The Spirit of the Wolf

by Karen Kay

  Instantly, her eyes went wide and her stomach dropped.

  She didn’t doubt him. Why would she? If the man were attempting to teach her how to perceive things at a distance, it would surely follow that he must, himself, have such an ability.

  She asked quietly, “How far away are they?”

  He didn’t answer.

  Marietta quickly scrutinized their gully, looking for a possible escape. What had once seemed a haven, now appeared a prison. This land was dry, barren. The cliffs were of sandstone, with little to no vegetation. There wasn’t even a good cave in them. Literally, there was nowhere to hide.

  True, there were bushes and scrub brush along the stream, but most of these were small, and those that were of a larger variety were full of thorns. Worse, it was the early part of the day. There wasn’t even a shred of darkness to conceal them.

  She glanced toward Grey Coyote, but though he seemed alert, he did not appear to be frightened or concerned. On the contrary, he looked vigilant, determined.

  Because they were still on their knees, he motioned her to crawl in close to him. In her fright, she plunged forward quickly, but he motioned her to stop, then coaxed her to approach him as slowly as possible.

  “Remember, movement can be sensed by an alert scout,” he explained.

  She gave him one brief nod then carefully crawled toward him. When she was well within his ability to reach for her, he took her in his arms.

  Placing his lips to her ear, he whispered, “No matter what happens, you are not to cry out, do you understand? We must hide. It will not be a comfortable spot that I have chosen, but it will be a good cover, and it should be effective. Are you ready?”

  Too scared to speak, she nodded.

  “We will hide in the bushes.” He pointed toward them.

  She looked. “Are you crazy?” she whispered, turning her attention back to him. “Those are wild rose bushes. They are full of thorns and stickers.”

  “Exactly,” he said. “We will be well hidden.”

  “Exactly? But—”

  “You must take off your dress now, quickly, for it is too full. I will not be able to prod you into and out of those bushes easily while you are wearing this. Worse, you might get stuck. Hurry.”

  “Prod me?”

  “You will not be hurt.”

  She didn’t think to contradict him. As rapidly as possible, she reached her arms around behind her to undo the buttons, but the clasps were small, material-covered, and difficult even under the best of circumstances. Her fingers fumbled over the tiny objects, and she was almost crying when she said, “I can’t do it.”

  “Hokahe,” he said. “I remember these well. It would take more time than we have to undo them. Therefore I am going to have to cut the dress off you. Do you understand?”

  “Rip it. Just rip the thing off me. I’ll repair it later.”

  “Hiya, I cannot. The air around you is much like water—it carries waves. If I rip this dress, it will send out swells, much like the circles you see in the water, but these are in the air, and if this party has a scout within it that is alert, he will sense it. Hold still, it is not a difficult task to cut it.”

  She held still, and he cut it away, peeling the garment from her and leaving her standing in only her chemise, corset, drawers, hose and slippers. The chemise came off next, though more easily, and soon it too fell away. Without a word, he wadded up both dress and chemise in his hands.

  “Quickly,” he said, “follow me.”

  She did, and they crept toward the bushes as fast as possible, half running in squats, half crawling. All the way there, Marietta eyed those bushes. Yes, they were beautiful. True, they smelled sweet…but she feared them. She wondered which was worse—to die by getting scratched to death by thorns, or to meet the war party?

  Clearly, Grey Coyote considered the former the better alternative. But did she?

  However, it didn’t appear she had a choice.

  Having reached the bushes, Grey Coyote turned to her, and beneath his breath, said, “I chose this particular spot for our training because we can hide in these bushes. They will conceal us.”

  Bending down, he pulled up the branches of the rose bushes: Good Lord, there was room beneath those branches, enough to hide. Odd that she had never realized this about the rose bush. It would be a tight squeeze, true, but they would still fit.

  Grey Coyote had shoved his robe up under those bushes, and pulling it out now, he opened it. For a moment, she stared at him aghast.

  In anticipation of such an event, he had planned an escape route ahead of time. Her fear of these bushes had been groundless.

  However, Grey Coyote was in motion, and pushing her cut-up dress and chemise into the top of the robe first, he turned to her. “You must crawl within the buffalo robe and pull it around you like a cocoon. Come, lie down on it, and make sure it is wrapped around you firmly.”

  “But—”

  He interrupted her. “You will then scoot up under the bush with all your might while I will push you. Do you understand?”

  She nodded and did as he instructed.

  “One moment.” He bent forward to pull the robe up over an exposed spot. “Now go, scoot up as far as you can.”

  Without another thought, she did it, using her forearms and every muscle available to her to push herself under that bush. Meanwhile, Grey Coyote assisted by shoving at her.

  Fragrances of rawhide, all mixed up with roses, dirt and the woodsy scent of bark assailed her, and combined with the scent of her own fear, the smell was distinct. But the one thing she had dreaded most didn’t happen. She wasn’t pricked. The robe had cushioned her against it.

  At last it was done, but she was yet again surprised when Grey Coyote didn’t follow her.

  Not only that, she heard him moving away. Instinctively, she called out in a whisper, “Aren’t you coming in here with me?”

  “I will be back. But first I must erase our tracks from the earth. If I do not return, you are to stay here and keep silent. No matter what happens, you are not to say a word or indicate in any way you are here. Do you understand?”

  “Yes,” she whispered, and the next thing she knew he was gone, leaving her alone with her thoughts.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Marietta could hardly recall a time when she had been more frightened. Her stomach twisted painfully, and adrenaline pumped into her blood, awakening every nerve and muscle. Tales of horror, of torture and worse, flooded her mind, and she shuddered. Thank goodness Grey Coyote had been insistent about letting the pony go.

  To think, if this had occurred yesterday, all might be lost. They had only set the animal free last night.

  If she survived this, she would not question the man again. Well, she would not do so in matters concerning scouting and wandering over the plains.

  Trying to dampen her thoughts, she waited. And she waited, then she waited some more for Grey Coyote’s return. Where was he? Was he safe?

  What would she do if he didn’t come back to her? She didn’t even want to consider the possibility.

  Then she heard something—was it the enemy? No, it was the low whisper of a voice, one she recognized. It was Grey Coyote, and he said, “I am here.”

  Grey Coyote was scrambling into the buffalo robe, scooting and worming his way up to her.

  Soon it was done, and he was level with her, his head slightly higher than hers. Without another word uttered, he pulled her into his arms.

  At once, she was engulfed in the earthy aroma of dirt, sweat and masculinity. Never had anything smelled so acute, so good, and although the two of them weren’t safe by any means, Grey Coyote’s presence beside her did much to calm her.

  She turned her face toward his so she could whisper in his ear. “What do we do from here?”

  “No more talk,” he murmured. “If you must say something, place my hand over your lips, so I can feel them move. Try also to put all thought from your mind, for if you think too much, an
alert scout can sense this.”

  She nodded, but did so very slightly.

  “We will wait here until they are gone. It could be as long as a day, or as short as a few minutes. But hopefully the war party will pass us by quickly and without notice.”

  “Yes.” She settled down, trying to remain as still as possible, while she attempted to think of nothing. This last was not an easy thing to do, she discovered.

  Suddenly, she heard the enemy. They were riding. However, it wasn’t the sound of their horses that she recognized. Not at first. No, it was their whooping and hollering.

  There must have been twenty or thirty in their party, she estimated, and they were certainly noisy. What did that mean? Didn’t Indians usually cross the prairie more quietly?

  Either they were very bold, she decided, or they were within their own territory, giving them a great degree of security. If this were the case and the enemy were in their own territory, then because she and Grey Coyote were heading south and west, if she remembered her geography correctly, this war party would most likely be either Lakota or Crow.

  Interesting that she had arrived at such a deduction. Perhaps in the short time period she had been with Grey Coyote, his manner of thought was influencing her.

  However, Grey Coyote appeared to need her attention, for he was very slowly inching his hand toward hers. Reaching for her palm, he took hold of her fingers, brought them directly to his lips, where she felt him say, for there was no sound, “Breathe without sound—blank your mind of all thought.”

  She nodded slightly then strove to forget everything.

  It was nearly impossible. Two of the war party had dismounted, had stepped right up to their bush. She could hear them speaking to each other, laughing. And what they did—

  Dear Lord. She heard the patter of something wet before she smelled it. The two warriors were clearly answering a call to nature—and unbeknownst to them, they were doing so right near Grey Coyote’s buffalo robe.

  Grey Coyote placed his hand over her mouth, as though he sensed she was about to gasp, and he mouthed, “Make no move.”

  Too frightened to do anything at all, she neither fidgeted nor spoke. Instead she eased into Grey Coyote’s embrace, and closing her eyes, she attempted to blank out the immediate environment.

  Then came a voice which Marietta had thought she would never hear again. It was a feminine sound, and it scolded and rebuked some unknown source. But though Marietta could little understand the words, she recognized exactly who that person was.

  It was Yellow Swan, her former maid.

  After slowly reaching out for Grey Coyote’s fingers, Marietta placed them over her own lips and mouthed, “I know the woman with this party. She is a friend of mine.”

  Grey Coyote nodded.

  “Is she in danger?”

  Again, Grey Coyote inclined his head, but slightly. “I understand the words of these people,” he said with lips alone. “The woman has been captured, and they are arguing over who will lie with her first.”

  Marietta’s eyes rounded. “They mean to rape her?” she whispered, but she did so without making any noise.

  “Hau,” he answered in the same way. “Unless one of them claims her as his future wife, they will each have a turn with her. But even then, her fate may be sealed.”

  “That’s horrible.”

  He shrugged minutely. “It is the way of the warrior and warring parties. Men are killed, women are mated, but if they survive and do not take their own lives, they are later adopted into the tribe.”

  “You sound as though you approve.”

  “I do not approve. It is only that it is the way of the warrior.”

  “Perhaps you may excuse this,” mouthed Marietta indignantly, “but I cannot lie here and let this happen to her.”

  “I understand,” Grey Coyote lipped. “I will rescue her.”

  “No,” Marietta uttered softly, making no sound. “We will rescue her. After all, she is my friend.”

  Grey Coyote didn’t respond. At least not at first. After a brief pause, he mouthed, “It will be dangerous work. We would be required to go into the enemy camp.”

  “That’s why we must do it together,” she said, though her words still had no sound. “Because it will be perilous, I must try to help. I would be of some assistance to you. Wouldn’t I?”

  “You could be, if you do exactly as I say.”

  She nodded very slightly. “I feel responsible for her. I brought her here. It is possible she wouldn’t even be in this situation now if I hadn’t hired her to accompany me.”

  He acknowledged her with a minute movement of his head, then they spoke no more. Marietta, though perhaps her ideas might be considered naïve, began to envision different rescue strategies.

  At the sound of a high-pitched scream, Marietta jumped. Grey Coyote held her close, soothing her. He murmured in her ear, “We must wait until it is dark, and then we will rescue your friend. Until then, we must do nothing, unless we, too, desire to become victims. And then I fear we would be of little use to your friend.”

  Marietta bobbed her head imperceptibly. She did understand, but she didn’t like it.

  They waited until evening. Sometime during the late hours of the day, Marietta must have drifted off to sleep. She awoke to find herself alone.

  For a moment she panicked.

  But then, resolving to remain calm, she strove to listen to her environment. Surely there would be a clue as to what might be happening and as to where Grey Coyote might have gone.

  It was useless. All she could discern was the noise of the babbling brook, which she knew to be no more than a few feet away from her.

  Without warning, something grazed her feet and startled her.

  Marietta almost let out a scream, but she caught herself at the last minute. Then came a dear voice, Grey Coyote murmuring, “It is I.”

  She sighed deeply and whispered, “You scared me.”

  “I am sorry. Ito, come. I am going to pull you out of there. The war party is now at a good distance from us, and it is again safe for us to talk. I have located their scouts, who because of their success, I would assume, have been careless and have left traces of themselves. But none of them are close to us. Now, are you ready to leave your refuge?”

  “Yes.”

  With one quick jerk, it was done. She was free. She sat up, looked behind her at the rose bush, then threw open the wrap and came up onto her knees. Her focus was on the buffalo robe, however, and without giving her attention to Grey Coyote, she said, “We will have to wash this covering of yours because of those warriors who—”

  She glanced up and gasped.

  “Do not scream.”

  “B-but you look…”

  “Like a piece of the earth?”

  “Yes.”

  He grinned at her. “And so will you.”

  Gazing intently at him, Marietta wasn’t certain this was something she wished. Grey Coyote looked rather scary.

  He was coated in clay mixed with tufts of dry grass that stuck out at odd angles all over his body, and he resembled a sort of monster—a monster that did appear like moving earth.

  Grey Coyote gave her no chance to contemplate her fate, for he was saying, “Ito, we will save your friend. But first, as I do, so must you too look like the earth.”

  Marietta grimaced and spoke without thinking first. “If I do this to myself—make myself into a sort of earth monster—will you still love me?”

  No sooner had the words been spoken than Marietta grew warm as a flush of emotion stole over her face.

  Grinning at her inanely, Grey Coyote uttered, “I will never stop.”

  For a moment, Marietta stood as though thunderstruck. Did he love her? Did she love him?

  No. Impossible. To be in love with this man would be to invite heartache, since love would create its own problems. Were she in love, she would eventually desire to remain here; she knew she would. Her own dreams would be for naught, and mi
ght she not forever be haunted by might have beens?

  Indeed, to her way of thinking, to love this man was a problem.

  But she had made beautiful love with Grey Coyote. Could it be she had feelings for him, deeper feelings than she had at first believed possible? Perhaps.

  But not love.

  Still her thoughts were clouded, and Marietta gazed up at Grey Coyote, to query him on the matter. She saw at once this had been a mistake.

  Darn the man. She shook her head. In addition to the clay covering his body, he wore a brazen smile over his countenance, a look which screamed at her, an expression that said he was aware of each and every one of her considerations.

  However, he uttered nothing. Instead, he turned away from her and stepped toward the water.

  Marietta didn’t follow him. She stood like one frozen, incapable of doing anything. After a time, Grey Coyote glanced over his shoulder, and as though aware of her predicament, he retraced his steps.

  Still, he said nothing. Taking her hand in his, he gently led her to the stream.

  “How did you manage to leave our shelter under the rose bushes without my knowledge of it?” Marietta asked a while later.

  Even now, she was avoiding staring directly at Grey Coyote. Mostly, because so profound were her thoughts, it had taken a moment to regain her equilibrium. She resolved to put her attention on more important matters, such as how they were going to survive, for one, how they were going to rescue Yellow Swan, for another.

  Marietta was squatted on the ground, reposing next to Grey Coyote, who had settled in a position by the stream. He answered her question, saying, “I believe I was able to leave without you knowing it because you sleep soundly.”

  “Not necessarily.”

  “Then perhaps I am skilled in getting in and out of tricky situations.”

  “It would appear to me that this is more likely the case.” She watched Grey Coyote as he mixed together clay, along with dry, golden grass. Carefully, she avoided looking at his hands as he worked. Still, and quite involuntarily, images of what other things those hands could do, and had done, to and with her, came vividly to mind.

  She shivered, but it wasn’t due to her thoughts. It was because the muck he was concocting would be going on her skin, and there didn’t seem to be a thing she could do about it.