleet of Foot.
"A cave, just past this stand of birches. It's well known to us. Follow me."
In single file the small group followed Fleet of Foot along a narrow path.
"Did anyone think to bring flint and stone?" Fleet of Foot asked a short time later.
They stood in family groups, a bedraggled and dripping lot. At Fleet of Foot's question several women put their hands to their waists where they kept pouches containing fire making materials and other sundries. Flint and stone were produced but no one had anything dry to burn.
"My box of tinder is wrapped in oiled skin, Father. But I left it under the canoe in my haste. Dancing Feet can come with me, he can find some dry wood along the way," Little Raccoon suggested.
"I'll go," Walks With The Wind offered.
"It would be better if you remain with us. Little Raccoon and Dancing Feet will perform this task. Hurry, Daughter. The old people will sicken if they shiver too long," Fleet of Foot said.
"We will return shortly," Little Raccoon promised.
Dancing Feet followed her through the dank opening. Darien watched them until the driving downpour and surrounding trees obscured their progress.
"I don't like this," he said a short time later to no one in particular.
Tall Cedar came up behind him and clapped a hand on his shoulder. "The waiting is the hardest of all, my friend. But you will see, after the purification ritual all will be well."
"The waiting is hard, Tall Cedar. Right now I'm more concerned about her going with only a small boy for protection. You know what I fear. Hasn't she been gone long enough?"
Tall Cedar laughed. "Time moves slowly when she is out of your sight. Come away from the entry. She'll return soon enough. Too bad you must stay away from her. This night her warmth would be welcome, eh?"
Darien smiled back but remained at his post. Soon Tall Cedar shrugged and left his friend.
A suspicion of dread whispered in the dark corners of his soul as the minutes passed and Little Raccoon failed to reappear.
He couldn't stand waiting any longer. As he turned to announce that he was going to look for them Fleet of Foot spoke.
"It has been long enough. I will go with you, that way we can both tease her when she couldn't find what she was looking for." Though his tone tried for levity, worry captured his eyes.
Dense leaves muted the roar of the rain. In the eerie dimness, walking through a world that was muted yet not silent, Darien made his way noiselessly. He hoped that his instinct was wrong. He glanced sideways at Little Raccoon's father. Deep foreboding again gripped Darien.
Foreboding or warning? The question became moot when they stumbled upon Dancing Feet's inert body sprawled across the trail.
His instincts had been right. Damn, why hadn't he followed them? Now it was too late.
Chapter Sixteen
Cool wet sunshine combined with the distinct impression of floating woke her. An irritating throb filled her head.
Where was she?
A trickle of fear threaded its way through her. Be careful came a stray thought. Okay, I'll be careful. She opened one eye, then closed it in confusion. It looked like she was in some kind of canoe. How did she get here? Think Melodi, come on, use that over-educated brain of yours.
Splashing sounds reached her. Shadows played across her closed eyelids. She squinted them open enough to see that she was under the cover of overhanging branches.
A rough hand shook her.
"Get up, woman."
The voice was harsh and -- familiar? Hands yanked at her hair.
"Let go of me, you big lout."
When she saw him, she almost fainted. Young Buck, a voice inside recognized him. Melodi didn't understand. She'd certainly remember is she'd ever encountered this guy. His head was shaved except for a strip that ran from his forehead to the back. Sharp cheekbones jutted through tanned skin on a cruelly handsome face. His eyes were black as a moonless night, and remorseless. She suppressed a shiver and struggled for another shred of information from her impaired memory. She hoped it was a dream.
The blow he aimed across her face convinced her that this was all too real.
"Out of the canoe. Do not try to run away, you'd be easy to catch. Then I would have to tie you up, that would slow me down."
Melodi complied. Where would she go? She didn't even know where she was. Young Buck pulled the canoe partially onto the shore then gouged a hole in the bottom with a stone knife.
A stone knife.
The anthropologist in her sensed the implication. Logic denied it.
Most men used a jackknife these days. This guy must be a real backwoodsman. She watched him roll several boulders into the canoe then push it all the way into the water. It sank into the river.
His clothes were filthy, not to mention his stench. The man hadn't bathed in days. If her mind hadn't gone completely berserk, she would swear he wore hand-tanned buckskin clothing. Just like -- no, it eluded her.
Damn, she had the answer but was too woozy from the bump on her head to figure it out.
He was none too gentle either. He grabbed her and shoved her onto the narrow trail ahead of him. Thank goodness the rain had stopped. At least she could see where she was going.
Her feet slid into a puddle. She stumbled, then stumbled again at the sight of what must be her feet in leather moccasins. Where had they come from? A stray glimpse of hands cutting leather with a stone knife and sewing with a bone needle insinuated itself into her conscious. A memory? Hers?
Before she had a chance to think it through, the man she knew as Young Buck struck her in the back.
"Move faster, lazy woman. They will follow. We must reach my hiding place."
Melodi swirled around to face her attacker. "Just a minute buster. Where are you taking me? Why should I go with you at all?"
"I am your husband. Your place is with me."
All she could do was stare. Not at the words he spoke, but at the horrible truth behind them. Knowledge, with all its implications, rushed back to her. She required time to fully assimilate the confusing swirl of images and memory, but the truth lay plain for her to see. This man, Young Buck, was her -- gag -- husband. She was called Little Raccoon and had thought him dead. For over a year she had considered herself a widow and had rejoiced in it. She suppressed a shudder at the memory of his abuse.
I don't quite remember how I got here, Melodi thought, but I am a stronger person than the one he beat before. Her chin jutted.
Young Buck's eyes narrowed at her.
"My husband is dead." Her words carried finality with them.
Now an angry, hungry lust filled his eyes. She saw the heat of desire that filled them. Into her mind's eye came a brief memory of the courtship they had shared. That was followed by a rapid succession of scenes where he forced her and humiliated her. Well, he wouldn't do that again.
"Later, when we are in a secure place, I will prove to you that I am your husband. Come."
His words threatened but held no dread. All bluff and bluster. When she resisted, he would desist. At least she told herself that all through the next long miles.
He dragged and pushed her through swamps and across granite outcroppings. The sun peeked through the heavy clouds now and again. Enough to warm her, though a fresh zephyr kept the air from becoming too humid and oppressive.
All through that long journey, Melodi's life as Little Raccoon came back to her, all of it. Even though it hurt, she concentrated her efforts on remembering Young Buck and her life with him.
She was the sum of two persons now, not just Melodi or Little Raccoon. A stronger person, resulting from the merging of two lives, two individuals, was present. She had the wisdom and knowledge, yes even the frailties of two brains. She would need every bit to rescue herself from this situation.
Wait, a strong face swam into view. Of course, how could she have forgotten? Walks With The Wind. He would not forsake her. At least he would not forsake Little Raccoon, she amended. What of the woman she was now? Her head swam with the possibilities. He was in love with her as Little Raccoon; perhaps he wouldn't like Melodi.
One thing at a time, she cautioned herself. Those blue eyes, they held more than just the love of Walks With The Wind. God, she was tired. The effort of putting all of the pieces of this puzzle together drained her. Her mind refused to figure out this elusive bit of memory. She was sure that it was significant, just not how.
Young Buck dragged her through a loathsome swamp. When they emerged on the other side she was exhausted, hungry, and probably smelled as vile as Young Buck did. Her doeskin dress, once mellow off-white and decorated with bright porcupine quills, clung to her like a second skin. And wet leather -- not a nice smell. What she wouldn't give for a hot bath.
At the point when Melodi was sure she couldn't put one foot in front of the other, Young Buck forced her to stop. It didn't take much effort. All he had to do was stop in front of her; she was tethered to him by a braided strand of leather rope. She fell against his back and sank to the ground.
"Are we home yet?" she managed.
Her humor was lost on him. "Silence. You'll never be insolent to me again. In here."
He gestured for her to proceed him into what appeared to be an impenetrable wall of vines. Instead of walking into stone, she found herself in a dim cavern. The late afternoon sunlight that filtered in magnified the empty immensity that surrounded her. The dripping sound of water tinkled in the distance. That and the sound of their breathing was the only thing to be heard.
* * * *
Fleet of Foot knelt next to the child. Dancing Feet's breath was shallow and labored. The older man picked the child up as if he weighed no more than a twig. Anger filled his face as he turned to Darien, but his voice was passionless.
"Go son," he urged. "I will see to the child. You must fly silent and swift as the eagle."
Darien ran crouched low over the ground searching for clues, listening. At the break in the trees where they gave way to grass and rocks, he stopped and took stock of the situation. The shoreline was visible from this vantage. If he stepped out into the open he would be seen. Except for the sounds of rain and the river, there was silence. Not even a birdcall broke the eerie atmosphere.
At his side, Darien saw a trampled spot in the grass. The mud showed signs of struggle. He devoted all of his innate skills to figuring out the scene.
Dancing Feet had fallen here, he decided. A spot of blood marked a leaf. The child's footprints showed that he had been running before he fell.
Darien cast around for more clues, his movements no more visible than shadows on the bushes.
Ah, that same footprint. Dancing Feet's attacker had stood over the boy, probably to make sure
he was unconscious, then moved off. Dancing Feet had crawled away and managed to return some distance back to the cave before succumbing to his wounds.
What of Little Raccoon? Her dainty footprints showed where she followed a path to the shore. They did not show her returning this way.
Crawling along on his belly -- think like a snake -- Darien used every bush and rock as a shield from unwelcome eyes. He edged his way to where the canoes were beached. A shadow flew over him. He looked up to see his spirit guide, Brother Eagle, coasting low over the land. Taking it as a sign that he was unwatched, he sprinted the remaining distance to the canoes. The sun made a watery appearance above the fast blowing clouds. One weak, golden ray highlighted the place where a single canoe had been pushed into the river. The stranger's footprints were scattered about on the shoreline. Darien thanked the rain for making the story easy to read in the wet earth.
He saw where Little Raccoon had stood over her father's canoe. The other footprints were behind hers. A smudge in the mud marked where she fell.
Darien's mind flared white with rage that someone had hurt his woman. With intense concentration, he controlled his emotions. They must be held at bay so that he could read the signs clearly, thus make the right decision.
A deep, calming breath helped. He focused on other facts.
The stranger's prints led to where the canoe had been pushed off. They had sunk deeper into the mud; he must have carried Little Raccoon.
Darien saw where the footprints turned back, the imprints showed that he had run. To catch Dancing Feet? That would fit. Then for some reason he had returned to the other canoes. Before Darien had a chance to figure out this part of the puzzle, a group of men led by Fleet of Foot and Tall Cedar joined him.
"He has taken Little Raccoon," he told them and explained how he had read the story. It didn't take very long; every man there could have done the same.
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