The Quick and the Fevered

by Long, Heather

  “What of the Fever, Grandfather?”

  He paused and faced her. “We are shaman, Onsi. The spirits recognize us.”

  Somehow, she did not find comfort in those words.

  “We are also of the Blood.” His expression grew remote and forbidding. “The fever will not touch us. We can thank the ancestors for that small gift.”

  She didn’t understand.

  By the end of the day, she wished she’d never learned.

  * * *

  “Blue?” Jimmy reached over and touched her hands on the horse’s mane, drawing the animal to a stop. Blinking, she sighed at the physical contact. He touched her—a lot. More troubling than his choice to touch was her enjoyment of the act. She’d wanted to distance herself until she could be sure he hadn’t been affected by her blood. Unfortunately, he didn’t seem to want to give her the space.

  “We’re stopping here for the night,” he said when she didn’t respond. She realized the trickling noise was a hint of water. The sound came from a spring falling between two rocks to splash into a small pool. They hadn’t quite reached the end of the culvert. The gray day darkened with the promise of nightfall.

  The heavy cloud cover meant no starlight—or moonlight for that matter. If they lit a fire, it would be a clear beacon for miles. Thankfully, the walls of the culvert would provide some shelter. However, if any remaining pursuers tracked them along the same path they’d followed, a fire would attract their attention.

  Though he’d walked for a couple of hours, Shane elected to ride the last few and they’d gained some time. Already dismounted, he limped to the pool. Every step he took bespoke the aching injury he’d received. More willow bark would help, and she needed to heat the water to make the tincture to help him rest.

  If they created a break, perhaps they could light a small fire, enough to warm the water. Exhaustion wore at her, legs almost leaden when she swung one over and landed. Cramps settled in her lower back, and her shoulders protested her stretch. Stroking the horse’s neck, she murmured her thanks, then followed Jimmy and the other animals to the pool.

  Not really processing her actions, she helped Jimmy strip the pack animal and set out the food. She offered more willow bark to Shane and suppressed a shiver when wind chilled her skin. A gray fog seemed to permanently hover around the edges of her vision. She’d held off sleep for three days.

  No more, it seemed. Her body needed rest as did her mind. When she stumbled for a second time, Jimmy caught her elbow and pointed her toward the rocks where Shane sat. “Go,” he told her. “Rest.”

  They needed to find wood or use what precious tinder they’d carried with them. Her wrist still ached from Shane’s grip earlier in the day, and a dark bruise started to form throughout the afternoon. All of these items flooded through her mind, but too tired to argue, she let him nudge her to the side.

  Finding a patch of ground free of pebbles, she sank down and leaned against the rocks. Hard, unyielding, and far from comfortable, yet her eyes drooped closed and sleep hooded her more effectively than any face covering.

  * * *

  Her people played laughing games as the hunting party returned carrying their prizes. Only the very old and the very young did not participate, but they’d been fortunate to take down enough buffalo to provide meat and supplies for the oncoming months. Furs and skins were scraped and dried. Fur to make warm blankets for when the winter wind turned chill, meat for hot stews and organs divided for medicines to meet the needs of the many—the animal’s gifts sustained their lives.

  Greeted by his wife, Morning Star’s stern expression relaxed into a smile. His sons grew since the last time Onsi saw them. Where once they toddled, they now raced bare-chested through the throng to reach their father.

  Five summers? No more than six summers. Tall and strong, fairer than their father, but they’d been ruddied from the sun. Morning Star’s wife—Alicia—kissed her husband soundly before turning to meet their children. The long, golden blonde of her hair had been parted in the middle and braided in a familiar fashion.

  Onsi caught her own braids in her hands and ran a thumb over the end. Alicia’s hair had been shorn at some point, as the length in the braids she wore appeared shorter than before. Who had passed?

  Making her way through the crowd, Onsi eased closer to the family who filled her visions. The boys greeted their father with solemn care, then rushed into his arms when he squatted to meet them. Though nearly identical, she could tell them apart. Their bright, gemcolored eyes so exotic against their native features. The perfect blend of their parents.

  Glancing away from the family, she surveyed the other members of the tribe. Some looked familiar from the gathering vision, but she did not know them all. Still, they seemed fewer in number.

  “They left immediately after the hunt,” Alicia told him in hushed tones.

  “How many this time?” If the news perturbed the shaman, his expression did not betray him.

  “A dozen.” His wife sighed. One of the boys wrapped his arms around her and rested his head to her hip. She stroked a hand through his hair. The second twin mirrored his action, hugging his father close. “Two families…when Tootonkua decided, the others followed.”

  “Very well.” He glanced at his sons. “Have you taken care of your mother, as I instructed?”

  The boys paused, then broke into toothy grins. “Yes!” The chorus from both earned a smile from their parents and Onsi alike. Beautiful children, their eyes seemed to glow with the health and happiness. The one holding his mother, canted his head back and asked, “We did as you asked us, didn’t we?”

  “You did beautiful boy.” She smiled at him, open affection so freely given. A pang of loneliness struck Onsi. In the tribe, they showered all children with such affection, as it fell to all the elders to see to the next generation. The gift of life, the boon of raising young warriors and maidens, precious beyond all measure.

  A presence brushed her shoulder and the old shaman—the one who urged her south—stood next to her.

  “Are you the one sending me these visions?”

  But instead of answering, he passed through her, guiding a shadow at his side. The blurring made it difficult to discern the man walking with him. A vision within a vision?

  The impossibility of the combination sent a throbbing through her skull. Around her, the vision shifted, the seasons changing, and then they stood in the far north. She recognized the trees, the scent of rain clinging to the air and the way the teepees showed the signs of dampness. Alicia sat before a small fire. She worked her hands over the flames, releasing dust or…perhaps herbs? The old shaman and his shadowy accomplice were nowhere to be found nor were the other members of the tribe.

  Why was the shaman’s wife alone? Where were the People?

  The yellow flames turned red then a brilliant blue and a woman’s face appeared amidst them. Onsi gaped. Alicia smiled. “Hello, little sister.”

  From the flames, the woman shook her head. “You know this is dangerous, Alicia. What if they see you?”

  “No one is here to see. We’re on a spirit quest for the boys and Morning Star has taken them hunting. I am the only one here to see and I missed you.”

  “And I you. We all miss you here. Only your promise that you are well-treated and happy stays our hand.”

  “I am,” she said, then tossed more of the fine powder onto the fire. The flames steadied in the blue shade. “My sons are strong. My husband well. He loves me, and I him. Never worry for me. Give me news of home, how are our sisters?”

  The image altered subtly and Alicia vanished. Onsi found herself deeper in the woods, near the cave entrance. Deep inside the caves existed natural springs and more—this was a place of seeing. A place where shamans came to train. Alicia mentioned Morning Star had taken his sons on a vision quest. This would be holy ground and the white witch wasn’t allowed to tread here.

  White witch.

  The words fit the blonde bride of the shaman.
A witch married to a shaman. At the entrance to the caves, Onsi halted. Fear curdled in her stomach and worry gnawed on her spine. The spirits should be thick, yet none appeared. The area was utterly devoid of them. Could she not see them because she’d denied their presence or because they denied the shaman?

  The faint beat of drums reached out to her. The familiar cadence lulled her, easing the disquiet in her soul. She performed her first vision quest in just such a place, the spirits welcoming her when she took the spirit walk for the first time. The guardians danced with her, and over the years, she’d faced down each test as she accepted their guidance.

  A whisper of sound and a hard flap of wings announced the eagle’s arrival. He landed on the rocks above the cave. Angling his head, he gazed at her steadily from one eye. No, she wanted nothing to do with the spirits, but even after rejecting them, the eagle answered her prayer with the lightning cursed attacker. He’d come to assist her.

  If nothing else, she owed him her respect. Bowing her head to him, she waited. Would he offer wisdom or direction? He spread his wings and paused a beat, then angled his head toward the sky. She understood. Releasing the earth, she flew skyward with him. Powerful wingbeats carried them high over the caves, then he turned them south. Catching thermals, she followed his glide.

  They traveled farther north than she’d expected. The great piney woods spread out below them. Miles from where she’d found the eagle, she spotted the People. They settled at the edge of the woods where the trees met the plains. Further south, she found a caravan of covered wagons parked as though for camping. Nothing moved within the wagons and only the horses grazing nearby showed signs of life.

  A single body lay on the ground at the edge of the last wagon.

  Dead. The thought echoed through her. A wagon train struck down by Fever. East, the eagle turned and she fought to keep pace with him. His greater wingspan and skill meant only one flap for every two of hers. They plummeted toward the ground, swampland and marshes everywhere the eye could see. A sandy colored wolf raced through the wetlands. And up, the eagle directed, only to descend again near a small prairie town. Bodies lay strewn in the streets—some dead to fever, others showing signs of violence.

  Her heart ached. Again and again, the eagle led her across the skies. Her muscles burned with the effort of keeping up with him—to the white man’s lands, where a young boy held his dead grandmother. To the far west, where the seasons changed, a town came out of the fog…not fog, burning. The town burned at the foot of a fort and a solitary man rode away.

  The man on horseback seemed familiar, but the eagle gave her no time to explore. South again, they flew, and the man they chased this time she knew well.

  Her grandfather…what was he doing?

  * * *

  “Blue!” The snap of Jimmy’s voice jerked her from sleep, and she stared into his shadow-darkened face. Her eyes couldn’t adjust to the layer of blackness in the culvert with no fire for illumination. She became aware of three things—his breath on her cheek, the strength of his fingers cupping her head, and the warmth of his body against hers.

  “You were having a nightmare,” he told her, then tucked her in closer to him. The hand beneath her head turned her so she could lay her cheek to his shoulder. He’d drawn the blankets over them, and she shared his bedroll. “Sorry to be so familiar, but the temperature is dropping, so I gave Shane the extra blankets and tucked you in with me.”

  As she’d gathered. Common wisdom told her to shift away from him, but instinct had her burrowing closer. For a brief moment, he went still then he stroked his fingertips against her scalp.

  “Are you all right, Blue?” The hushed whisper of his voice proved too close to miss.

  “Yes,” she told him. How to explain she couldn’t hold back the spirits or their demands when she slept? How could she tell him about the shaman who haunted her dreams? Fortunately, he hadn’t seemed to be invading her dreams this time, though she saw him. Odd. She did see him, but he hadn’t seen her. Why would he be intertwined with her vision?

  “Bad dream?”

  Did she dare answer his question? Did he need to know her burden? “Yes—and no.” The truth lay upon the tip of her tongue. Secrets confided in the darkness seemed safer than those shared under the shining star of the sun.

  “My brother is a dreamwalker. If he visits my dreams, I can tell him to make yours better.” The casual offer provided a staggering amount of knowledge and experience.

  “Your brother is a dreamwalker?” Dreamwalkers were rare among her people, exceptionally rare. Once, when those of The Blood were many, they would meet and train in the dreaming. Shamans from all tribes were welcome to come together there. They helped each other, shared the stories, and the knowledge then passed them to the next generation.

  Yet another part of their ancestry fading to the loss of the People. The blood waned, the People died out or followed the white culture, abandoning their traditions.

  “Yes,” he answered her, still stroking her hair. The oddly soothing sensation relaxed some of the tension from her neck and shoulders. “So is my father. He’s better than Buck, but Buck’s talented. He used to chase away our sister’s nightmares all the time. I know he does it for his wife as well.”

  A half-dozen questions formed on her tongue, though she asked none of them. Should Jimmy wish to tell her more, she would accept the information. She had no right to intrude. One did not ask for gifts. Confirming his earlier statement did not qualify. The wind continued to wind past them, and the night huddled quietly waiting for dawn. As she’d predicted, the heavy clouds overhead betrayed no sign of the moon or the stars.

  “Want to tell me about your dream?” Jimmy asked after a long pause. The gentle thud of his heartbeat echoed beneath her ear.

  “A vision, not a dream.” Lifting her hand from his chest, she rubbed her face. The cold made her cheeks numb. She rubbed her face against his jacket. His heat pressed the chill away from her.

  “Vision…how is that different from a dream?”

  “You can control your dreams.”

  The arm around her tightened, and his fingers on her scalp stilled. “You can’t control a vision?”

  “Not a true one,” she answered. “That is how you know the difference. In a vision, you can want to look away, but if the spirits require you see—you see.”

  “Can you prevent them from sending you visions?”

  He asked the strangest questions.

  “No,” she whispered. “I am shaman. Though I do not wish to see them or hear from them, I cannot deny who I am. I see them in the water, hear them on the wind, and feel them in my bones. The earth trembles when they will it and they are older than time. Before there were the People, there were the spirits. If not for the spirits, there would be no people.” In her soul, the door she’d tried to barricade inched further open. The spirits heard her words and approved. An animal called in the darkness and she lifted her head. A wild cat, some distance off and then another answered the cry of the first.

  “They’re not close.” Jimmy tugged her back down and pulled the blankets around her. The rough fabric rasped against her cheek, but beneath the covering the air was definitely warmer.

  “I know. Mountain cats shouldn’t be this low.”

  “Could be displaced,” he sighed. “It happens.”

  Yes. It did. As her people had been displaced. The whites pushed further and further west, claiming land as property and ordering the People to go around—sometimes by many miles and away from the hunting paths. If they argued or tried to cross anyway, they were met by force and weapons.

  Or worse…the blue coats.

  “Are you feeling any better?” The man was wide awake, and Onsi tried to suppress the smile his question elicited.

  “You have many questions, Jimmy.”

  “I like talking to you, and you’re very quiet.”

  “You should rest. I can keep watch.” Awake, she wasn’t eager to return to the vision pro
ffered by the spirits. The last moments revealed something significant, or perhaps all of it had been important, but she needed to sort through the knowledge they’d granted her.

  “Can you see my face at this distance?” Amusement filled his tone.

  Following the sound of his voice, she sought his face with her fingers. The rough bristle on his jaw told her she’d found him mere inches away. Tilting her head so she could look where she reached, she said, “No.”

  “Then I’ll keep watch,” he chuckled. “I can at least see further than a foot in front of me.”

  “In the dark?” Interest peaked within at his admission. He’d said he was cursed by the Fever, but not revealed the consequence.

  No answer was forthcoming, then he sighed. “Walked into that one,” he admitted with a rueful sigh. “Yes, I can see for about three miles or so. The dark adds some limitations, but my eyes adjust.”

  Curiosity pricked her. “Can you see me?” She moistened her lips.

  “Yes.” His voice deepened and grew huskier. “If you wouldn’t run your tongue over your lips, I’d appreciate it.”

  Fascination warred with shock. “I’ve never heard of such a passive gift among the cursed before.”

  “Fevered,” he said, hard and unyielding. “Not cursed.”

  Rolling slightly, she tried to ease distance between them. Jimmy didn’t allow her retreat, however, his arm a taut, stiff force against her back.

  “I’m not angry with you, Blue. Don’t run away. It’s warmer here with me. But you call us cursed and make it sound bad.” His tone gentled, as did his touch. “How we become this way is sad, but who we are? Who we can become? We’re not evil.”

  No. “I know you are not evil, Jimmy. But do you understand what you are, Truly? How the spirit binds with yours? How that which was free is no longer because it intertwines within you?” Giving into the temptation, she placed her hand over his heart. The life force within him beat fiercely. She narrowed her focus. If she tried, she could see the spirit his life housed, but she hesitated.