Savage Surrender

by Colleen French

  "Perhaps they will be back," Two Crows offered his leader. "Perhaps he has only gone to the river to get supplies. If we wait, the priest will come back and we can kill him then."

  Broken Horn continued to stare up at the log walls. He had come here to learn the written and spoken word of the English. He had been eager for knowledge just as Storm Dancer had been. But the priest had taken an immediate liking to one brother and a disliking to the other. Broken Horn didn't know why Father Drake had always hated him.

  Broken Horn hocked and spat on the ground in remembrance of his days here at the mission. It was Father Drake's fault Broken Horn was disfigured. If the old man hadn't sent him out to hunt that one summer evening so many years ago, Broken Horn wouldn't have met with that Shawnee warrior and his war ax.

  "If we are not going to wait for the priest, what do we do now?" Two Crows asked, breaking Broken Horn from his thoughts.

  "We return to the village where I think we will find a rat dug deep in his hole."

  "You think someone warned the priest?" Two Crows looked up anxiously. "You think it was your brother?"

  "He is my brother no longer."

  Two Crows grinned baring a blackened tooth. "He dies and you will have the white whore. A brother is expected to marry his dead brother's wife. It is custom."

  The flicker of revenge caught in Broken Horn's heart and fanned into a flame. "You speak the truth, fair friend."

  "So we return to the village. What of the mission?"

  Broken Horn glanced up once more at the fortress walls he had come to hate. "Set fire to it." He spun around and strutted away. "Then gather the men. We must hurry to meet with the council before my once-brother does."

  Chapter Fourteen

  The hollow pounding of the drums and the shake of the bone rattles grated on Rachael's nerves. Six hours had passed and still the high council meeting dragged on. Anxiously, she peered outside her lodge. Despite the heat of late August, a column of odorous smoke rose from the roof of the ceremonial longhouse.

  Dory snapped the lodge flap shut. "You go stickin' your nose out there and they're likely to bite it off."

  "It's been so long." Rachael ran her fingers absently through her hair. "He's been there for hours and still they keep playing those damnable drums!"

  "Redskins ain't known for their haste in anything. You just got to be patient."

  "I feel like walking right in there and asking them what the bloody hell is going on!"

  "You do that and you and that man of yours'll both be in the stew pot." Dory took Rachael's hand and led her away from the door. "Now quit your cursin' and sit down and I'll braid yer hair for you. It's too hot to have it all pullin' on your face."

  Not knowing what else to do with herself, Rachael followed Dory's bidding. Seated cross-legged on a hide mat she stared at the door flap. "Why doesn't anyone come out and tell me what's happening?"

  "Because nobody cares what you think." Dory pulled a porcupine brush through Rachael's thick, dark hair. "You don't matter a cat's spit to them redskins in there."

  "But he's my husband! I have a right to know."

  Dory smiled in the dim light of the lodge. "That he is, but worryin' ain't gonna do him a peck a good right now. You got no choice but to sit and wait just like your man told you."

  Rachael sighed heavily. "What's Storm going to do if the council won't listen, Dory? What's he going to do if they banish him? His whole life is this village and these people. It will kill him."

  Dory methodically braided Rachael's hair. "It won't kill 'im. He's not the first one to hit on bad luck. You and me seen our share too, but it ain't kilt us. If they throw 'im on his ear he'll get up, dust off, and go on the same way I done, the same way you done."

  Rachael shook her head. "It's not the same thing to a man as to a woman. We've spent our lives with others in control, others making our decisions for us and then having to adjust. Storm knows nothing but these people and this way of life."

  "He'll learn a new way. It's that or shrivel and die and I don't think that buck's ready to give up yet. It ain't in his nature." She tied a piece of thong around the end of Rachael's single braid. "'Sides, he's got you now, Rachael-honey."

  Rachael frowned. "He's got me, has he?" she murmured more to herself than to Dory.

  Since arriving back at the village Rachael had been too busy with her concerns for Storm Dancer's trial to think about herself. But now that she had made love with him, had she committed herself to a lifetime with him? She couldn't imagine living the rest of her days here in this village where the women hated her and the men scorned her. Then of course there was Broken Horn. Could she live with the constant fear of him? If she and Storm were to have a child, would that child also be in danger of Broken Horn's hatred?

  Such thoughts were too difficult to deal with right now. Better to cross that path when I come to it, Rachael thought. But whether Storm Dancer was banished or not, Rachael knew that at some point she would be forced to make decisions. Could she leave Storm now, after what they had shared? If she stayed with him, wherever he went, would she resent his love forever because she had been forced to marry him? She couldn't honestly say. A part of her wanted to stay at his side forever, but a part of her still desperately wanted to go home.

  Dory patted her friend gently on the shoulder. "Done."

  Rachael ran her hand over her neat hair and offered a grim smile. "Thank you, Dory. You—" She halted in midsentence. The rhythm of the drums had changed. They were beating faster. "Something's happened. Listen."

  Dory paused, listening intently.

  Rachael jumped up and ran to the door. She had been instructed by Pretty Woman that she was to remain in Storm Dancer's lodge, but Rachael didn't care. She had to know what was happening.

  "Rachael!" Dory called after her, but it was too late. Rachael had already ducked out and was running across the compound.

  Rachael spotted Storm Dancer flanked by two braves as he emerged from the ceremonial lodge. His face was grim, but from his expression she could tell nothing.

  The women of the village were spilling out into the compound now. Everyone was gathering to hear the outcome of the trial.

  Pretty Woman stepped out to block Rachael's way but Rachael gave her a hard shove, pushing her to the ground. She heard Pretty Woman cursing after her, but Rachael didn't care. "Storm, what's happened?" she called as she ran toward him.

  "Stop her," Broken Horn shouted as he strutted out of the longhouse wearing some sort of ceremonial robe decorated with dyed feathers.

  Two women grabbed at her arms to stop her, but Rachael twisted free. She wanted Storm Dancer! She wanted to be with him!

  "I said stop her!" Broken Horn bellowed as Rachael broke from the women's grasp.

  Two Crows reached out and caught Rachael in an iron grip, his blunt, dirty fingernails sinking into the soft flesh of her arm.

  "Let go of me!" she screamed.

  Two Crows clamped his hand over Rachael's mouth and she bit until she tasted blood.

  Two Crows grunted and swung his hand to strike her, but suddenly Storm Dancer was there. He caught Two Crows' wrist in midair and held it, his onyx eyes filled with menace. "Ye-ta-a e-a-yeye-an-ti tey-a-ken-i-ti-ro. Strike she who is mine, and I will curse you and your children and their children's children unto eternity, brother."

  Two Crows paled. Like his fellow Mohawks, he was a superstitious man. He released Rachael's hand and took a step back.

  Storm Dancer turned his gaze to Rachael, cupping her chin with his hand as he spoke so that only she could hear him. "You must stand back with the other women. A woman who cannot control her emotions shames her husband."

  "I want to be with you. Tell me what's happened, Storm." Her gaze searched his for some clue as to the outcome of the trial.

  "I have been found guilty, now step back with the other women. I am to be sentenced by the chief here among my fellow brothers and sisters."

  Tears stung Rachaels eyes. He spok
e as if he were telling her when he would return from a hunting trip. There was no emotion in his voice whatsoever.

  Rachael wanted to say something more, but the look on Storm's face made her bite back her words. If he needed her to stand submissively among the women while he was sentenced, then she would do it, but not for them, not for those who would cast him out, only for Storm Dancer.

  She brushed her hand against his, nodding. He dropped his hand and strode back toward the men, his head held high as if he were about to receive some award.

  The old chief, Meadowlark, slowly hobbled from the ceremonial longhouse. He seemed to be growing older and weaker by the day. Behind him trailed Storm Dancer's father.

  A silence settled on the village. Even the children grew quiet as the chief and the shaman made their way to the accused.

  Rachael stepped back into the line of women, watching Storm Dancer's face as the old men came toward him. Storm followed his father and the chief with his eyes. Instead of anger or resentment, Rachael saw only compassion in her husband's gaze. Storm felt sorry for the old chief and his father who would condemn him to death.

  Meadowlark spoke quietly, keeping his eyes averted. Two Fists avoided his son's gaze as well.

  Rachael wanted to shout at Two Fists and ask why he would do this to his son, but out of respect for Storm Dancer, she held her tongue. As the chief rambled on in Iroquois, Rachael watched the crowd of villagers. It was too late for Storm Dancer to save these people. Even if he could stay, Rachael could see that it would do no good. They all seemed to be so certain that Broken Horn guided them in the right direction that they were long past listening to Storm's reasoning. These villagers hated the white men, they hated Storm Dancer, and they hated her.

  Better to leave this place, Rachael thought. Better to go elsewhere and make a life of your own, Husband. Rachael wondered if she meant to stay with Storm wherever he went. She didn't know.

  Meadowlark's final words penetrated Rachael's thoughts. Though she understood only a little Iroquois, his last words were obvious.

  " . . . And for this crime of betrayal against your brothers, and for the crimes you have committed in the past, you, Storm Dancer of the Bear Clan, of the Mohawk tribe, of the seven nations, are sentenced to the living death." Meadowlark turned to his people, raising his hands above his head. "Let—"

  "Wait!" Broken Horn commanded, stepping forward, a hand held high. "Wait, great and mighty chief. I have a demand to make of the prisoner before he is comdemned."

  Hushed whispers rippled through the crowd of men and women. What was his request? Would the dying man concede? A strange flow of energy moved among the people of the village.

  Broken Horn turned toward his half-brother. Storm Dancer barely glanced at his adversary.

  "I ask that you return that which is mine. The woman"—Broken Horn paused—"and that which hangs from your belt."

  Storm Dancer's hand fell to his belt and he thoughtfully fingered Broken Horn's scalp lock. "I would sooner slit my wife's throat and let her die in my arms than give her to you—"

  Again, the sound of unintelligible voices broke among the villagers.

  " . . . And as for this." He indicated the stolen scalplock that had left Broken Horn shamefully bald. "It is mine to keep as proof of the final outcome of the struggle between good and evil."

  "Give it to me!" Broken Horn shouted, descending on Storm Dancer. "You have no right to jinx me by taking it with you unto the world of the dead."

  Broken Horn's face was only inches from Storm Dancer's, and yet Storm Dancer did not flinch. "You do not believe in those foolish ancient superstitions, do you, brother of mine? You are too smart for that. We all know it is but a fool's tale told to children. How could a man be cursed with ill luck simply because another man holds his scalp?" Storm Dancer tugged at the black scalp lock hanging from his belt.

  "Make him return what is mine!" Broken Horn demanded of Meadowlark. He suddenly sounded almost hysterical to Rachael. He did believe in the curse!

  "Enough pettiness!" Meadowlark shouted. "No one believes ill luck will fall upon you because you are without your scalp lock. Now step back, Broken Horn, son of Two Fists, and let what must be done, be done.

  Broken Horn stood for a moment in indecision, but eventually stepped back.

  Rachael let out a little sigh of relief as the old chief picked up where he had left off.

  "And so," Meadowlark declared, "People of the Flint let your eyes no longer see, your ears no longer hear this man who has violated the laws of the people."

  A woman wailed behind Rachael . . . She-Who-Weeps, no doubt.

  Two Fists raised a wooden bowl that hung from a string and spun it in the evening air. He chanted gruffly, seeming not to care that his son had just been banished. Great clouds of stinking green and yellow smoke rose from the pot and formed a screen between Storm Dancer and the others of the village.

  Broken Horn stood off to the side and crossed his arms over his chest, a smug grin on his face as the smoke engulfed Storm Dancer until he was no longer visible.

  The crowd began to break up. Some women whispered quietly as they gathered their children and started for their longhouses. It was time for the evening meal and they had duties to attend to. One of the older woman rested an arm on She-Who-Weeps' shoulders and led the mother of the dead man toward her home.

  The men, too, scattered, some in silence, others talking nervously. The green smoke grew thicker and Rachael coughed. "Storm?" she called. Not only had the smoke covered him but now her as well. "Storm, where are you?"

  A hand touched her on the small of her back and she spun around, relieved that he had found her. His arms came around her waist and she sighed. "Storm—"

  But it was not Storm who held her in his arms. It was Broken Horn. She could tell by the stench of his breath.

  "Let go of me," she demanded through clenched teeth.

  He brought his leering face to hers. "Now that your husband is dead you have the right to come to my longhouse. Please me and I will marry you. Please me greatly and I will make you first wife." He ground his hips against her, his erect manhood straining against his loincloth.

  Rachael stumbled backward, as if she'd been burnt. "Get away from me!" she cried. "Leave me be!"

  Broken Horn laughed. "Think about my offer," he told her as he released her.

  Rachael fell back hard, hitting the ground. In the confusion of the smoke she lost sight of Broken Horn. She didn't call to Storm for fear Broken Horn would find her again.

  When she felt a hand on her shoulder, she flailed her arms, trying to escape.

  "Ki-ti-hi," Storm soothed. "It is me."

  Rachael fought back tears as Storm helped her to her feet. "I . . . I couldn't find you. The smoke." He opened his arms to her and she gratefully rested her head on his shoulder.

  "What's all the smoke?"

  "When it recedes, I will be gone."

  She gave a little laugh. "Gone? They really think so?"

  "It is so."

  "Let's just go, Storm. Let's go far from here."

  He wrapped his arm around her waist and guided her through the smoke. Slowly it dissipated as they drew closer to their lodge. The village seemed abnormally quiet, save for the sound of Two Fists chanting from inside the ceremonial longhouse.

  "They will stay inside their lodges tonight for fear of spirits. Tomorrow I will be gone, nothing but a memory, and in time even that will fade."

  "That doesn't make any sense, Storm. How can they do this? Didn't you tell them what happened? Didn't you tell them that Broken Horn was going to kill those children?"

  "My people are tainted by my brother's evils. They are no longer able to think with their own mind, only with his." He pushed back the door flap to their lodge and let Rachael pass.

  "So what will happen now? When you leave, I mean?"

  "I hope they will remain safe, but my dreams tell me they will perish." There was a bitter note in his voice. "Now that I am d
ead I cannot even lead anyone away with me."

  "I got all the stuff together you tole me," Dory told Storm Dancer. "All packed in them sacks just like you said."

  "You mean we have to go now?" Rachael stared at him in disbelief. "Tonight."

  "I must go." He reached for his bow. "As the wife of a dead man you of course have the right to join another man's lodge and take Dory with you."

  "And that's what you want me to do now?" Rachael turned to him, surprised by the fury in her voice. "You want me to go to your brother?"

  "No." His dark eyes met hers and though he made no move, she felt his touch. "I would not let you go. I would take you with me if I had to tie you to my back. You are my wife and you belong at my side. I was only telling you what is the custom of my people."

  She paused for a moment, sorry for her harsh words. "You said we must leave tonight." Her tone was gentler. "Why can't we wait until morning at least? If you don't know where you're going it seems foolhardy to leave at night."

  "We must go because they may burn the lodge." He managed the barest smile. "To send away any demons that might lurk behind."

  Rachael couldn't help but smile back at him. She didn't know how he managed to see humor in such a humorless situation, but she admired him for it. She reached out and ran a finger down the muscled line of his forearm. "So tonight it is. Suits me fine. I want to get as far away from Broken Horn as I can."

  Storm Dancer looped his medicine bag over his neck and one arm. "Let us go, then, Wife. Let us leave this village and its sourness behind and go."

  Rachael picked up a knapsack, but allowed Dory to strap it on her back. "But go where?" Rachael asked quietly, her blue-eyed gaze following Storm across the lodge.

  "I do not know except to tell you that the wind will guide us."

  Rachael's first thought was that that was a ridiculous statement, impractical, even dangerous. But she held her tongue. Storm Dancer had surprised her so many times, that she almost believed him. "You have the other bags, Dory?" Rachael looked up at her redheaded companion.