Authors: Kathleen O'Neal Gear

It Dreams in Me (21 page)

BOOK: It Dreams in Me

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SOFT MALE LAUGHTER DRIFTED FROM THE FOREST AS THE steps came closer, splashing in the puddles, as though the men did not care who heard them.

“Get up,” Strongheart said. “Quickly.”

He grabbed her dress and threw it at her, then slipped his brown shirt over his head. “There’s no time to waste. I’ll try to delay them while you get away.”

He lunged for the door, but just before he ducked out, a fist slammed into his chest, knocking him backward into the lodge. Strongheart rolled, grabbed for the war club propped against the wall, and came up swinging. He caught the first man squarely across the chest. She heard ribs snap as he toppled forward into the lodge. “Run!” Strongheart shouted at her.

Sora leaped over the fallen man, raced through the door, and out into the darkness. Rain poured from the sky, battering the tree limbs and soaking her dress.

As she fled, a warrior dashing up the shore saw her, pulled an arrow from his quiver and, with trained and deadly speed,
nocked it in his bow. He fought to aim on the run, and she feinted a lunge for a hickory tree, then dove in the opposite direction. The arrow cracked against the hickory trunk and splintered wood spun through the air.

Heart hammering, she plunged across a small swampy bog and ran headlong for—

A hand shot out from behind a cypress trunk, swiped at her arm, missed, and grabbed hold of her dress. The warrior wrenched with all his might, jerking her off her feet. She landed hard, and the skinny youth fell upon her growling like a wolf.

“Rail! I caught her!” he yelled.

“Good,” Rail called. “Hold her!”

Another man stepped from the brush with his war lance held at the ready. When he saw her, he instinctively stepped back. “Osprey, that’s Chieftess Sora! Blessed gods, Flint was telling the truth!”

Osprey blinked the rain from his eyes and scrutinized her. “Are you sure, Snipe? I don’t think it’s her.”

“Yes, it is, you fool! You’re just used to seeing her dressed in finery and covered with rare jewels!”

Rail trotted up and gasped, “Is it—”

“Yes,” Snipe said. “It’s her. And you almost killed her! Flint is not going to be happy.”

Sora roared, “Release me, or I’ll have your heads!”

They dragged her to her feet and shoved her back toward the lodge. Snipe prodded her with his spear to keep her walking.

Long before they got there, she saw a tall broad-shouldered man striding up the shore with a shapely young woman at his side. Both wore black capes. Her heart ached. Over the eighteen winters she had loved Flint, his every move had been etched on her souls: the way he walked, waved his hands,
laughed, wept. He was part of her in a way no man would ever be again.

Flint didn’t even look at her. He told the woman, “Stay here,” then strode up to Rail and thrust his stiletto between the man’s ribs.

Stunned, Rail groaned and released Sora’s arm. He staggered before he sat down hard, his wide disbelieving eyes on Flint. “What did … I do?”

Flint bent over, and rain poured from his hood. “I saw you nock your bow and chase her down the shore. I told you
not
to kill her.”

Rail let out a breath that might have been a laugh as he toppled to his side in a pool of rainwater.

Flint straightened and stared hard into the eyes of the other two warriors; they shifted uneasily. In a deadly voice, he ordered, “Bring her.”

FLINT SHOVED SORA TO THE GROUND OUTSIDE THE NEW lodge and started pacing back and forth with his black cape blowing around his tall body. He wore a frail, devastated expression, as though his entire world had dissolved before his eyes. “I told you I’d find you,” he said in a shaking voice. “Didn’t you believe me?”

The unknown woman, young, with a haughty expression on her beautiful face, stood by watching. A thick black braid fell over her left shoulder. Obviously a warrior, she carried a war club in her hand. Even in the darkness, the freshly dried blood shone on her tan leggings.

To her right Sora saw a blur of motion as the two other men bodily hauled Strongheart to a pine tree, where they ripped off their belts, wrenched his arms around the trunk, and tied them. Then they tied his feet, and grunts sounded as fists met flesh.

“Flint,” Sora pleaded, “stop this! You don’t know what you’re doing! You—”

“Shut your mouth, camp bitch!” the young woman shouted.

When Sora tried to get to her feet, the woman kicked her down hard and kept her sandal pressed into the middle of Sora’s back, growling, “Flint knows very well what he’s doing. He always does!”

The bizarre statement made Sora twist her head around to look at the woman. “Who are you?”

The woman gave her a grisly smile and leaned down to say, “
I’m
the woman Flint loves.”

From the tree where he was tied, Strongheart called, “You’re White Fawn, aren’t you?”

Sora’s gaze darted back to the woman, and a sick dizzy sensation filled her.

“Yes,” the woman laughed. “Are you surprised that I’m not dead?”

White Fawn … I didn’t kill her … .

Flint slipped an arm around White Fawn’s shoulders and hugged her. “Yes, White Fawn is the new hero of our nation. The right hand of soon-to-be High Matron Sea Grass.”

“Right hand?” Strongheart asked. “Because she killed Chief Short Tail? She’s an assassin, nothing more.”

Sora stared open-mouthed at Flint. “Short Tail? Wh-who else has she killed?”

“Far Eye, for one. And the boy chief, what was his name?” Flint asked mockingly.

White Fawn said, “Long Fin.”

Sora’s souls seemed to lift out of her body and fly away into the darkness. A hollow ache spread through her. She whispered, “Why?”

Flint shrugged. “He was Wink’s son.” He proudly hugged White Fawn again. She smiled up at him in absolute adoration.

Sora had once smiled at him that same way. A curious pity filled her—pity for White Fawn and the life she had to look forward to as Flint’s wife.

Strongheart called, “When Water Hickory Clan rules the Black Falcon Nation you will be the new war chief, won’t you, Flint? Isn’t that your reward for betraying the high chieftess?”

Flint laughed, “That and more.”

Sora cried, “Your clan will never—!”

Flint kicked her over and fell upon her like a starving wolf. She slammed her fists into his face and shoulders, but he grabbed her wrists, pinned them over her head, and said, “White Fawn, hold her hands.”

White Fawn knelt, tied her war club to her belt, and grabbed Sora’s hands, totally unperturbed, as though she’d seen him rape a hundred women.

“Flint, let Strongheart go!” Sora ordered. “This is between you and me.”

“Oh, yes, I know.” He jerked her dress up and shoved her legs apart. While she struggled, he pulled his shirt over his hips. He was staring into her eyes when he viciously drove himself into her. A hoarse cry tore her throat.

Strongheart struggled against his bonds, shouting, “Flint, stop it! Hurt me, not her!”

Snipe, the younger of the two warriors, walked up beside Flint and leaned on his war lance to watch. More slowly, Osprey broke away from Strongheart and trotted over. In less than twenty heartbeats, their manhoods thrust against their war shirts. White Fawn didn’t even seem to notice.

Snipe licked his lips and glanced at Osprey. “How long does it take him? Have you warred with him before?”

Osprey shrugged. “I don’t know.”

Flint smiled at Osprey, then withdrew and stood up. The two men squinted at him as though they couldn’t believe he hadn’t finished.

Flint rubbed his mouth with the back of his hand and gestured
to Sora. “She’s not ready for me yet. Osprey, why don’t you try?”

Sora wrenched against White Fawn’s iron grip, but couldn’t break free. No emotion played on Flint’s face. No regret. No sympathy.

Blessed gods, he really does hate me. How long has he hated me?

Osprey’s young eyes widened. He couldn’t have seen more than eighteen winters. “Me? You want me to get her ready for you?”

“Yes. Or are you too much of a boy to do it?”

“I’ll show you who is a boy.”

Osprey rushed to shed his cape and untie his breechclout. When he crawled on top of Sora, the stench of his stale sweat almost gagged her. In less than five heartbeats, he’d forced himself inside and let out a deep-throated groan of pleasure.

“Great Spirits, she holds a man like a fist! You told me, but I didn’t believe you!”

As Snipe watched Osprey working himself into a frenzy, he started to swallow convulsively. “I know you promised us each a turn, but I didn’t think I’d want one. She’s our chieftess, a forbidden woman.”

When Osprey started panting and groaning, Snipe gripped Flint’s arm. “You won’t tell anyone I took her, will you? No matter what happens, if High Matron Wink ever found out—”

Flint shook off his hand. “For the sake of the gods, you’re a coward! Wink doesn’t rule the entire world. Besides, she will soon be dead.” He looked at White Fawn, and she nodded.

Osprey bit Sora’s neck hard, and she cried out as warm blood trickled down her throat. Her cry excited Osprey even more. He laughed and slammed against her.

Snipe stared at Flint with wide eyes. “Is that who White Fawn is supposed to kill next? High Matron Wink?”

“Of course,” White Fawn answered. “If I hadn’t gotten caught up in the battle at Fan Palm Village, she’d have been dead two days ago.”

Osprey cried out and went limp on top of Sora. His heavy breathing made her want to retch. Flint kicked Osprey and said, “Get off.”

Osprey rolled off her and got to his feet.

“Snipe,” Flint said. “Do it quickly or don’t do it at all.”

Snipe made an awkward gesture with his war lance. “You finish first, Flint, while I decide.”

“While you decide if you’re brave enough?” Flint said sarcastically, and stretched out on top of Sora again. “Are you ready for me now, my former wife?”

Sora closed her eyes against the pain. His thrusts were the motions of a careless stranger. He wanted to hurt her.

“Flint,” she whispered, “what’s this about? This punishment is more than—”

“Wink has allied Shadow Rock Clan with our enemies. We lost many friends yesterday.”

“Allied … with our enemies?” Her souls rapidly began putting together every shred of information she knew. “Wink allied Shadow Rock Clan with the Loon Nation? Is that what happened? And—and you were you in a battle? Water Hickory Clan was in a battle at Fan Palm Village? A battle it lost?”

He pounded against her, and she saw Snipe’s hand lower to his erect penis.

“Hurry, Flint,” he said in a constricted voice.

Flint gripped her breasts, squeezing them hard enough to leave bruises while he lunged against her. “I don’t want you to ever forget me, Sora,” he whispered in her ear. “I’m the man who brought you and your clan down.”

“Flint, please, let me—”

When Flint cried out and collapsed on top of her, Snipe
tossed his war lance down and ripped off his breechclout. “Is it my turn?”

Flint rose and smoothed his wet war shirt down. Rain beaded his face as he lifted it to scan the brightening sky. The clouds had broken. Stars glittered in the dark blue gaps, and silver shafts of light pierced the forest.

White Fawn released Sora’s hands and rose. “What about the priest?”

Flint didn’t even look at her; he just strode for where Strongheart was tied to the tree.

Snipe begged, “White Fawn, can you hold her hands for me? Please?”

White Fawn sneered, kicked Snipe’s lance aside, and grabbed Sora’s hands again. “Get on with it. There’s no telling who’s going to come stumbling in here. It could be our side or theirs. If it’s her side, we’ll all be dead.”

Snipe brutally kissed her and slid inside. She twisted her head away … and looked straight at Strongheart.

As Flint approached, Strongheart quietly said, “There are so many things you can’t forgive yourself for. This will be another.”

“I told you to stop trying to Heal me!” Flint shouted. “I don’t need you!”

Strongheart stared at him with starlit eyes. Rain had drenched his shirt, making it stick to his tall body like a second skin. “Did you tell her the story about Walking Bird, or was that staged?”

Flint frowned. “Was what staged?”

Strongheart’s eyes narrowed, and he seemed to be winnowing out truth from falsehood. “Maybe it wasn’t you, but your lover, Skinner.”

White Fawn’s head jerked up. She frowned at Flint. “Your lover? What’s he talking about?”

Flint seemed to shrink, his shoulders hunching as though to
protect himself from a blow. “Stop this, Priest, before you force me to—”

“Where were you the night he died? Why weren’t you in the forest watching? You watched them every other time, didn’t you?”

White Fawn said, “Flint, what does he mean? About you and Skinner?”

Flint squeezed his eyes closed, and Sora saw his fists shaking. “I warned you, Priest.”

In an absolutely silent move, Flint pulled his stiletto from his belt, stepped forward, and plunged it into Strongheart’s chest.

Once, twice.

Sora screamed, and Snipe laughed in her ear and pumped harder.

Blood pulsed from Strongheart’s wounds in time with his heartbeat, draining down his chest and splattering his legs. In a quaking voice, Strongheart asked, “Were you meeting with … your matron? Arranging … Sora’s death?”

Flint wiped his stiletto off on his shirt and tucked it back in his belt. He walked to Sora, standing over her, as Snipe stiffened and moaned.

Strongheart sagged against the tree, and Sora started weeping.

In a wrathful voice, Flint leaned over her and asked, “Do you miss him?”

When she just sobbed, Flint waved to Osprey, “Come back over here.”

Osprey trotted forward. “What is it? What do you want?”

Flint ordered, “Pull off your breechclout. We’re going to take her again.”

“But, Flint, I—I don’t think I—”

Flint shouted, “You are boys! Both of you! Get out of my way!”

Flint kicked Snipe hard in the ribs, and the youth grunted and scrambled off Sora.

“Watch how a man does this,” Flint shouted.

Osprey and Snipe moved closer, and Flint fell upon Sora like a rabid dog, snarling and biting.

BOOK: It Dreams in Me