Dark Side of Morning (Wind Dancer Book 1)

by Tierney James

  Chapter 26

  Neosho knew the skinwalker would be prowling alone. The other gang members followed anyone mindlessly and continued to be unable to come up with a plan of their own. Seven of them gathered under a picnic pavilion not long after Ashanti disappeared into the night. The slow, intermittent rain allowed his acute ability to hear a pin drop from twenty feet away, to return. In spite of the lightning and thunder reminding him of beating war drums, it did nothing to distract him from detecting the confused body of Ashanti.

  Although he didn’t understand much about the spirit world or care, he pondered how the Frenchman could die and return as a dog then jump into Ashanti’s body, yet he knew that he had. He’d heard Cleopatra say as much. The skinwalker would master Ashanti’s body soon enough so he would have no will of his own. In the meantime, he needed to take over the remaining members of the Death Apostles.

  “Neosho.” One waved him over to the pavilion. “Did you see what happened, man? Ashanti shot Ty and the cop. We are in a world of hurt.”

  Neosho glared down at the man. “Is this world of hurt the same one as yesterday?”

  “No,” he said with a hand gesture indicating exasperation. “I mean we are in trouble. You don’t go shootin’ a cop. They will be all over us. We gotta hide where they can’t find us.”

  “I know a place. We go to the museum. No one will search there.” Neosho lifted his nose to sniff for signs of the skinwalker. He would soon double back in search of them. “There is much gold and valuables there.”

  “Can you get in?”

  Neosho jogged in the direction of the museum. “Yes. I lived there long time.”

  ~~~~

  “We are ready, Wind Dancer.” Two Feather’s oldest son approached the Pawnee with caution. His slow movements and words, meant to be respectful, only managed to make Wind Dancer scowl with impatience. Jacque felt his friend somehow flipped a switch on his good nature and fumed about something.

  “What the hell is the matter with you?” Jacque surveyed the area behind him, half expecting to see Neosho or maybe the skinwalker. He turned back to the platform. “So how does this work?” He chuckled and tried to make his voice sound like the narrator of a Saturday night late movie. “A booming voice shakes the museum and a bolt of lightning comes through the ceiling?”

  Wind Dancer switched his attention from the detective to the platform as the younger man moved away. “Something similar. Yes.”

  A laugh escaped from Jacque as he dragged a hand through his hair. “This is too weird.”

  “The scaffold you see here represents the Evening Star’s garden of the West. It is the source of all plant and animal life.” He spoke in a monotone as if falling into a trance.

  “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

  “The captive will be placed on the scaffold and tied spread-eagle. Do you understand this position?”

  “Yeah. I’ve been around the block a time or two.” Just as he expected, Wind Dancer flinched at the slang reference to understand, but then he shifted his interest to the scaffold.

  “Two men will approach her from the East and touch her with torches then with war clubs.” The son of Two Feathers returned with what appeared to be buckskins painted with splashes of red. Without speaking, he helped Wind Dancer remove his clothing then assisted him with the new ones.

  “The warrior who captured her will come forward with a sacred bow and shoot her through the heart with a sacred arrow.”

  Another man named Stands Alone entered carrying a bundle, while the younger son of Two Feathers entered with several quivers of arrows. Jacque cocked his head at the group, feeling an uneasiness seep into his bones.

  “At the same time, another warrior will strike her on the head with the war club from the Morning Star bundle.” Wind Dancer stretched out his arms and examined the results of his traditional clothes then nodded his approval to the younger Pawnee.

  “And you guys come here every year to show little kids this stuff?” the detective asked incredulously. “Geez Louise. So, is that it?”

  Stands Alone removed some bows from underneath the scaffold.

  “No. The elder supervising the ceremony will cut her breast open with a stone knife.” He nodded to yet another Pawnee who stepped forward and smeared something red onto Wind Dancer’s face near his mouth. “The elder will smear his face with her blood. The warrior who provided the sacrifice would catch some of her blood on dried meat. All the men and boys would then shoot arrows into her body, circle the scaffold four times, and return to the camp.”

  He impressed Jacque with having the emotional detachment of a deacon reading the Sunday bulletin to a congregation of snake handlers. No worries. Was he really hearing this right? Had someone slipped him a hallucinogenic drug? That would make everything a lot more understandable.

  Wind Dancer let his gaze travel over him from head to toe as if evaluating an opponent. “The wind will blow, and we will hear thunder. Since we are enclosed, I don’t think lightning will find us. But Two Feathers will know this better than I do since he does the sacrifice each year. But there must be a sacrifice or the opening in the earth lodge remains shut.”

  “But there wasn’t any sacrifice the other day when all hell broke loose, only a storm.”

  “A storm will not guarantee the opening will appear. We know the combination of the sacrifice and the storms can force it open. We believe this may be one of the reasons the white man’s president made us stop.”

  “So this is for real? Bet the conversation around the Thanksgiving table at your place is a hoot.” Jacque felt the hair stand up on the back of his neck. “Where do we get a sacrifice?”

  Two Feathers entered the room, leading Cleo by her elbow. “I have brought one.”

  ~~~~

  The night became calm, its sticky kind of warmth drawing beads of sweat to Neosho’s forehead. A few delivery trucks plowed through standing water, raising walls of spray. Neosho stopped in the middle of the street to watch the spectacle of such mammoth machines, agile enough to dodge him. Buffalo, not quite as big, would have stampeded him into the ground. This world, or parts of it, amazed him. How would his people ever survive here? How would he survive? The smells, the sickness of the skin, and the noise of life, momentarily drowned any reasonable thought of survival. Horns blasted as they sped past him, over and over, yet he continued to stare at the chaos around him, both fascinated and horrified.

  Confused as to why the night felt void of life yet continued to breathe, he stumbled toward the curb. The gang members rushed past him, dodging cars and lifting their middle fingers when a bulky man yelled at them through the window opening in his door. The truck, as he’d heard them call it, disappeared down the street void of life other than the gang.

  “We need to get goin’, Neosho.” One of the men checked his phone and shook his head. “The weather radar has a big thunderstorm headed this way.”

  At the sound of tornado sirens exploding in the night air, Neosho cowered for only a second then slowly stood to survey the area around him in search of the piercing sound. “Is this sound the weather radar you speak of?”

  Nervous laughter rippled among the remaining gangbangers, even as Neosho glared at them in impatience.

  “No, man.” He rotated the phone to show the Osage, but Neosho turned away and sprinted the final distance to the museum.

  Neosho didn’t understand many of their words, body language, or their small machine that fit in the palm of a man’s hand. He’d lived on the prairie long enough to know how to feel in his bones when a dangerous storm approached. The need for a machine to tell him what his next move should be convinced him that this time managed to rob man of his natural ability to predict the weather, danger, and how to survive both.

  The others, one by one, trotted after him, spewing complaints until the Osage glanced over his shoulder like an angry buffalo in need of goring someone. In spite of their youth, their bodies could not compare with Neosho’s ability to fee
l no pain. The jog switched to a brisk walk as the Field Museum came into view. Before crossing the empty street between the stadium and museum, the men stopped to catch their breath. Neosho watched them gasp for air as some stretched out their legs, rubbing them and grimacing.

  “This can’t be good,” a skinny, pock-faced man said, pointing to the top of the museum.

  Neosho watched as clouds filled with lightning, swirled overhead and rumbled like buffalo pursued by warriors. In the first dappled rays of morning light, he could see the storm clouds billow to mountains of gray and black. The wind touched the nearby trees then rushed toward them as if it meant to halt their movements. He stopped for only a couple of seconds, contemplating the madness in entering a place filled with his enemies.

  Then he caught her scent. Cleopatra. The woman who would either become his source of revenge once and for all, or the forever mate to bear him sons and daughters. She would be powerless to refuse either option. Either choice would be a fitting end to the hate he held for Wind Dancer who had destroyed his way of life and family.

  He could also sense others; Pawnee moved about the museum. They all smelled like Wind Dancer. They must be the group who returned to the museum each year at this time. It took him a minute before he could distinguish the adrenaline and heartbeat of his enemy.

  He found the door he knew would be hidden from eyes of the public.

  “Probably locked?” one of the gang members said as he rattled the handle then tried to tug on the door until a beefy friend moved him aside and jerked on the door.

  He looked at his friends and shrugged his shoulders. “Not happenin’. If I can’t do it then it won’t happen.”

  Lightning crackled overhead as the streetlights exploded and rained down into the street. The gangbangers cried out and slammed up against the wall.

  Neosho waited until they looked to him in defeat before he reached out with one hand and jerked the door off its hinges. “No security alarm now with storm.”

  He met the surprised expression of the beefy man who tried to puff out an already-inflated chest. “I loosened it up for you.”

  A demonic smirk toyed with the corners of the Osage’s mouth.

  “But, hey, you the man!”

  Neosho raised his chin as he stuck his head inside. “Yes. I am the man.” He stepped into the museum. “Follow me.”

  ~~~~

  “What do you mean you ‘brought one’?”

  Jacque could feel his forehead do the thing where it becomes so pinched your eyes squint, sometimes even twitch with unexpected pain. His finger darted to the spot as he rubbed in a slow circular motion. He noticed the old man pat Cleo’s forearm, which bore a large bandage.

  “I’m the sacrifice,” she said simply as if she’d said, “Sure, I’ll go to the mall with you.” But, to him, what she said meant, “Sure, I’ll go play in traffic during rush hour.” All this time, Jacque thought she might be the levelheaded one. “What happened to your arm?”

  “I cut her,” Two Feathers said softly as he lifted a small Styrofoam cup. He withdrew his touch from Cleo’s arm and dipped a finger inside the cup and withdrew a bloody finger that he smeared around his face.

  “Okay. This needs to stop. There isn’t going to be any sacrifice.” Jacque waved his index finger at the gathering tribe like a loaded weapon. He stepped toward Cleo and forced her behind him. “Are you nuts?”

  “Jacque, it has to be done,” she pleaded as she tried to step around his outstretched arm. “The storm, along with the sacrifice will guarantee the earth lodge opens to Wind Dancer’s time. I know what I’m doing. My father would approve.”

  “Let her go, Jacque.” Wind Dancer faced him and extended his hand toward the woman he claimed to love.

  The lights flickered as thunder boomed outside, rattling the entire building. It almost gave the impression of lightning flashing inside the museum. Then lights went out completely except for a couple of emergency security signs. The two guards quickly appeared with their LED flashlights on bright.

  Jacque swung his hand back to feel for Cleo only to find her gone. When he whirled around, he saw Wind Dancer lift her in his arms and carry her toward the scaffold. Why didn’t she struggle to be free?

  ~~~~

  “Are you afraid?” Wind Dancer moved in slow motion as he held Cleo to his chest.

  She lifted her hand to his face and slid it down his scarred jawline.

  “No,” she whispered as another rumble of thunder shook the museum. “It is my honor.”

  Wind Dancer tried to smile as he lowered his mouth to hers and captured one last kiss. As he laid her on the scaffold bed, the sound of Jacque’s rage reached his ears. Wind Dancer commanded the others. “Restrain him.” The words came out calm, but there could be no mistake of his resolve.

  Before Jacque could draw his weapon, two Pawnees grabbed his arms and tied them behind his back so fast it felt like a magic trick. The two security guards made a move to unholster their Tasers, but Two Feathers slammed a club behind their knees, knocking them to the floor. Their rotund bodies prevented them from springing up as they tried to use their hands to rise. Another Pawnee swiped his foot under one to flatten him down while another did the same to the second guard. They were secured in short order then dragged to the side. When they complained, Two Feathers popped them again on the head, knocking them unconscious.

  “Was that necessary?” Jacque squirmed against his restraints. “What? Am I next?”

  When Two Feathers lifted his eyebrows and smirked, the detective took a step back.

  ~~~~

  Wind Dancer let Stands Alone secure the restraints on Cleo’s feet. He stroked her face and hair then set about fastening her wrists to the edge of the scaffold bed. “Not too tight?” He took another moment to gaze upon the woman he’d fallen in love with as a young man.

  Once, as a child, he’d found the opening into the earth lodge and seen Cleopatra reading on one of the buffalo hide beds. They’d played until he fell back through the opening, only to have it close again. Somehow he made it home. When he told his father and the village all he’d done, everyone agreed the young Pawnee had had a vision. From then on, he’d been called Wind Dancer. Although he could never find his way to the earth lodge in the museum again, he found the display case where he watched Cleopatra Sommers grow up. After befriending the Osage and showing him the way into the museum cases, he worried his actions might lead to disaster someday.

  “Joseph!” Jacque yelled so loud it turned everyone’s head. “Let me go. This is insane.”

  “My name is Wind Dancer.” He refocused on Cleo. “I am glad we finally met, Cleopatra Sommers.”

  “We still have time. This will soon be over.”

  “No. I must say good-bye to you.” His hand trailed down her face until he reached her parted lips, where he ran a finger across their firmness. “There will never be enough time for us.”

  “Wait.” She fidgeted nervously. “What are you talking about?”

  “You are the sacrifice and I cannot live knowing I am the cause of destroying what I hold so close to my heart.”

  “Joseph.” Her voice was panic laced with gasps as she struggled against the restraints binding her limbs. “Wind Dancer. Please. Don’t do this.”

  Jacque tried to run toward the man he had begun thinking of as a friend, but two other Pawnee caught him and hauled him from standing so close.

  “You love her,” he pleaded. “Stop and think about this barbaric act.” He struggled again unsuccessfully as he sought out the elder Pawnee. “Think about what you’re doing to these other men, your sons, for crying out loud. This hocus pocus is a thing of the past. There’s no guarantee you’ll be able to cross over by doing a human sacrifice. Then what? You willing to go to jail for assaulting a police officer, kidnapping, and murder?” His eyes went to Cleo who appeared to quiet as Wind Dancer kissed her again. “Tell him, Cleo!” he begged at the top of his lungs.

  “It’s too late, Jacque.�
�� Wind Dancer straightened and glared at him.

  Wind Dancer jerked around, alert to something no one else could sense. But the dog raised up on all fours from the floor where he’d been observing the circus of chaos. A dangerous growl emitted through exposed teeth as he allowed the Pawnee to come up beside him.

  “They’re here,” he said in a quiet voice.

  “Who?” Jacque rammed his shoulder into one of the men who decided to move away and stand behind Wind Dancer. “Neosho? Then he’s probably got the Death Apostles with him. You guys aren’t equipped to handle them.”

  Stands Alone passed out bows and arrows like they were the latest weapons for the Navy SEALs. No one seemed concerned about their prisoners.

  “Cut me loose, Wind Dancer. I can help. What do you think you’re going to do with those?” He moved to intercept his friend. “Unless those hold some kind of magic I don’t know about, you’re going to get yourself killed. The whole reason you lost this country was because guns beat arrows.”

  Two Feathers patted Jacque on the back. “We lost this country because the white man lied to us and broke their promises.”

  “Blah. Blah. Blah. Sour grapes.”

  New terms always got Wind Dancer’s attention, and this was no different.

  “Sour grapes?” He looked to Two Feathers.

  “It means the past is bitter in our mouth. We cannot change the taste because we chose to take the grape.”

  “Ahh.” Wind Dancer nodded then shifted his narrowed gaze to Jacque. “This I understand.”

  “Great. So, untie me. We’ll work this out. Promise.”

  Wind Dancer moved to stand before him. “I do not want more sour grapes. Blah. Blah. Blah.”

  “And what about the skinwalker. Who is going to be keeping an eye out for that guy—or whatever he is?”

  Wind Dancer motioned for the others to return to the scaffold. He then closed his eyes and cocked his head. “He is here.” Reaching down, he patted the dog’s head. “Stand guard.” Except for a slight wag of his tail, the animal continued to growl and stare out into the darkness of the grand foyer of the museum.