The Quick and the Fevered

by Long, Heather

  Twisted. Demonic almost. If I believed in demons. Man had plenty of evil to offer, he didn’t need Satan.

  Ragged breathing punched the air as Ryan staggered away. He returned with a vial and poured what looked like oil on his face. His skin actually sizzled. What the hell…? After several minutes, relief seemed to radiate over the man.

  “Snake venom is a wonderful thing.” His rough voice deepened with a hoarse quality, then he coughed. “It numbs the senses. Course your wife doesn’t seem to like it.”

  Snake venom? Snakes were poisonous and the bastard fed Blue snake venom. Panic slipped in under his defenses and he forced himself to roll over. Searching the gloom of the cabin, he spotted her lying on a cot in the corner. Her arms and legs were free, but she didn’t move. Fighting his own bonds, he made it to his knees. At some point, the doppelganger had cut the ties binding his wrists to his ankles. Shuffling to his knees, he ignored the needling sensation racing over his flesh. A thousand bee stings couldn’t have hurt worse, and he forced his knees to move. If he had to crawl, he’d crawl.

  It took an eternity to cross the room, but he made it to her side and leaned into the cot. The rise and fall of her chest was so faint, he had to stare through the blistering swelling of his eye and hold his own breath to catch the movement. He hadn’t prayed in years and the urge to do so damn near made him forget where he was.

  “It’s touching how much you care.”

  Every nerve vibrated with the urge to kill, and he choked on the primal violence swelling within him. “What do you want?”

  “Wake her up.”

  Jimmy twisted to stare at him. “What did you do to her?”

  “The same thing I did to the kid you had with you. Fed them the snake venom. She isn’t dead though.”

  She wasn’t—did that mean Shane was? Hatred curdled in his gut. He’d wanted to kill the doppelganger for a lot of transgressions, but more to protect his family.

  “So wake her up. I want to know how she survived—and what Fevered ability she has.”

  The question cut through the chaos in his soul. Blue wasn’t Fevered at all—no, she was something more. “Protect the eagle at all costs.”

  “You don’t know what you’re asking me to do.” If he lost the doppelganger, he ran the risk of never finding him. Of not tracking him back to MacPherson. He had one chance to end the threat to his family.

  “I do know, my son.” The weight of his father’s hand imprinted on his soul—on the one hand he wanted to say yes, to agree and on the other, he wanted to deny this request.

  “Why? Can you tell me at least much? Why is this eagle so important?”

  “Because I asked you to.” Then Quanto relented. “Because the eagle is the end and the beginning of everything. Without the eagle, I fear for my children. I fear for you. You need the eagle and the eagle will need you.”

  Pride meant nothing in the face of the threat to Blue—but answering questions could damn her further. “I didn’t give her the venom.” Talking hurt. Was Shane out there somewhere? Left cold and forgotten? Had Ryan given him the simple dignity of a burial? Don’t think about it. The stern reminder pressed him back from the edge of grief. He would have time for sorrow later—when he was digging the doppelganger’s grave.

  “So what do I do to wake her up? I tried dumping water on her. I pinched her, I even slapped her a couple of times.” Ryan rose on shaking legs and limped toward him. “Tell me about the others on the ranch? How many Fevered total? Is it all the Kanes? Or just the young ones?”

  He could answer none of those questions.

  “What about Quanto Morning Star? I know MacPherson wants him dead. You have to give me something—something I can trade for my daughter.” A spasm wrenched at his features and he threw a cup across the room. The object smashed against Jimmy, the tin rebounding off his already sore face to crash into the carpet. The aim was impeccable.

  “Answer my questions.”

  “No.” He had to save Blue, but he refused to sacrifice anyone else. One shot would end him, but the same was true in reverse. If he shot Jimmy, he would escape with the knowledge and Blue.

  Not acceptable.

  Expecting the blows, he turned his head to avoid them and went for the bad leg again. The doppelganger’s screams followed him into darkness.

  * * *

  “You must wake,” her soft voice whispered over him, dragging him out of the relentless black. He clawed his way through the pain to reach her. “One called Jimmy—wake.” No doubting the command in her voice. He didn’t need the order, not when he wanted to be with her. Opening his eyes didn’t quite relieve the darkness. Inside him, his gift gave a feeble shudder.

  She knelt over him, the satin cloud of her dark hair tickled his skin like so many razors. Clinging to the sensation, he blinked passed the pain. Pale—too pale—beneath the natural bronze of her skin, Blue’s face seemed to waver before him. A mirage? A dream?

  Jimmy groaned. No more dreams and imagination. He wanted the real thing. A touch feathered over his cheek, the softest of caresses and he zeroed in on her face. Both corners of her mouth tilted upward, no odd palsy afflicted her.

  Blue…

  “This one is gravely injured,” she said, but her gaze was on him. Who was she talking to?

  “Tell me what she said,” the doppelganger demanded.

  “No,” he told him. Blue’s words were for him, he wouldn’t share them, then focusing on her eyes, he said. “Are we outside?”

  “Yes.” The temperature meant nothing to him and he couldn’t quite see past her face.

  “Change,” he told her. “Fly away.”

  “No, this one will not leave you.”

  “Dammit, Blue. You have to go.” Pushing the words past gritted teeth, he held onto consciousness by his thumbnails. “Get away from him.”

  The world slid sideways, crashing hazily and then spiraled. He fell, the dropping sensation almost preferable to the pain save for one dizzying thought.

  Blue…

  Blue, Valley of Snakes

  Jimmy’s arms were warm, and the steady thump of his heart brought the sound of drums. Exhaustion and chill pulled at her, and she could almost hear the eagle’s call. She’d put off the vision, tried to escape it for too long. They wanted her attention. It was time for her to know.

  Trusting her companions, she tumbled into the darkness expecting her wings to flare open but instead she landed hard against a barren landscape. Blood slicked her hands and her knees burned, the hard landing on rocks having taken all the skin off of them. Stumbling to her feet, she turned in a slow circle.

  Where was this? Great rocks stretched high over her head, and the sky seemed miles away. Stonewalls were on both sides and a river sliced through the emptiness. She didn’t know this land… Curling her fingers into her palms, she considered which direction to follow. No spirit appeared to give her guidance, and no people beckoned.

  The water flowed north.

  The breeze blew south.

  A choice. Closing her eyes, Blue tipped her face to where the light of the sun should be but the great stonewalls blocked the rays from touching her. “Great Spirits guide me—which direction must I travel?”

  In her dreams, her grandfather had gone south while the shaman Morning Star and his wife Alicia had gone north.

  No answer echoed in response. Had they abandoned her? No.

  They wanted her to choose. The canyon represented the narrowing of her choices. Where before the world spread before her, she was left with two or perhaps it was three. What if she made no choice at all?

  A rattle shook in the walls of the canyon and she pivoted. A snake slipped from one of the crevices, then another, and another. Cold coiled up her spine. Long shadows, sinuous and dark stretched over head and blotted out more of the light. Thunder rumbled in the distance and lightning struck the earth.

  Her choice could become her trap if she did not decide. Hands clenched until her knuckles went white, she con
tinued to hesitate.

  Wait… Her hands. Uncurling her fingers, she looked at her palms. The blood on both writhed and pulled north. A sign if ever there was one. The ominous rattling chasing her, she ran. The land dipped and curved and swelled. One moment she raced the canyon, the next she was on the open plain and still she ran.

  Thunder rumbled in pursuit and when she dared to glance behind her all she saw was the oncoming storm. Wind shredded the earth and lightning set off fires, leaving the green land scorched and burnt. Stretching her legs, she pushed herself to go faster.

  Her thighs and calves screaming, she angled her path for the rope bridge. It strung between two great peaks. To take the path was to dare death, but to stay meant she would die. Snakes coiled around her feet when she skidded to a halt and she froze.

  The scales against her skin were cold and hot. Fear flowered inside of her.

  She’d always disliked snakes, even though she respected them. Carefully extracting her feet, they slowed her down for she could no longer run. The storm overhead ballooned as though someone hammered it ahead, dark clouds streaking across the sunshine. Skeletons appeared on the path, pieces of men tossed about as though forgotten by time. One waited at the head of the path, rotted and molding wearing a yellow coat and carrying a rifle.

  Her heart screamed.

  Falling to her knees, she reached out to touch the bones. They disintegrated and the wind whisked away the dust. The keening sound ripped from her throat took her heart with it. The rope path tossed recklessly from side to side and the snakes began to slide over her, but she couldn’t move. How could Jimmy be gone?

  How could her failure to move have cost him his life? “I’m here!” She screamed at the sky. Hadn’t she made her peace with them? Hadn’t the Great Eagle accepted her declaration? The snakes filled the land around her and overhead the storm closed away the sun—then everything stopped.

  The breeze didn’t blow. The snakes ceased their coiling. Just above her head, even the rain drops had frozen.

  “Why are you crying Little Eagle?” A man stood before her, tall and proud. His bearing regal and achingly familiar.

  “Grandfather.”

  He knelt down as he had when she was little and suddenly she was that child again. The scent of him filled her lungs and she wrapped her arms around his neck. Grass. Leather. The smoke of the sacred pipe.

  “I’ve missed you,” she confessed and the tears shimmering across her vision fell with hot splashes against her cheeks.

  “You had only to look to the sky to know I was with you, Little Eagle.” Had she any question his dry answer would have settled them for her. Leaning away from her, he ran a rough thumb against her cheek to remove the tear. “Why so many tears?”

  “I’m losing,” she said, then glanced around at the terrible storm overhead and the snakes blotting out the world. “I have failed the path. I was so angry, I didn’t listen and now…” The image of Jimmy falling away to dust wrenched her. She’d failed her people. She’d failed her grandfather.

  She’d failed Jimmy.

  “Have you?” Her grandfather canted his head and the world split apart. They were no longer near the cliff edge but in a wide open green field. The warm sun shone overhead and animals grazed all around. “Our lives are not pre-ordained, Little Eagle.”

  “I am called Blue now Grandfather,” she released him to study this new places. Trees and flowers, and life—over the hill laughter teased her ears. The laughter of children. “Is this another possibility?”

  “No, this exists. Come, I have waited many years to share this with you. My last task, the teaching of this place…”

  “I don’t understand.” What did this place have to do with the snakes? Or the storm? What of the ancient family?

  Her grandfather didn’t wait for her, instead he strode ahead and she had to hurry to catch him up. Even running, he continued to move ahead of her. A man exited a small cabin and Blue skidded to a halt. He was a white man, he looked relieved to see her grandfather. “George,” the white man declared, and held out his hand. “Thank God you’re here.”

  A black man appeared in the entryway to the cabin and like the white man before him, his visage held many lines of concern. “The boys are getting worse.” Like the first man, the second extended his hand and her grandfather clasped it with great familiarity. She had no idea who these people were.

  “What happened?” Though her mind recognized her grandfather spoke the same language as the People he greeted, she also knew it was not her language.

  “They got sick—I made a deal with a man I shouldn’t have, he’s hunting someone in the west and was sending his hunters from here. When I realized what he was doing,” the man cursed, then spat to the earth. “I kicked him off my land—he told me I would regret it.”

  Her grandfather stepped to the entrance of the cabin and went still. Nothing moved, the world had frozen once more. Unease shivered through her and she approached the cabin with caution. The two men never moved from their positions nor did her grandfather in the doorway. She had to squeeze past him.

  Inside two cots lay side by side and in the beds were two boys—so very young. Their skin was red and blistered—red and blistered. Their hair was dark with sweat, slicked and stuck to their skin. The interior of the cabin reeked of blood—pain and darkness surged over the children. Shadows writhed as though consuming them. Another image transposed itself over the pairing and she recoiled.

  Blue pressed the heel of her hand to her mouth lest she scream. Her grandfather stepped into the cabin, the action unfolding in agonizing slowness. Every step of his moccasin’d feet echoed. The shadows shivered, and shimmered. They coiled tighter around the boys and the darkness arched its head to face her grandfather. He looked from one boy to the other and the second image overlaid the children—of two infants, squalling and screaming before a fire. The raging fevers in their systems killing them.

  The twins.

  Behind her grandfather, the two men who’d greeted him entered. No sound punctuated the moment save for two heartbeats, pounding a slow, dreadful cadence. Life and death swung inside the room. Her grandfather turned to face the first man—the father. This close, she could see the resemblance to the boys. Pleading filled the first man’s eyes and in her grandfather—she saw hell and indecision.

  He faced the boys again, the shadow wavered, swaying from side to side as it too considered her grandfather. They were two opponents sizing each other up over a battlefield of blood and flesh.

  Children.

  A lump filled her throat and she wanted to look away, but the image continued no matter what she wished. The steady thump-thump of two hearts slowed, and her grandfather bowed his head. Whatever words were being said to him, he no longer listened. He, like she had at the riverside, waited for an answer.

  None came. The thump-thump slowed.

  Raising his head, her grandfather faced the children then reached for his knife.

  “No,” she whispered, and he cut his finger. The shadows draping the children rushed for him, but she felt the pull of the drumming. Music filled in the spaces of between the thump-thump of the weakening hearts. Blood flowed down her grandfather’s fingers and he placed his hands together, then went to his knees between the two cots.

  The singing increased in tempo and the spirits echoed in the tiny cabin room and like in the tipi before they began to spin, a tornado of raucous cries. With one hand on the oldest boy’s head and the other on the younger boy’s heart her grandfather began to chant.

  Sage perfumed the air. The spirits cried out and the shadow roared, then the scene split asunder and she stood in the first field again. Her grandfather stood a few yards away, he wore only his buckskin pants in addition to his feather headdress and arm bands. He’d painted blue lines across his chest and down his face with two dark stripes in between.

  He began to sing and to dance, a familiar chanty. She knew the song. He’d sung it to her since her birth, though she c
ould not remember that time, she remembered the words. Closing her eyes, she began to chant it with him and he danced, following some path only he could see. The seasons turned and he danced again. Each year, the spirits of the rocks, the grass, the trees, and the people—she had seen people dancing with him. A beautiful woman followed him, weaving around the dance he laid and matching it with her strange movements.

  More came.

  Every year he went and danced.

  And again and again until he completed the last revolution. The dance went on when he walked away, the spirits bound together.

  From there, the world melted away gone was the strange field and she sat next to his bedroll in the old tipi, outside the wind howled. The longest night was coming and her heart wept. She did not want to live through this loss again.

  Only the old man on the cot found her tear-soaked eyes and he smiled. “You’re here,” he said to her. “I’ve waited for you to come.”

  “Grandfather…” This was not the spirit of her grandfather, but the man himself. Falling to her knees, she tried to take his hand, but her fingers passed through his.

  “Cry not, Little Eagle. Soon I will soar with our ancestors and you will come into your own.” He smiled, his rheumy eyes seeing her and she felt the weight of his regard. “It is the way of things and I have waited for you to come to me once more.”

  “The long summers you left—I was with you in those fields.”

  A slow, grave nod. “Yes, Little Eagle. You know the prayer I weaved, the dance I walked, and the songs I called.”

  “Protection.”

  “Sanctuary.”

  Hot tears splashed onto her cheeks. “Sanctuary for the children who should not have been forsaken or forgotten.”

  Blue bowed her head. Sanctuary for the cursed. “The shadow?”

  “One of the Blood cursed them,” he closed his eyes, and sighed. “I could not allow another of ours to fall so deeply into shadow. I broke the law, but it was the right thing to do.”

  “The spirits did not forsake you.” It wasn’t a question, to his last day, they had come to her grandfather as they had followed him in his dance.