Bastard half-breeds. Bloods. Abominations. She had heard the whispers and the taunts directed to the offspring of Indian squaws who hung around the forts and trading posts. She had seen the dirty, ragged children with tangled, dark hair.
She had thought them beautiful . . . with skin like wild honey and black currant eyes. She remembered one laughing little boy, naked and barefoot, peering around his mother’s skirts. A fairy child. What kind of God would not love such a babe as well as any born with yellow hair and sky blue eyes? What kind of mother would not?
Perhaps it wasn’t the half-breed children who were to be blamed, but the hypocrites who despised them for the color of their skin. Perhaps . . .
But she had another child to think of—Colin. So long as he was too young to care for himself, she had to look after him. If she left Simon, how could she see Colin fed and decently garbed? Could she be assured of putting a roof over his head or seeing to his education? A woman alone might go south to the Carolinas and pass herself off as a free widow or a servant seeking employment. But how long could she hide from runaway notices that might advertise for a red-haired wench and a ten-year-old black-haired boy?
Simon would never let her go. He’d bought and paid for her—as he’d told her many times. She belonged to him.
But Talon said she was his.
Damn them both to an eternal hell. She belonged to no one but herself. And once she found her brother, she’d find a way to look after herself. She’d ask nothing of any man—red or white.
Talon’s sister, Siipu, returned to the longhouse before dusk with the big cat padding silently by her side. The pony carried additional cuts of bear meat. There was no sign of the wolf.
Siipu went first to Talon’s side. He was sleeping, a deep unnatural slumber. She felt his cheeks and lifted his eyelids. He didn’t wake, and she made a sound of concern.
“He was awake earlier,” Rebecca said. “He drank water, and he seemed clear in his head.”
The cat curled into a ball and watched Rebecca through glowing slits. She wrinkled her nose. Sharing a bed chamber with a mountain lion left much to be desired. Did Siipu even notice the feral odor the beast gave off? “Where is the wolf?”
Talon’s sister glanced at her, and again Rebecca was struck by the eerie air of mystery that the mask gave her. The brown eyes were heavy with sorrow. “Tumma feeds on . . . on remains of bear. She runs with pack.”
“She’s wild then—she’s a wild wolf?” Rebecca said.
“Tumma is free like Losowahkun.”
“Your brother told me to call you Siipu. He doesn’t like that other name.”
Siipu shrugged. “A name is name. Call this one what you want. In heart, I be Losowahkun.”
Rebecca took a deep breath. “Talon also told me that Simon Brandt was responsible for your mother’s death. Do you know that I am Simon’s wife?”
The Indian woman nodded. “This one know. Talon tell me he go for you. For father’s life. To trade.”
“I want you to know that I’m sorry. It happened long ago—before I came from Ireland—from across the salt sea. I think what Simon does is wrong, but there is nothing I can do to stop him.”
“Bischi. It is so.” Siipu’s voice dropped to a whisper. “The bones are rolled. The runners of the Lenape carry the black wampum. The raven and the wolf scent the feast to come. N’wishasi—I am afraid. Red and white blood will soak the forest floor. The streams will run red. This is a green land. Men will turn it black with their hate and women will weep.”
“Siipu, my brother was taken in the raid on our cabin. He’s just a child, only ten years old. All we have is each other. Do you know anything about where he is?”
She shook her head.
“His name is Colin. He has black hair—our father’s hair. I must find him.”
“What does Sh’Kotaa Osh-Kah-Shah say?”
Rebecca sighed. “He says he doesn’t know either. How could he just disappear? He was with a man Talon called The Stranger.”
“Ah. The Stranger.”
“Please . . . if you could help me in any way. I have to find Colin.”
Siipu began to untie the packs. “Some meat we freeze. Some we dry over hearth. Tonight—when moon rises—I look into fire for face of small brother.”
“Into the fire? I don’t understand,” Rebecca said. “How could—”
“First I treat Sh’Kotaa Osh-Kah-Shah’s wounds. You must hold him. Much pain.”
“Me? Hold him? He’s too strong for me. How could I hold him?”
“Man have much pride, even man who . . . who bad hurt. Young woman hold, he lay still, no cry out. Have pride. We use pride.” She dropped a chunk of bear meat into a large woven basket. “We make grease. Bear grease good for wound. No heal stiff. My brother use arm again.”
“You think he’ll live then?” Suddenly, it was the most important thing in the world to her that Talon would survive.
“We do what we can. Sh’Kotaa Osh-Kah-Shah fight. We see.”
Together, they unloaded the pack animal and put the meat aside. Then Siipu set several Indian pots on the rocks over the coals. In one, she prepared a stewed squash, in a second, a rich stew of bear meat and vegetables. In a third, she brought a potion of roots and herbs to a simmer.
“What is in it?” Rebecca asked. “Is it for Talon to drink—like the herb tea?”
“I make . . .” She searched her mind for the English. “Poultice. Bloodroot and painted trillium. Smartweed. I mix with honey and apply to wounds. From willow bark, I make tea for fever. Willow bark very powerful.”
“I know,” Rebecca replied. “A woman at the fort told me about it. I made a drink for Colin when he had the measles. He was only four and his fever was high. He was sick nearly a week, but he got better once the spots came out.”
Siipu nodded. “Measles bad. This one sees nine children die one day from red spots. My people want to lay sick children in water to stop fever. But they die anyway.”
“You must keep a patient warm and away from light when they’re taken with the measles. Light’s bad for their eyes.”
“Ahikta. Light is bad when they burn with fever. Some children who not die lose sight of eyes. Lose mind. My people no know this measles. White man bring from across ocean. Indian catch—most all die.”
“I’ve heard that the smallpox is very bad for Indians as well. Many people die in my country from it. But I caught the cowpox when I was young. I’ll never take the sickness.”
“Once, Mohicans friend to Delaware. Many village, many warriors. Pox come. Mohican drop like falling leaves. Now, not so many. Soon none. Pox is demon sickness. Ghosts make.”
Talon groaned, and they both went instantly to his side. Rebecca saw that his face was red. She touched his cheek and his skin felt hot. “Talon,” she said. “Can you hear me?”
He mumbled something in Indian, but didn’t open his eyes. He thrashed from side to side, and tried to push away her hand.
“We must treat him again,” his sister said. She pulled the fur robe down to his waist and looked at the angry streaks of color around the stitches Rebecca had taken. “Here and here . . .” She pointed to a swollen spot. “We will cut the thread and drain poison.”
Rebecca was troubled by Talon’s sudden change for the worse. “Why now?” she asked. “He seemed so much better this afternoon.”
“He will not die tonight,” Siipu pronounced. “Now help me. We fight until battle is won . . . or lost.”
For nearly an hour, they washed his injuries, dripped willow tea into his mouth, and laid poultices against his back and arm. His sister brought handfuls of snow to cool his forehead. Rebecca held it there until it melted, then wiped his face dry.
His arm was greatly inflamed. When Siipu had done everything she could with her potions, she still wasn’t satisfied. “We need more,” she said.
To Rebecca’s horror, his sister laid an iron blade in the red hot coals. When the metal glowed orange, she bade Rebecca
hold Talon’s head. Siipu put a roll of soft leather between his teeth and whispered in his ear.
He sat bolt upright when the smoking brand pressed into his flesh. Rebecca felt a shudder go through him. His fist tightened until his knuckles stood out white through his tanned skin. But he did not cry out.
The smell of charred flesh turned Rebecca’s stomach. The pony stamped his feet and rolled his eyes in fear, and the lion hissed.
“There,” Siipu said, when the awful deed was done. “Two men could not hold him. You, he did not fight.”
They laid him back against the furs. His face was ashen, his breathing harsh. He looked to Rebecca as though he had aged ten years in the last few hours.
“Now what?” Rebecca asked. She was trembling with emotion. She wanted to run outside and cry.
Siipu shrugged. “When the sun rises, we will see.” She turned back toward the fire. “I will look now—for your brother.”
She went to a weasel-skin pouch, tanned with head and feet intact. From it, she removed a small skin bag. Then she crouched by the fire pit and began to chant in a low, monotonous voice.
Gooseflesh rose on Rebecca’s arms. Witchcraft. She knew she should have no part of it, but she could not stay away. She knelt beside the Indian woman.
Siipu threw tobacco into the flames. The odor curled upward, filling the longhouse and drifting out the smoke hole in the ceiling above. She continued to sing in Algonquian. Then she scattered a white powder over the glowing hearth.
The smell was acrid. Smoke stung Rebecca’s eyes. She shut them, and when she looked again, the fire flickered with strange shades of blue and green. Suddenly, she felt the air grow cool. The fringes on Siipu’s mask fluttered as a strong breeze whipped through the longhouse.
The big cat snarled.
Siipu gave a low moan and turned away from the fire. She staggered back and put her hands over her face.
“What is it?” Rebecca demanded. “What happened?” The wind was gone as quickly as it had come, and she felt the heat of the fire again. Her mouth was as dry as if she’d been eating sawdust—her heart was pounding like hail on a cedar roof. “What did you see?”
Talon’s sister leaned against the platform and drew in a long, slow breath. “I saw the face of a boy,” she said. “A white boy. Here, and here . . .” She made imaginary slashes across her cheekbones. “I see paint. He warms himself by a fire as we do. He is alive. Safe. He calls for you.”
“I don’t believe you,” Rebecca said. She wasn’t certain what had happened here, but it had frightened her. “What does he call me?” she asked. “What name does he use?”
“Becca. He says, Becca.”
Hair rose on the back of Rebecca’s neck. Colin had always called her Becca. When he was little, he’d been unable to say Rebecca, and the nickname had stuck.
Siipu shook her head and struck her chest with her clenched fist. “Aiyee,” she whispered. “Aiyee.”
Rebecca tensed. “You said he was all right.”
“Your brother is safe. He is cared for.”
“Then why are you so distressed? What’s wrong? That’s not what you saw, was it? You must tell me the truth.”
Siipu raised her head slowly. “Your brother is alive,” she repeated. Rebecca heard a noise that could only be a sob as Talon’s sister returned to the fire pit and dropped to her knees. Taking a handful of ashes, she rubbed them on her arms. “I mourn,” she murmured. “I mourn.”
“But why?” Rebecca asked. “Why?”
“I have seen the face of our father,” she said, rocking back and forth. “I have heard his voice on the spirit wind. He calls to me from across the river. He is dead.”
Chapter 13
Fire Talon struggled through the waist-deep mud of the cold swamp. Mist lay thick over the black, twisted trees and pools of stagnant water. He was weary . . . so weary, but he’d found no dry spot to rest.
Thirst plagued him, but he could not forced himself to drink the foul liquid that oozed around his chest. His head echoed to the beat of a hundred drums, and interspersed with the incessant pounding were the whispers. Women’s voices . . . too low to understand . . . They haunted him, but no matter how hard he strained to catch the words, all he could hear were bits and pieces too faint to comprehend.
“Father’s face . . . face . . . face . . .” came the tantalizing whispers.
He took hold of a dead sapling to steady his balance, but the wood snapped to dust in his hand. The fog drifted closer, enveloping him, so thick that he couldn’t see his own outstretched fingertips.
Talon’s back and arm seemed on fire. Pain gnawed at his bones and slowed his step. If he closed his eyes, he could see the bear towering over him, mouth open and slavering, yellow teeth gleaming. He could smell the putrid stink of that gaping red mouth—feel the rending of his flesh.
Then another image hovered between him and the bear. Becca—the white woman—her blue eyes soft with compassion, her hands gentle on his body.
Becca, his enemy’s wife . . . Becca, whose walk was as graceful as a doe, whose laughter reminded him of spring water bubbling from the earth.
She was forbidden to him, this pale-skinned woman. But she touched his soul in a way that no human had done for a long time.
He wished she was here with him now. He needed her.
“Becca! Becca!” he called. The only answer was the rattle of bare tree limbs and the sucking sound of the mud under his feet. “Becca!”
Suddenly, he began to sink. He thrashed and tried to swim as the muck rose up to his chest. Frantically, he grabbed for a handful of marsh grass. It broke off in his hand, and the cold goo rose to his throat. “Becca!” he called. Another instant and the mud would fill his mouth. He wasn’t afraid of death, but he didn’t want to meet it here—like this—dragged down into a black, wet grave.
“Talon.”
Her voice reached him just as he began the first note of his death song and his heart leaped.
“Talon. Can you hear me?”
He tried to open his eyes, but they were weighed down with mud. He smelled her. She was very close. He wanted to reach out to her, but he was so tired.
“Talon.”
Something warm and alive brushed his lips. Her caress was sweet and powerful. Feather-light, it jolted him with the intensity of a lightning bolt. If he didn’t hold on to her, the cold mud would seep into his nose and throat and choke the life from him.
“Talon . . . don’t die,” she whispered.
He opened his eyes just as she kissed him a second time with infinite tenderness. She gasped as he threw his good arm around her and crushed her against him. She was warm and alive. Vision or flesh and blood woman, she’d not leave him.
Talon pressed his mouth against hers with searing heat. “Talon,” she cried, as she struggled free of his embrace and stood trembling, apparently unsure whether to run or fling herself back into his arms. “You’re . . . you’re awake,” she managed.
A slow smile spread over his face.
She covered her mouth with her hand. Her lips were tingling. “I was afraid . . .” she began. “I mean . . . I thought that you . . .” She put distance between them. “Your fever was very high,” she said quickly. “We . . . I was afraid that you—”
“I am not dead, Becca,” he said hoarsely.
“I . . . can see that.” Unconsciously, she rubbed her mouth. “You . . . you kissed me,” she whispered.
“You kissed me first.”
She felt giddy. “I did, didn’t I?”
He closed his eyes again. “We must talk of this later,” he murmured. “Now, I can’t seem to keep my eyes open.”
She reached for the brimming cup of medicine his sister had left when she went out. “You . . . you must have something to drink,” she said. “Are you in pain?”
He made a sound that might have been either a low groan or a chuckle. “A man who was not a warrior of the Mecate Shawnee might say that.”
“You fough
t with a bear,” she reminded him. “What shame is there to admit that you hurt? You’re human, aren’t you?”
His black eyes snapped open with the intensity of a steel trap. “A Shawnee? Human?” he challenged. “Do you hear what you say?”
“By Christ’s wounds, Talon! You’re as human as I am.”
He sighed and his eyelids drifted closed. “Remember that, Becca . . . remember. I am just a man. A man . . . who cannot . . . cannot hate his . . . prisoner.”
Siipu didn’t tell Talon about the vision she’d seen in the fire. When Rebecca saw her again, she had washed away the signs of mourning. The two didn’t speak of the incident again, and Rebecca tried to forget it. Talon’s father couldn’t be dead. If he was . . . if he was, the consequences were too awful to think about.
Talon began to recover. In two days, he could stand on his own feet. He was wobbly as a new colt, but he was up. By the third day, his appetite had returned, and the two women were kept busy cooking to feed him.
At the end of a week, Talon was outside in the crisp mountain air, naked from the waist up, shooting a bow and arrow at a target tacked against a tree. His back had healed faster than Rebecca would have believed, but many muscles had been badly damaged. Each movement was an effort. Each twist and strain cost Talon dearly; his agony showed in the sweat that beaded on his face. Still, he never complained, and he wouldn’t rest until Siipu begged him.
“Even a medicine woman has her limits,” she protested, when she’d called Talon three times to stop practicing and come and eat. “Healing takes time.”
“Ah, but you are a witch, sister,” he replied in English. “A witch can do magic.”
“If I could, I’d keep you on your sleeping mat for a few more days,” she chided in Algonquian.
“My sister wants me to lie idle,” he translated for Rebecca’s sake.
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