“But she’s bleeding.”
“She’ll be fine. She’s a strong woman. Let her do her job.”
Her job? I couldn’t fathom how her job had anything to do with the arrowhead, as she wasn’t studying it like I imagined an archaeologist would. But there was no arguing with the chief. Resigned, I returned to my chair and waited.
After several anxious minutes, Rose lowered her head. Her eyes opened, as did her fist. She handed the arrowhead to me, and I was stunned to see no wounds of any kind on her palm. The blood had vanished. Had I imagined it? Was I going completely mental?
“Where did you find this?” she asked Kinew.
“It was in one of the murder victims’ tents.” The chief looked to me for confirmation, and I nodded. There didn’t seem to be any point mentioning that it had been my tent too. “It’s from the lost tribe, isn’t it?”
Her jaw tightened. “You know I don’t like calling them that. They were the people of Mescenaki Nation. They were real people, Kinew, not some fairy tale.”
“What happened to them?” It was the first time I’d heard her sound anything but polite. My question was partly out of interest, partly in an effort to relieve the tension.
“They were destroyed, like many of our people. Wiped out by disease and murdered by those they tried to help.”
“But why?”
She shook her head, her eyes dark with sadness. “Why does anyone kill anyone? Xenophobia. Racism. Greed.”
“Reese, I should add there’s no physical proof the lost…Mescenaki Nation existed. Rose has had some communication with them, and I believe her, but that aside, no one has been able to scientifically prove the nation existed.”
The woman’s eyes flashed with anger again. She indicated the arrowhead in my hand. “What do you call that?”
“If it can be proven that’s where the arrowhead originated, then yes. But with no other artifacts, scientists will have nothing to compare it to. Any nation could have made that arrowhead,” Kinew said.
“Wait, I don’t understand something. If the people were destroyed, how can you communicate with them?” I asked.
“Sometimes I receive messages from the beyond. I also get visions, much like your detective is having. I’ve been communicating with the Mescenaki Nation since I was a little girl.”
Before Jess died, I probably would have laughed in this woman’s face. Messages from the beyond? What was this, an episode of Paranormal Detectives? But too many strange things had happened for me to shrug this off, pretend it was a joke. I guess if there were any silver linings to this mess, the fact that I’d grown up a bit was one of them.
“What do they say? I mean, what do they tell you?”
She smiled, but it was the saddest smile I’d ever seen. “Mostly, they tell me their story. They don’t want to be forgotten or lost. They want people to remember what happened to them. They want to be seen.”
The idea of a tribe of long-dead people wanting to be seen was enough to give me nightmares, though I was pretty sure Rose hadn’t meant it literally. “Does the name Little Dove mean anything to you?”
If Rose was startled by the question, she hid it well. “Of course it does. Little Dove was a powerful woman, one of the most powerful people in the Mescenaki Nation. She was their medicine woman. Why do you ask? Have you dreamed of her?”
“Oh no, not me. But I think the detective has. She wanted me to ask Kinew about her.”
As the woman’s lips curled into a smile, the chief said, “You see why I brought him to you. I don’t pretend to know anything about this.”
“At least you admit your ignorance. Most men are not intelligent enough to do so.” Rose reached for my hand, and I gave it to her, almost expecting to feel a shock as her skin touched mine. “It is just as I thought. You are of her. That’s why you were spared.”
“What do you mean, I’m ‘of her’?”
Rose let go of me, and my hand hung awkwardly in the air until I brought it back to my lap. My mind raced. Everyone sounded like they were talking gibberish, and it was exhausting. More than anything, I just wanted to go home and crawl into bed, but given my luck, my parents wouldn’t let me do that, either.
“You have her blood in you. That’s why you survived the night. By birthright, part of that land belongs to you.”
“There has to be some mistake. I’m English and Scottish. My last name is Wallace.”
“Everyone’s family tree has some surprises. Even mine. If you look hard enough, you might catch a glimpse of yours.”
If I’d thought my mind was reeling before, now it was a maelstrom. So of course I blurted out the stupidest thing imaginable. “I’ve never heard anything about this. I don’t even look native.”
Kinew laughed. “Did you think you needed your hair in a braid? A drop of red blood won’t necessarily turn your eyes brown.”
I thought of the voice that had whispered to me that night. You’re not welcome here. If the land belonged to me, why the warning? Had someone been trying to protect me, to get me out of there before my friends were murdered?
“Wait here,” Rose said, getting up from her chair. “I have something for you.”
“Rose is also our medicine woman,” Kinew said. “If anyone can help you, she can.”
I was about to say I didn’t need any help when I thought better of it. Of course I did. Three of my friends were dead, Dan’s mother had been murdered, Jess’s parents blamed me for the whole thing, and my face looked like I’d lost a boxing match with a gorilla. It was a wonder I could put one foot in front of the other.
Rose returned with a small cloth pouch the size of an apricot. She tied it to a rawhide cord and handed it to me. “Wear this. It’s for protection.” I picked up the little bag and held it to my nose, inhaling deeply. It smelled clean and sweet. As I fastened the cord around my neck, she showed me a plastic baggie with what looked like tiny pieces of twigs and leaves inside. “Take this too. Brew it like you would a tea, in boiling water. Once it’s cool enough to touch, soak a clean cloth in it and lay the cloth on your eyes. It will help restore your sight and ease your headaches.”
How did she…? Then I realized her brother must have told her what the cops had done to me. Or perhaps it was obvious from looking at my face. “Thank you.” Perhaps it was a placebo effect, but I felt better already. And hadn’t I learned in college that a placebo could be just as effective as actual medicine?
“You’re welcome. Don’t take that off,” she said, pointing at the charm around my neck.
“What is it?”
“It’s called a medicine bag. Feel honored. Very few people in our community are special enough to have Rose make one for us,” Kinew said.
Did he have one? The way he’d worded it made me wonder. “I am. Honored, that is. Thank you.”
“Somehow you managed to release Little Dove’s spirit. She is free now, and some day her spirit will return to you and tell you what it is she wants. The medicine bag will protect you from her,” Rose explained.
“But if I’m her blood, why would I need protection from her?”
Rose’s face creased with worry. “Little Dove is a vengeful spirit, Reese. Everyone needs protection from her. Until she is appeased, many more people will die.”
Chapter Twenty-Seven
The next few days were quiet ones, filled only with the rasp of Grey Mother’s labored breathing. Little Dove watched the Elder with anxious eyes, praying that the Creator had seen her set fire to the hateful blanket and would take pity on her by sparing the woman she loved most. However, deep in her heart she understood it was too late for miracles. There were some things even the Creator could not fix.
On the third day since Lone Wolf’s visit, Grey Mother’s eyelids fluttered open.
“It is time. You need to let me go, little one.” Her voice, once so lovely, had
been ravaged by disease. It was the croak of a toad, the rustle of rodents in the grass.
Feeling the truth of the Elder’s words, Little Dove clasped the woman’s hand tighter, drawing it to her breast. “I cannot survive if you leave me, Mother.”
A ghost of a smile briefly touched Grey Mother’s cracked lips. “You have always been stronger than you believe.”
They shared silence together for long minutes, Little Dove releasing Grey Mother’s hand only to stoke the fire that kept them warm. Winter had the land in its teeth now, but the new healer would face its bite alone. If she had given any thought to her survival, she would have been afraid, for the hunters, preservers, and fire keepers of her community had passed. She had never spent a season without the care and companionship of her people. In this harsh land, solitude could be deadly.
“Lone Wolf spoke the truth,” Grey Mother said, startling her. She’d believed the older woman had slipped into the endless sleep. “He saw what I couldn’t.”
Little Dove stroked the hair back from the woman’s brow. Grey Mother’s skin felt feverish under her hand. “No one is to blame, Mother.”
“We gave in to our greed and must accept that, though we were tricked by the visitors, as the wily fox toys with his prey. You must be the spirit of our vengeance.”
At the older woman’s words, Little Dove’s shoulders slumped in exhaustion. After taking care of Grey Mother and the others for a moon, she was a shadow of herself. Worn and weak, she had no energy for revenge. “I am tired, Mother.”
With an effort, the Elder managed to apply pressure to Little Dove’s hand. It was the kiss of a butterfly. “You are the only one remaining. You must make sure they suffer for their treachery.”
How? She hadn’t seen the settlers since they’d brought the diseased blankets to her camp, and she was in no condition to seek them out, not that she wanted to. The older woman would pass from this world soon, and there was no harm in saying whatever would give Grey Mother comfort, so Little Dove promised to avenge their people, as her eyelids grew heavy.
The healer flinched, startled awake. She shivered, appalled when she saw the cold, dead embers of the fire. Grey Mother’s hand still clutched hers, but it was every bit as cold as the fire and stiff, her fingers forming into a claw around the healer’s. Tears ran down Little Dove’s cheeks, searing into her frozen flesh. The great mother of her nation was gone, slipping away while she’d been sleeping. Grey Mother had vanished into the Great Beyond without a kiss or last word of affection. The Elder’s faded eyes, white with cataracts, were fixed on the sky. Understanding she’d forever feel guilty for leaving the woman to die alone, Little Dove gently slid the woman’s eyelids closed.
“Rest easy, Grey Mother. Your journey is complete.”
Her body shook with sobs. There was no point in reviving the fire now; its warmth had been for the dying Elder. Little Dove deserved to suffer in the cold. She deserved to die. She hadn’t been able to protect or heal her people, and what good was a healer who couldn’t heal? She couldn’t bear to live without them. She wanted to join the Creator too.
There would come a moment when winter’s teeth weren’t so sharp, when its frozen embrace would comfort her, soothe her on her journey to the Great Creator. With her own teeth chattering, Little Dove settled in to wait, holding Grey Mother’s frozen hand in hers. Her chin sunk to her chest, long hair drifting to cover her face like a raven’s wings.
She slept.
“Well, well, well. Take a look for yourself, Beatrice. You can go right ahead and quit your blubbering. Your precious squaw still breathes. Jesus Lord in Heaven, these things are like cockroaches.”
Tears had frozen to her lashes, sealing Little Dove’s eyes shut, but the sound of the man’s voice made her cold skin crawl. She pressed her palms to her eyelids to thaw them, but before her vision cleared, the man had grabbed her by the hair, yanking her to her feet.
Her cries were echoed by one from the woman – the golden-haired woman whose baby she’d saved from dying. “Stop it, John. You stop it! Don’t you dare touch her. Why do you have to be so cruel?”
Little Dove heard the sound of slapping as the woman flung herself against her tormentor, striking out with her fists. The man laughed.
“I believe a mosquito landed on me.” Then he shoved her aside. Little Dove’s eyes opened in time to see the woman fall. She hit the ground hard, face reddened and miserable. In spite of herself, Little Dove felt sorry for her. She couldn’t imagine living with that horrible man. In her heart, she knew the woman hadn’t willingly given them the blankets, had in fact done everything in her power to warn them.
Seeing another woman in trouble brought new strength to her limbs. She gritted her teeth and straightened her spine, lessening the pressure on her scalp from the man’s grip on her hair.
“Ah, you’re awake now, huh? Good. I want you to be awake for every moment of this.” As quick as a marten, the man wrapped her hair around his fist and yanked again. The pain was excruciating, but Little Dove wouldn’t give him the pleasure of hearing her cry out. Her people were warriors, braves. She would make their spirits proud.
“Leave her alone, John! You just leave her alone,” the golden-haired woman shrieked.
“Leave her alone,” the man mimicked in a terrible, shrill mockery of her voice. “If you don’t like what you see, woman, you don’t have to watch.”
He dragged Little Dove away from the dead fire, away from Grey Mother, away from anything that had once been warm and safe. Her buckskin boots slid across the packed snow, failing to offer any resistance. Even if she’d been strong enough, she could not have escaped from him. The other woman leapt on his back, her arms flailing and legs kicking. Her teeth snapped at his neck as she tried to bite him, and Little Dove gasped to see a human woman behave like an animal. Though the woman appeared to have recovered from whatever weakness she had suffered from her illness, her efforts had no effect. The man brushed her away or, if she got to be too much of an annoyance, threw her into the snow.
“I am the healer of the Mescenaki Nation. I demand you unhand me this instant.”
“Sure thing, lady. Your wish will be my command.” He dropped her under a tree, the back of her skull bashing against the gnarled bark. A wave of dizziness swept over her, and she shook her head. All the while, she could hear him laughing.
Then the laughing stopped. He was on her, pinning her to the ground, tearing at her hides like a rabid creature. She struck him with her elbows, bloodying his nose.
“Wench!” His hand lashed out, exploding against her jaw. Little Dove’s face was forced to the side with such speed her neck made an alarming cracking sound. Bright specks of light danced in front of the pain. She had never been struck before. Her people had always treated her with kindness.
Little Dove tried to kick away the greasy fingers that tore at her clothes, but her legs were trapped beneath his weight. He panted, sending clouds of fetid breath into her face. She’d never known a man to stink this way before. He smelled rancid, like something inside him had spoiled.
Shoving aside her chin, he rested his forearm against her neck, pushing hard enough to cut off her air. The pressure on her windpipe was excruciating, and she coughed and struggled to breathe, tearing at his arm. She could no longer hear the other woman’s cries, and wondered what had happened to her.
An intense, fiery pain burned between her legs, reaching into her insides and setting them aflame. Little Dove tried to scream, but his arm strangled her vocal cords. Inches above hers, the man’s face twisted into something demonic as he grinned. He thrust his body forward, and the pain intensified until she thought she would die. This wasn’t lovemaking as she had known it. It was wrong. She knew it was the worst kind of hate.
It didn’t make sense. Why would he hold hatred for her, when all she’d done was save his woman and child?
“That’s r
ight, wench. Enjoy it. Feels good, don’t it?” As he spoke, his spittle struck her face. She squeezed her eyes shut, wrinkling her nose against the stink of him, and moaned. She couldn’t get air into her lungs, and the sky above them had gone black.
The Creator. He had taken mercy on her at last. He was freeing her.
The pressure on her chest and throat eased, and the sharp pain throughout her lower body was gone, leaving behind a throbbing ache. Little Dove rolled on her side, coughing and choking as she fought for air.
“Little Dove, Little Dove. Are you all right?”
Lone Wolf bent over her, helping her to her feet. He rearranged her torn hides so they would cover her again. Her face burned with shame, but she didn’t have the strength to walk on her own. She needed his support to stand.
As she leaned against him, she saw the evil man lying in the snow, his blood pooling around his head. An arrow protruded from his neck.
“John!” The golden-haired woman rushed toward them from the trees, sobbing. She fell to her knees in front of the man, getting his blood on her skirts. Gently propping Little Dove against the tree, Lone Wolf reached for his bow. With her remaining strength, the healer touched his arm.
“No,” she whispered. “She’s not to blame.”
The shaman shook his head, but tucked away the weapon without a word. Lifting Little Dove in his arms, he left their camp and the crying woman behind. The ground was slick with ice, but his step never faltered.
“I should not have left you alone. I knew they would return one day to claim the land. I am sorry.”
She wanted to reply, to tell him he had nothing to be ashamed of, that there was no way he could have predicted such evil, but the effort to speak was too much. With her head jostling against his chest, she fell asleep in his arms, wanting only to forget.
* * *
“You should have let me die.”
Lone Wolf handed her a cup of tea, remaining expressionless at her words. His silence infuriated her more.
“Did you hear me? I said, you should have let me die.”
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