Passage (Soul of the Witch Book 1)

by C. Marie Bowen

  “You need a doctor.” The color in his face had been from the fire. In the light of day, his skin was pale. She ran her hand across his brow and down the side of his face. He still had a fever.

  “That's the other reason we need to get home.”

  She settled beside him on the blanket. “It was bad, wasn't it? What White Eagle said about me.”

  Merril shook his head and eased himself into a more comfortable position.

  “It wasn't bad, Nic, it just didn't make much sense.” He fell silent as Gray Wolf approached.

  Gray Wolf carried two canteens. He handed one to Merril and one to her before sinking to his haunches in front of Merril. “We will be gone by sunset.” He looked and spoke only to Merril. “I wish I could offer you more time to recover, but we must keep moving.”

  Merril nodded. “I know. Where will you go?”

  “North.” Gray Wolf's voice held both determination and sadness. “I think we will not meet again, my friend.”

  “I fear you may be right,” Merril replied softly.

  Gray Wolf reached out and grasped Merril's good arm. “I wish you great happiness, my brother.”

  Toma entered the camp leading Midnight and two other horses. He stopped beside Gray Wolf.

  “Toma will ride with you.” Gray Wolf rose to his feet. “Then he will ride like the wind to catch us. Be at peace, my friend.” Gray Wolf turned and walked away.

  Nichole got to her feet. “How do you know him?” she asked, as she helped Merril to stand.

  “I traveled with his family to Sand Creek.” His eyes were sad as his gaze followed Gray Wolf across the encampment. “Most of his family died there.”

  “You were there?” Nichole asked in concern.

  Merril shook his head, his eyes still on Gray Wolf. “I was at Fort Laramie when the soldiers came. I didn't know about the massacre until it was over. He and I—we were little more than children.

  “Gray Wolf is a bitter man who's bound to meet a bitter end someday. Not that I blame him, or any of them, for that matter.” Merrill sighed and took Midnight's reins from Toma. “Gray Wolf’s hunting party was not at the Sand Creek camp when Chivington butchered his people. He blames himself.”

  Nichole stared wide-eyed at Merril—speechless—finally taking the reins from Toma.

  Toma looked over her head and refused to meet her eyes. Then he held out a pair of moccasins to her.

  “Are these for me?” She looked from the leather footwear to Toma.

  Toma ignored her and kept his gaze on Merril who struggle to mount his horse.

  Once in the saddle, Merril turned to Toma and spoke to him in his native tongue. Toma replied, and Merril smiled.

  “He says they are a gift from his people to Lost Wind, wife of Dark Moon.”

  Around the camp, the men were preparing to depart. Several of them glanced their way.

  “You are Dark Moon, I take it?” She looked up at Merril.

  “I am,” he replied with his half-grin. “And you, my love, are my beautiful wife, Lost Wind. Welcome to the family.”

  “Tell them I am sincerely grateful.” She bowed her head to Toma, and then looked back at Merril.

  Merril faced Toma but spoke loud enough for the men in the camp to hear.

  Nichole slipped the soft leather shoes onto her torn feet. They were old moccasins, well-worn and just a little large, but they were perfect, in her eyes. She saw several of the men nod while Merril spoke.

  “Thank you,” she whispered to Toma.

  He held the stirrup as she mounted the gelding they captured from Jones's fallen friend. Toma nodded but never met her gaze. He turned and pulled himself onto the back of his spotted horse.

  “Let's go home.” Merril's smile was tired as he winked at Nichole. “Your cousin will see me in irons, I know.”

  They rode away from the encampment, but Merril's injury kept their pace slow. As they rode, Nichole's thoughts returned to White Eagle.

  I must know what he said.

  She urged her horse to catch up and keep pace with Merril’s. “Can I ask you something?”

  His attention came to her slowly. Both fatigue and pain apparent on his face. “What’s that, sweetheart?”

  Her question about White Eagle died in her throat. “How are you still in the saddle? We should stop.”

  He shook his head. “No. We'll be there soon.” His gaze focused on her. “Talk to me. I feel better when I hear your voice.”

  She stared at him—uncertain—then spoke her question. “Does White Eagle actually talk to spirits?”

  “I don't know. Gray Wolf believes he does.” He stared at her for a moment. “Did you notice he wouldn't look at you when we left?”

  “Not really. Your friend didn't like me to begin with.” She searched his face. “Are you saying there's more to his behavior than simple ... dislike?”

  Merril nodded. “White Eagle said to look at you was to see one who had walked through the halls of the dead. But that's a rough translation.” He tried to laugh, but it turned into a cough, and he winced.

  Nichole's stomach lurched. “That has to be about the carriage accident. You said you were afraid you'd lost me. That must be what he meant.”

  Merril remained silent for a while. When he spoke, his head lowered so that she had to strain to hear him. “I don't know. White Eagle believes you've crossed over from life and into death.”

  “Well, that's ridiculous.” She stared at Merril's gray face. Their talk had tired him. He wouldn't be able to stay in the saddle much longer. She pulled on her reins and fell behind.

  Did he believe White Eagle?

  She glanced back at Toma.

  He looked over her head and past her as if she wasn't there.

  Chapter 24

  Nichole Harris

  The line of brush along Box Elder Creek had long since disappeared when Merril held up his hand. “Let's stop for a spell.”

  Nichole slipped gratefully to the ground and winced when her sunburned shoulder brushed against her mount.

  “You're a bit red.” Merril walked around Midnight and opened one of his saddlebags. He pulled out a wrinkled blue shirt. “I should have thought of this earlier. Here.” He shook the shirt out and handed it to her. “It'll keep the sun off your shoulders.”

  “What about you?” she asked, and then glanced away in embarrassment. His muscular chest and back were tanned almost as dark as Toma's.

  “I'll be fine.” The lopsided grin brought out the long dimple on the side of his face. “I'm more concerned about what Jason will say when he sees you. Your sunburn's the least of it.”

  Nichole shrugged. She couldn't think on that. She knew how bad she looked. “How's your shoulder?”

  “Tight and sore as hell.” He turned around and surveyed the barren landscape of grass and sky. “We're on Shilo land now. We'll be home soon.”

  “It went quicker going the other way.” Nichole eased the blue shirt over her tender shoulders.

  “We were movin' a bit faster.” He winked at her and smiled.

  She leaned against her mount and stretched her back as she took stock of his condition. Her chest tightened with concern. He tried to be playful to ease her fears, but he wasn't doing well. His face was sallow, and beneath his dull eyes were dark circles.

  His fever's back.

  Their brief stop ended and Merril helped her mount, and then pulled himself onto Midnight's saddle. “Another hour and we'll have you home.”

  Nichole nodded and fell into line behind him. Fatigue and exposure made her nauseous. She could only imagine how much worse Merril felt. They rode in silence for another quarter-mile.

  Ahead to the west, the sky grew dark and threatening. The horizon disappeared, and a low wall of clouds rolled across the grassland toward them.

  “All hell's about to break loose,” Merril commented over his shoulder as a clap of thunder swept past the riders.

  “We're not going to make it before the rain, are we?” T
he wind picked up and tossed Nichole's snarled curls about her head.

  His response was lost in another clap of thunder.

  Toma called out, and Merril's head came up. “On the ridge,” Merril said. He slid his rifle from the saddle scabbard.

  A quarter-mile south, on a low rise across the flat expanse of grass, several riders watched their progress.

  “Do you think it's Jason?” Nichole whispered to Merril as she pulled beside him.

  “Or Jones,” Merril replied and nodded to Toma.

  Toma pulled his rifle from behind him and held it ready.

  The three moved forward, wary of the other group as they approached the ridge.

  “It's Jason.” Merril's voice was flat. He laid his rifle across his lap. “And Kevin.” He glanced at Nichole and raised one eyebrow.

  Nichole looked down at her attire: a filthy torn chemise under Merril's wrinkled shirt, bare scratched legs ending in a pair of old moccasins. Her calves and arms were sunburned, and by the sting at the tip of her nose, her face as well. Her gaze lifted to Merril. “What do we tell them?”

  “The truth, I guess. Well, most of it.” His smile widened. “This will be interesting.”

  Six mounted men waited for them. Three were men she'd met at The Highlands. Jim, Jason, and Kevin rounded out the number.

  The riders moved to meet them.

  Nichole could just make out the expressions on the faces she knew. Jim appeared relieved, while Jason looked angry, his jaw clenched and his face red beneath his blond hair and black, flat crown hat. Her appraisal of their rescuers stopped at Kevin.

  Kevin’s eyes bulged from his flushed face as his horse raced ahead of the others. “That savage bastard!” Kevin bellowed and pulled his rifle from his saddle scabbard.

  “Kevin, stop!” Jason yelled.

  Instead, Kevin cocked the lever action on the rifle, raised himself from the saddle, and took aim.

  Merril cocked his rifle, and with a grimace of pain, brought the weapon to his shoulder and aimed at his brother.

  “What's he doing?” Nichole stared in horror as Kevin approached them. “He's lost his mind.”

  Jason and Jim had kicked their horses into motion to catch Kevin.

  From the corner of her eye, Nichole saw Toma stop beside her and raise his rifle at Kevin.

  “Well, shit.” She shook the reins and kicked her horse forward, darting between the two groups, and then pulled back hard on the reins. Her mount reared in protest, and she hugged the saddle with her knees to keep from falling. “What's wrong with you, Kevin?” Her voice broke as she fought to stay seated. Her horse spun and reared again. “Are you going to shoot us?”

  “Damn it, Nicki,” Merril said as Midnight shot past her and raced toward Kevin.

  Kevin didn't appear to notice either his brother or Nichole. His sight was pinned on the big Indian as he squeezed the trigger.

  The butt-end of Merril's rifle caught Kevin beneath the chin. The impact lifted Kevin from the saddle with a wretched crack. Kevin hit the ground on his back. He tried to rise but fell back to his hands and knees. His head hung down, and he wheezed in short gasps. Blood ran from his open mouth.

  Merril slid from Midnight and staggered to his brother. “What the hell are you thinking?” His voice was harsh as he glared at Kevin. Merril reached down and gripped his brother by the collar.

  Kevin's head lolled back, the color in his face returning as he gulped air, his mouth full of blood.

  “Why are you so bull-headed ignorant?” Merril shook him again. “Christ, I can smell the whiskey from here. What's wrong with you, Kevin?”

  “That's enough, Merril.” Jason slid from his mount, his voice cold and hard. “I said, that's enough.”

  Jason grabbed Merril's shoulder, but Merril pulled away from his grip and stumbled back. “Keep your hands off me.” Blood ran from his bandaged shoulder down his tanned torso. The bandage was brown and soaked with blood.

  Toma laid his rifle across his legs and watched the reunion in silence.

  Nichole climbed down from her horse.

  How can Toma know these are friends?

  Satisfied he wouldn't shoot her cousin, she ran to Merril's side.

  “I want to know what's happened,” Jason yelled at Merril and then turned to her. “And I want to know right now.”

  A crack of thunder followed his words. He gestured at Kevin, who staggered to his feet with the help of one of The Highlands' ranch hands. “He couldn't have any worse thoughts than I have. For Christ's sake, you've been gone for two days.”

  “Nicki's fine.” Merril's face was as white as Kevin's. Tight lines of pain creased his brow and around his mouth. “She's been with me.”

  “Fine, you say?” Jason bellowed, his chiseled features contorted in rage. “With you she's fine? Where are her clothes, Merril?” Jason turned his wrath on Nichole. “Where the hell are your goddamned clothes?”

  “If you would just shut up for one minute—” her reply was cut short by Jason's slap across her cheek. Caught off guard, she spun and fell to her knees. She shook her head in disbelief and glared at her cousin.

  “Why you—” Merril started at Jason, then stopped.

  Jason had pulled a small revolver from his vest. “I'll say this just once, Merril Shilo, and I mean it most sincerely. I may not be able to stop dealing with your half of The Shilo, but by God, you'll leave my cousin alone.” He jerked his head at Toma. “Who the hell is that?”

  “His name is Toma.” Merril wiped his hand across his face. He reached out a hand to help Nichole stand, but Jason raised the small pistol again. Merril stopped and faced Jason.

  “He's Cheyenne,” Merril stated in a calm even voice. “If it hadn't been for Toma's aim with that rifle, Nic and I would be dead now.”

  “Jones?” Jason queried, and Merril nodded. Crystal blue and green-gold eyes met and held in both a challenge and complete understanding.

  Nichole lurched to her feet. A husky sob escaped her throat and rose in a frustrated scream as she turned to face the men. Her chin jutted toward her cousin. The side of her face where Jason slapped her flamed beneath her sunburn. She pushed the tangled hair from her face and pointed at her cousin. “You're crazy.” Hysteria took hold, and she threw her arms in the air and screamed. “You’re all fucking crazy.”

  “Nicki...” Jason warned. His pistol still leveled at Merril's bandaged arm and chest.

  She fled backward, out of his reach. “Do you care what happened to us?” She stumbled on the uneven ground, and then regained her balance, still backing away. “Are you blind? Merril's been shot and needs medical attention, and this asshole tries to shoot us.” She pointed at Kevin who watched her through bloodshot eyes. “Then you hit me and pull a gun on Merril. What the hell is wrong with this picture, Jason?” She turned and ran.

  “Nicki!” Jason yelled at her retreating back.

  She wobbled past Toma and screamed in rage at the sky.

  “Hell.” Jason threw the pistol to the ground at Merril's feet and chased her. “Nicki.” His voice softened as he came up behind her.

  She spun and glared at him with tear-filled eyes. “Don't you touch me.”

  “Nicki, I—”

  “Get away,” she shouted as sobs erupted.

  Jason grabbed her arm just as she turned to run again.

  “No! Let me go.” She punched Jason in the chest and arms. Her fist slid past his face.

  He pulled her close and wrapped his arms around her. He held her against his chest as her efforts to escape him lessened. In the end, she clung to him as all the terror and anger rushed out in a storm of bitter tears.

  “I'm sorry, Nicki.” He smoothed her hair and plucked a leaf from it. “I was terrified for you. I thought you'd been hurt or killed. Then to see you like this—I was wrong. Please, say you'll forgive me.”

  She nodded, unable to speak. Jason rocked her gently in his arms. After a moment, she swallowed her tears and disengaged herself from Jason, wip
ing her eyes. “I'm sorry, too.”

  She moved away from her cousin and captured her horse's reins, and then hoisted herself up and looked down at Jason with red-rimmed eyes.

  “Hear me, Jason Harris,” she hissed. “You have nothing to say about who I choose to see. I don't intend to fight with you about this now, or ever. I will do as I see fit.” Their blue eyes met and clashed, held by love and doubt. “Don't expect me to seek your approval and don't ever hit me again.” She pulled the reins away and turned her attention to Toma.

  “Goodbye, Toma,” she said softly to her friend, knowing he would understand. “Thank you.”

  Toma nodded his head once, but never looked at her.

  She turned her mount toward Merril and the rest of the search party.

  Jason retrieved his revolver from the ground and mounted his mare.

  “Let's go home,” Jimmy Leigh called to the others as they turned to head south across the valley.

  Merril raised his good arm and waved to Toma.

  The tall Indian lifted his rifle high above his head in reply and then rode swiftly back the way they came.

  Nichole gazed after Toma, sorry to see the gentle giant leave. A cold, heavy rain began to fall just as a movement to her left caught her eye.

  “No!” Her scream echoed across the grassy plain, but she was too late.

  The sharp crack of a rifle stung her ears. A spot of red appeared in the center of Toma's broad back. He slipped slowly from the saddle and fell to the ground.

  “That ought to teach those damned red bastards not to steal Shilo cattle,” Kevin shouted as he slid his Winchester back into its scabbard. His eyes were glazed with hate and satisfaction. Kevin cocked his head and smiled sardonically at Merril.

  Jim edged his mount between the two brothers. “Don't do it, Merril,” he cautioned, as Merril reached for his Colt. “That won't change anything, and you'd be putting your own neck on the line.”

  “This murdering bastard deserves to die, Jim.” Merril 's voice was ragged, filled with loathing and disgust at Kevin.

  “The judge won't see it that way. It ain't fair or right, but no one's gonna take any special circumstances into account.”

  “He was our friend,” Merril yelled at his brother's smirk.