by Liz D. Marx
She knew Mason had come here, and that Running Bison was full of shit, trying to deny it, as were the other two tribesmen by the leader’s side. She wouldn’t be easily fooled by their standing-tall-pretending-to-be-tough demeanor.
The rest of the men had taken the children inside the large building as soon as Pamela had arrived, but she could see a few curious little faces watching the whole thing from behind a concrete bench near her. They probably thought this was way better than any cop show on TV.
“Enough!” Pamela said sternly. “Mr. Bison, I don’t have to remind you that you are outnumbered here. You don’t want bloodshed, do you?”
The beefy man didn’t move.
“Put your gun down, sir, and I’ll make sure your village lives to see another day.”
“I’m not going to warn you again, Miss. Get off my property now,” Bison barked.
Stupid Indian.
Pamela reached out and pulled one of the snooping children from their hiding place. She wasn’t holding a gun. She didn’t have to.
“What’s your name, honey?” she asked the girl, who was shaking under her tight grip.
“Laura,” she answered in a small voice.
“Laura? What a beautiful name,” Pamela said and gave the girl a little shake. It probably didn’t hurt, but it certainly had the effect she wanted. The girl screamed and cried for her mother.
Pamela’s heart sank, but she needed to make that Bison moron talk before things got out of hand.
“Let her go!” one of the other men shouted―probably the father.
“Deliver Mason to me, and I will,” she retorted, then squeezed the girl’s arm. The small child’s cries went from desperate to deafening.
“Summer!” A plump short woman with chocolate skin burst out of the main house, crying.
The three tribesmen started arguing with each other in a language Pamela couldn’t understand.
Good, they were panicking, but this could go very sour soon.
“Come on, Indian, what’s it gonna be?” One of her hired guns growled, his rifle pointed toward Running Bison’s chest.
“I know where Mr. Green is.”
Everyone stopped and looked up at the roof. A scrawny-looking teenage boy was perched on the edge.
“Shut up, Johnny,” Bison snarled, but Pamela saw fear in the old man’s eyes.
“Johnny, right?” she asked the kid. “Johnny, you are a very clever boy, I see. Tell me where Mason is.”
She watched the boy swing off the roof and land perfectly on the ground just a few feet from her.
“Let Summer go first.”
Pamela smiled, so young and already blinded by testosterone. “I don’t think so, kid. Here’s the deal: you tell me where Mason is, or my men will shoot not only your little friend here but you and all of the other children in this freaking center, got it?”
At the sound of those words, not only did Summer start screaming, but other children inside the compound joined in the wailing choir. Running Bison blinked a couple of times, and the other men looked just as lost.
Pamela truly wished this boy would give her what she needed and fast.
“Alright, just don’t hurt her,” Johnny said, then, without looking at his leader, carried on. “I’ve seen the stone Mr. Green had on him before.”
Stone? What stone?
“It is the same as the drawings I found in a cave, hidden deep in the mountains,” Johnny said pointing west.
So, that’s what her job had been all about? A freaking stone?
“Good story, kid, but I’m not stupid,” Pamela said, pulling little Summer harshly toward one of the cars.
“I’ll show you!”
Johnny’s pleading eyes cut deep into Pamela’s heart. They reminded her of her own when she had pleaded for her father’s life so many years ago.
“Deal. Get in the car,” she said, letting go of the girl, who ran to the woman standing just outside the main house.
Johnny watched mother and daughter hug tightly, then glanced at Running Bison.
Pamela signaled to one of her men. Immediately, the hulking man grabbed the teenager by the collar and shoved him inside the closest of the Range Rovers.
“It was a pleasure doing business with you,” she told Running Bison, then turned to leave that damned village.
She knew the Caddos were not going to be happy with her terms, but they had no choice. They weren’t going to do anything stupid while she had one of his boys in her custody, right?
Wrong. Pamela heard a loud war cry echo in the air. As she turned back around, she saw Running Bison run toward her with his rifle raised high.
What the hell was he thinking?
Before the old man took five strides, two of her men blocked his path and a third one fired a warning shot in the air then pointed the gun right at Running Bison’s temple.
“Stop!” Pamela shouted. “If you shoot him, you’ll have to answer for it with the boss.”
The hired gun didn’t like her party-pooping threat, but he pulled his finger off the trigger. Then he turned the gun around and whacked Running Bison with its heavy butt. The old man dropped unconscious on the ground.
“May this be a warning to all of you who think you can stop us,” Pamela said out loud.
“What are you gonna do to Johnny?” Little Summer cried from behind the safety of her mother’s arms.
Pamela would never hurt a child, so she told the truth. “I promise to let your friend go after he keeps his promise.” And she secretly prayed for the kid to do just that.
Chapter Nineteen
Chloe forgot all her grievances against Mason and ran as fast as she could as he guided them through the thick woods. It was the second time in less than three days that she was being attacked. She had set herself on this journey to find peace and harmony, not to be killed, for goodness sake!
A gunshot echoed in the woods and, startled, she turned back toward the cultural center, but the trees were in the way blocking the visibility.
“Should we go back and help them?” she asked Mason, terrified.
When Mason didn’t answer, Chloe looked around at him and then frowned at the strange sight.
He was standing really still; his face was focused on the skies above, but his eye lids were closed. He seemed to be in some sort of trance. After a few moments, his wide shoulders shook and he looked down at her.
“No, there isn’t much we can do,” Mason finally answered. “But we have to hurry up.”
They ran along the river for a long time, until they found a stone path that protruded enough for them to cross to the other side. It was quite slippery and Chloe’s boots kept on sliding off the pebbles, but Mason was right there to keep her from falling. By the time they got to the other side, her jeans were soaking wet. She didn’t care, though; she could hear the roar of cars approaching. Their chasers were on their tail.
They sprinted up the hill until Chloe’s lungs couldn’t take it anymore.
“I…have to…take a break,” she gasped between short intakes of air. She was an historian, for crying out loud, not a professional athlete!
Mason agreed with a nod and leaned back on a thick pine tree. He, too, was panting. Chloe sat on the ground and let her body recover some energy. She couldn’t hear the sound of engines anymore, so hopefully they were far enough away to be safe.
But their respite didn’t last long. Not even a few minutes after they stopped, they heard footsteps on dead leaves nearby. Turning around, Chloe saw two men with large rifles in their hands approaching fast from the north side of the hill.
Chloe’s tiredness vanished at once. She was ready to sprint for her life again, but the men were already too close and the gun’s red beams were playing catch on her temple. Her heart jumped to her mouth.
She looked at Mason for guidance, but he didn’t seem to be on the same page. He didn’t look panicked, not even breaking sweat. Instead, he slowly straightened himself off the tree trunk, his expressi
on unreadable.
“Stay close to me,” he whispered, not wavering from the men circling them.
Chloe did as she was told and placed herself behind him.
“Don’t do anything stupid. We don’t want any trouble,” one of the men said from behind the gun’s scope.
“Is that why you’re pointing that thing at us?” Mason replied. “We’re just hiking here, man.” They were trapped between the two guards.
“Cut the bullshit, Mason. We know who you are,” barked the man who seemed to be the leaders of the troupe. “On your knees, now.”
This was it. They were going to die.
Utterly terrified, Chloe grabbed Mason’s shirt, praying for a miracle.
When neither of them obliged, the leader bellowed again, “I said, go down on your knees and put your hands behind your head, now!”
But instead of complying with the very clear order, Mason lowered his chin and opened his stance, as if readying himself for a fight.
Chloe’s mind went into haywire. Had he lost his freakin’ mind? She had seen him fight before and knew he had some serious skills, but those men were armed with semi-automatic rifles.
“I’m warning you, Mason, don’t do anything stupid,” the leader growled.
“And I’m warning you to stand down, sir, and walk away if you don’t want to get hurt,” Mason snarled back.
Oh my Gosh, oh my Gosh!
Mason took a step forward; the gun men aimed their rifles straight at Mason’s chest.
“Wait!” Chloe cried out, stepping out of Mason’s shadow. “Don’t shoot!”
“What are you doing, Chloe?” Mason murmured.
“Here,” Chloe took the stone out of her purse and showed it to the one who looked like the leader. “This is what you want, right?”
“Chloe, don’t,” Mason growled.
The two men looked at each other with puzzled faces.
Chloe took a few steps forward. “Take it, damn it. Just don’t hurt us.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about, miss, but if you take one more step I will put a bullet between your eyes,” the guy replied, a big frown wrinkling his forehead.
“Oh, come on! Just take the damn stone.” Chloe didn’t know where her sudden bravado had come from―maybe it was the panic that fueled the adrenaline in her veins―but she didn’t care. All she knew was that she needed to negotiate with these men before Mason decided to take matters into his own hands―literally.
“Look, lady,” the second man said, as he lowered his gun to look her straight in the eye. “We don’t want your stupid stone, okay?”
“So why the hell are you after us then?” she asked, her voice an octave higher than normal.
“We don’t know and don’t care,” the leader replied. “We were hired to do a job, and that job is to find you and…”
He never had the chance to finish the sentence. Mason tackled him to the ground and knocked the rifle out of his grip.
Chloe screeched, startled and confused by the change in tact, but the second man was getting ready to shoot Mason in the back. Without a second thought, she jumped at him and whacked the rifle upward, then with her other hand she hit him as hard as she could on the stomach.
He didn’t even flinch.
His open hand smacked the side of her head so hard that she fell down heavily onto the ground.
Chloe saw stars. Her hearing was reduced to a high-pitched hum and muffled fist-fight thumps. She felt a tingle in her hand and looked down. Blood seeped out of an ugly cut on the palm of her hand, coating the Binding Stone she was still holding. She had fallen on top of her hand and the sharp edge of the stone had sliced her skin open. Damn.
But she didn’t have time to ponder about the damage, as her assailant lifted her by the hair and started dragging her across the clearing, as if finding a good position to finish her off with his fist. The throbbing on her cut hand was nothing compared to the pain that shot down her neck.
“Stop! Stop, please!” she cried out and braced herself for the worst.
But the worst never came.
The attacker had a good hold on her but his movements had suddenly become awfully slow. At that rate his fist was going to reach her next year.
“What the...?”
Dumbfounded, she looked across at Mason. He was down on the ground, his throat locked in a deadly choke-hold from the other man, but they, too, moved as if someone had pressed the slow-mo button in the world.
What was going on?
Chloe gazed down at the stone and gasped at what she saw.
The blood that had spilled from the ugly cut in the palm of her hand was moving upward, instead of downward and, as if it had a mind of its own, was making its way along the stone’s carvings. One by one, the ancient symbols lit up, but it wasn’t the hazy brightness she had seen before. This time around, furious beams of light radiated out of the crevices, painting a colorful picture in the air.
The stone had just come alive.
A wave of power whooshed through Chloe’s entire body. At first, her muscles went stiff with the electric surge, yet her earlier exhaustion vanished. Then her limbs relaxed and her mind settled as an incredible sense of serenity overtook her.
She took a deep breath and felt the morning sun warm her skin, the wind tingle her cheeks, the moisture from the river permeate the air around her.
My gosh, she could see every single particle in the air!
A large object suddenly cast a shadow over her, calling her attention. Looking up, she saw a beautiful black raven circling the sky.
How bizarre. Everything else had slowed down, but not that raven. It was still flying at natural speed and it seemed to be watching her. No, it was focused on the man who was on his way to strike her with a closed fist. The raven was going to attack him.
As if in a strange dream, Chloe took in all the elements around her, all the hate and violence that blemished the perfect environment, and her chest felt tight. This was all wrong. She didn’t want Mason to get hurt. She had never intended to get them into this mess.
Suddenly her mind was clear of all the white noise and fear that blocked one’s mind from making the right decision. She knew exactly what needed to be done. It was all so simple.
Chloe lifted her hand up and said out loud, “Stop.”
The whole world immediately came to a halt, frozen in place. The black bird redirected its flight upwards, as if respecting her call. Chloe then focused all of her energy on the two guards. From the corner of her eye, she saw Mason jolt back into motion. His shocked gaze told her he was having a hard time acknowledging what was happening. The raven flew around a couple of times before landing on his shoulder.
Words of an ancient language flooded Chloe’s mind as if brought by the wind. Astonishingly, she knew exactly what they meant, so, raising both arms, she recited the mantra out loud.
“Before the gathering of the clouds, may Kan-sa take thy noo-hi;
Where Elo-hi is the Lord; and Ah-gana’s hands cannot reach.
I banish thee, from this time and another, from this life and another.”
A gush of wind charged through the woods and shook the trees, but Chloe just felt a tingle in her bones. From the corner of her eye, she saw Mason hold on to a tree as the impossibly strong wind threatened to lift him off the ground. Somehow she knew he would be safe.
Her focus went back to the two attackers who had remained frozen in place as per her command. But unlike with Mason, the wind wasn’t trying to simply scoop them away. It was carving its way through their skin, breaking apart every cell in their bodies. The cheeks and forehead were the first to peel, exposing the bare bones.
The same happened to their limbs and torso, and not even their heavy jackets protected them. Bit by bit, they disintegrated, blown away by the magical wind. They didn’t scream or beg for their lives. Like silent sand sculptures, they eroded in the wind until there was nothing left.
When it was all over, Chloe ga
zed at the magical stone in her hand and wished it to go dormant once again.
It did.
One by one, the narrow streams of red blood retracted on their path, taking the colors with them.
Chloe felt her mind emerge from the strange trance, as if coming up from a deep dive. She blinked a few times then searched for Mason and found him still on the ground, immobile. His brows were creased in the middle, and his eyes were wide in terror.
It was only then that it dawned on her―she had just killed two men.
Chapter Twenty
The sun was high in the sky when Foster pulled over at the Caddo Cultural Center. It had taken him a few hours to get cleaned up, rent a car and drive up to Norman. His ribs were killing him—he could barely take a breath without grimacing. Stepping out of the car, he checked the tall gate.
Closed.
He knocked on the gate. Damn, that hurt too.
This was the place all right, but he couldn’t see or hear any movement past the tall entrance.
“Do not move,” the warning came from somewhere behind him, and was followed by the cocking of a rifle.
Foster slowly raised his hands above his head. “I come in peace. I’m a friend of Mason’s.”
“What’s your name?” the man asked.
Trying to ease the tension in the air, Foster turned around to face his challenger. “Look, he asked me to—”
Before he could finish the sentence, his nose met the muzzle of a Remington 700. The rifle was old, but very effective, especially at point blank like that.
“Whoa! Careful there, pal. We don’t want any accidents here,” Foster said, trying hard not to move.
That’s when he saw that the “pal” was actually a woman. She was tall, with long dark hair, and quite small-boned, but her eyes told Foster that this was no time for jokes.
“Who are you?” she asked.
“Mason told me to meet him here. Maybe I could speak to your father, err, Jumping Bull.”