A short man, bent with age, shambled up to the table and offered the entire crew a wide, toothless smile. He was dressed in a freshly pressed beige cotton shirt, a silk vest, slacks tucked into riding boots and had what was left of his snow-white hair slicked back. When he spoke, his voice sounded like marble crushed under a hoof.
“Fine sirs, forgive my brashness and my poor manners for having eavesdropped, but I am certain overheard one of you mention Tahlonteeskee. Is that correct?”
Rich surveyed the bewildered expressions of his crew before he responded. “We may have some business there soon,” he said hesitantly. “Why do you ask?”
“You see, I have business there as well, but I fear my feeble limbs are no longer up to the challenge,” he said, bowing his head.
“What kind of business?”
“The profitable kind,” he said, locking gazes with Rich.
As he stared into those eyes, Niccolo realized he’d seen enough. With a growl of rage, he ripped open the neck of his meal and dropped him convulsing to the ground. The old man’s face may have been wrinkled beyond recognition and the voice was all wrong, but those eyes…they were a dead giveaway. Besides, he could think of only one other person in the whole of the Indian Territory who insisted on using such a pompous vocabulary.
Launching himself into the air, he swept over the plains, bending trees from the force of his passing. He was on the porch of the sprawling ranch house in an instant. He took a moment to compose himself, forcing an air of calm before he opened the door. Pavlo emerged from the hallway at nearly the same time. Blood dripped in twin streams from the corners of his mouth. The front of his shirt was soaked through and sticking to his chest.
“The prodigal son has returned yet again,” he said with a wide grin. “You were away for what felt like an eternity. I assumed the absence was caused by some offensive over the stable I created for us, but fear not, their meager lives will no longer be a burden on your soul.”
“Well, that’s one less thing I’ll need to address tonight,” Niccolo replied lightly, moving further into the room with a casual stride.
“Pray tell, what else could be weighing on you?”
“I went to visit Kanati and he wasn’t there,” he said, trying to catch his old friend’s gaze.
“I’m so sorry for your loss,” he said, covering his mouth. “I know how much the boy means to you.”
“Yes, but for the life of me, I can’t figure out why anyone would want to hurt him.”
“Did he suffer?” he asked, finally meeting his gaze.
“Not nearly as much as the gang you sent to slay him,” Niccolo said on a whisper.
Pavlo flinched as if he had been struck, then coiled into a crouch and sprang with a snarl on his lips and murder in his eyes.
Niccolo was ready for him. They collided with the sound of granite on granite. They spun through the common room like some sort of demonic tornado, clawing, gnashing, trying to gain the upper hand. Furniture disintegrated in their path, sending debris and tufts of stuffing into the air. He was sure his old friend could match his speed, but he was surprised to discover that their strength was equal as well. He couldn’t squash the excitement that bloomed, vying for space with his rage. This could be his greatest battle. No weapons, no advantages. Just fangs, determination, and a worthy opponent.
Four lines appeared on Pavlo’s throat, each trickling blood. He snatched Niccolo’s arm as it recoiled and delivered a blow of his own. He felt the heat rise on his cheek as the claws dug in. Enraged, he lunged for the neck, but his teeth barely grazed the surface of Pavlo’s skin. They danced apart, eyeing each other as they moved in a close circle.
“This is not an ending I would prefer,” Pavlo said through a forced smile. “Can we not salvage our friendship?”
“No,” Niccolo growled, darting in for another attack.
The conflict raged on, claw meeting claw, fangs meeting air. Every opening closed before the other could take advantage. It was infuriating to have his enemy so close and be powerless to do anything with the opportunity. If he could just get a solid hold on him, it would all be over.
He tried to press him to a corner of the room. They toppled the last remaining end table, hurtling an unlit lamp to the floor. It shattered on impact, splattering kerosene in a wide circle.
Pavlo stared at the pungent liquid and Niccolo took advantage of the distraction to charge. As he rushed forward, Pavlo raised his hand, but at the floor rather than him. In the next instant, he was engulfed in flames. The heat blistered his skin. The pain was unimaginable. He launched himself free of the conflagration, but his clothes were already ablaze as well. Though darkness encased him, he still felt every sensation. His sight was gone, robbed by the fire. The moisture of his eyes boiled away.
He rolled along the floor, trying desperately to extinguish the flames, all the while waiting for the deathblow from Pavlo. When had he learned pyrokinesis? How could he let this happen? He was a warrior, a legend, a man to be feared. Yet that pompous ass had bested him.
He slowly began to realize that he was alone. Pavlo had fled.
Rolling to his back, he could still feel the smoke streaming from his body. Every nerve still intact screamed at him for mercy. He needed blood to heal himself, but knew he didn’t have time to hunt before the sun rose. Blinded, he would have to rely on his other senses to seek out the nourishment he needed. But first, he had even more pressing issues. The flames had turned into an inferno. The entire house would be coming down around his ears at any second. Nearly passing out from the pain, he lurched to his feet. Feeling his way as quickly as he could, the flames licked at his skin, threatening to consume him as they did everything else in their path.
He’d nearly given in when finally he felt cool air on his face. Stumbling off the porch, he put as much distance between him and the house as he could. The sun was coming. He didn’t have much more time. Finally, he dropped to his knees in the soft grass and dug. As he covered himself in dirt, he vowed he would hunt the cur dog down.
A sudden fear burst to the forefront of his thoughts. Would Pavlo seek revenge against Tahlonteeskee? He led him to believe Kanati was dead, but what of Selu…the others? He needed time to heal, time to think. He prayed he would be afforded both.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Kanati crested a hill with Selu gripping tightly to his sides as the horse galloped along and his heart sank. He couldn’t quite make out the Talwa yet, but the glow rising into the night air was unmistakable. Fire. What happened? Did they take the time to set fire to the town before absconding with them?
Trying to quicken his pace, he prayed there would be survivors. As they topped the last hill, he realized the fires sprang from dozens of torches held by his kinsmen as they surrounded their home. Someone had already discovered Taima.
“Selu! Kanati!” Acabo exclaimed as they entered the light cast from the torches and leapt from their steed. “We thought we’d never see you again.”
“What happened?” Acabo stepped up to embrace them. “We found one of the men from this morning and…and… “
“My auntie,” Selu finished for him.
He gave a solemn nod.
“They came for us in the middle of the afternoon,” Kanati said, reaching for Selu’s hand. “We fought and lost, but we were able to get free after they made camp.”
“We’ll post guards…” Acabo began.
“That won’t be necessary,” he quickly assured him.
“But what if they return?” he was clearly flabbergasted.
“They won’t…they’re dead.”
Murmurs fluttered through the crowd, but just as he predicted, no one asked for details.
“Have you moved her body yet?” Selu asked softly.
“That is what we were about to do,” he said, pointing as a group of elders emerged with her remains wrapped in a blanket. “She is to be taken to the Townhouse where we will cleanse her, washing her with lavender oil to drive away the
impurities of her death. We will inter her before sundown tomorrow.”
“She will return to the earth to give nourishment to the plants as they give nourishment to us,” Dustu added.
Acabo gasped and Kanati followed his gaze to Selu’s blood stained legs. “The child?”
They shook their heads simultaneously, but neither answered.
“Do you need to see the doctor?” he asked, already scanning the crowd for Ani.
She shook her head again. “There’s nothing he can do for me now. My body is already…purging itself.”
He turned to Kanati. “Keep a close eye on her, especially for the next few days. If she starts to run fever, take her to Ani immediately.
“Of course,” he replied, nodding vigorously.
“I’ll let you know if I need him,” she assured them.
“At the very least you really need to get some rest,” he said, pulling her into a tight embrace.
“I can’t stay here,” she said when he released her.
“I know.” Kanati squeezed her hand. “I’ll just slip inside, grab us a few things, and we can go to my old house.”
“I don’t think I’ll ever be able to look at that kitchen again,” she continued, refusing to relinquish her hold on him as he started to pull away.
“Then I shall gather all of our possessions in the next few days and we shall move…permanently.”
“Thank you,” she whispered. “I love you.”
He kissed her on the forehead. “I love you too. Wait here with Acabo and I will return shortly.”
Entering the house quickly, he tried not to look at the blood already congealed on the floor. He wondered briefly what they did with Mickey’s body, but quickly decided he didn’t care. What happened to him in death could never make amends for what he did in life. Gathering a few sets of clothing and their wedding blanket, he was back at her side within moments, yet most of the crowd had already dispersed. Only Acabo remained. He watched the procession of torches that accompanied Taima on the path to the Townhouse and instantly knew the reason why.
“If you’ll excuse me,” he gave a slight bow before hurry to catch up with the others.
“What should we do about him?” Selu asked, pointing to the horse that stood motionless where they dismounted.
“I’ll take off his tack and set him free,” he said, already in motion.
Dropping the saddle and reins to the ground, he gave the steed a gentle smack on the hindquarters. “Go on now.”
The horse obliged with a whinny, galloping quickly out of sight. They stared after him until they could no longer hear his hooves hit the ground. As they moved slowly towards home, it occurred to him that they were both procrastinating. Though he was exhausted, both mentally and physically, he didn’t want to go to sleep. He was sure once his eyes closed, he would be bombarded by nightmares both of what happened and what they narrowly avoided.
* * * *
Kanati lead the procession of seven who carried Taima’s body to the tribal cemetery. They kept step with the drumbeat that echoed from the crowd that followed. Wails of grief and anger coursed through the throng. He could barely see the path before him; tears rolled freely down his cheeks. When they arrived at the freshly dug hole, he helped lower Selu’s aunt—his aunt to her final resting place.
Dustu stepped to the edge of the grave and raised his hands to shoulder level. The multitude fell silent. His hands dropped to his sides and he stared down at the wrapped form at the bottom of the hole.
“All things have their proper place in our world. Life, love and happiness are what we celebrate, but sickness, death and despair also make us who we are. How can we truly appreciate joy without having ever known sorrow?
“Our mental prowess increases and diminishes. We have strength and weakness. The sun rises and shines, yet it succumbs to darkness. The moon waxes full and fades away. The flowers bloom and then wither. The leaves bloom and are swept away by autumn’s embrace. The wind blows and then there is calm.
“And so the changes are inevitable, all things sicken and die. But as surely as we pass from this life, we can take comfort in the fact that we will be reborn and our achievements in this life will reward us in the next.
“Our beloved Taima will surely be missed, but fear not, for her next life will be one of greatness. How could it not be with all that she us do for us of her own free will?”
He knelt at the edge, dislodging small bits of dirt in the process and pulled an eagle feather from his hair and dropped it. It fluttered down to Taima.
“Sleep well, my friend,” he whispered.
Rising slowly, he turned and walked away as one by one the rest of the tribe filed by the grave. Each grabbed a handful of dirt, tossed it into the hole and said their final respects.
Selu stood by the grave long after it was filled and packed down. Kanati stood behind her, his arms wrapped around her waist. He wanted to comfort her, but didn’t know how. He silently prayed his presence would be enough. The sun had long set before she finally pulled away and turned to face him.
“Let’s go,” she said, her voice breaking off in a sob.
As he walked her home, he opened his mouth several times to speak, but words failed him. What could anyone say that would ease the pain of everything that had transpired in such a short time? And yet, he wanted to do something for her. He loved her so much, he had to do something. His own grief was shadowed by his need to lighten her burden.
They stepped up to the door and he turned her to face him. Wrapping his arms around her lightly, he stared into her eyes.
“I know you’re hurting. I know there is nothing I can say or do to make the ache go away, but I love you and I swear to spend every waking moment trying to make sure that the happiness in your life shines so bright, this pain…our pain will have no choice but be chased into the shadows of our mind.”
“The thing that would make me most happiest in the world right now,” she said and leaned up to kiss him. “Is to lie next to my husband and know in my heart of hearts that no matter how long I mourn, you will be there to try to comfort me.”
“Consider it done,” he said, guiding her into the house.
They headed straight into the bedroom, disrobed and climbed into bed. He held her as they drifted in and out of sleep. The sun shone through the window and still they lay there. When they were hungry, they ate, when they were thirsty, they drank, but always they returned to the comfortable confines of their blankets. Time no longer held any meaning for him as it passed in a blurred mixture of dreams, nightmares and quasi-lucid realities, but thankfully no fever. He wasn’t sure if his tattered heart could endure another loss, especially not the loss of the woman he loved most in the world.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Niccolo dug himself free of his makeshift shelter. The dormant time had allowed his body to heal some, but not enough. His sight was still nothing more than shadows and blurs. He needed to feed and soon. Shaking the soil from the remnants of his once fine clothes, he raised his nose into the air, trying to catch a scent.
He’d hoped for human, but at that moment, anything would do. Animal blood wasn’t nearly as effective, nor was it particularly palatable. It would, however, be enough to send him far enough along the road to recovery to at least let him go on a proper hunt.
“That’ll do,” he whispered as he caught a whiff of something trotting off in the distance. “Don’t worry; I’ll catch up with you shortly.”
Taking off as quickly as his weakened body would let him, he chased after his prey. With his vision impaired, his other senses took over. His body seemed to dodge the branches and trees that whipped by of their own accord. The scent grew stronger with each heartbeat. He was close.
At last, he sensed his moment and sprang.
The buck squealed in protest as he landed on him and sunk his teeth into the soft flesh above the shoulder. The deer buckled, crashing them both to the brush, but still he held on. He drank greedily, trying
to keep his mind from reliving the bizarre life of such a simple creature. It was a strange experience and one of the chief reasons he preferred not to feed from them unless it was absolutely necessary. When he had his fill, he rolled to his back, the blood already working through his system, healing him. He needed more.
He spent the rest of the evening seeking out large beasts to replenish his body. He fed from deer after deer until his sight was fully restored. Feeling more like himself, he took to the air and sought out the cave that had so long been his home.
As the sun pushed him into slumber, he spent his waning thoughts plotting his revenge. Pavlo would not escape him a second time.
* * * *
The next evening he woke, leapt to his feet, sprinted to the mouth of the cave and launched himself into the air, his tattered clothes fluttering in the wind. He made a beeline for the closest city, which happened to be Whitefield, a town known to be a haven for several infamous outlaws, but more than that, a town where he could replace his wardrobe with the latest fashions imported from his homeland. He’d frequented the shops there on many an occasion.
Setting down at the edge of town, he expended some of his energy to project a more respectable image of himself. He used the illusion long enough to shop for his new duds. Changing in the alley beside the store, he donned a pair of black britches tucked into riding boots, a burgundy vest over a pressed white shirt and a black riding cloak. He left the singed remains of his other clothes in the dirt and strolled casually out onto the main thoroughfare.
Where would Pavlo have fled? Would he have stayed in the Indian Territory? It didn’t seem likely, but then for all he knew, Niccolo had died in the fire.
As he walked along the bustling sidewalk, he sent his mental fingers probing for any signs of his wayward friend. Images flitted to him as he grazed the minds of Whitefield’s denizens, but none of them showed his face. He pushed harder, spreading the circle of his influence. The edges flickered and danced, but barely stretched farther than the city limits.
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