Judith E. French (23 page)

Ake had made a joke. “The white woman sees wolves behind every bush.” No one had laughed.

“Whatever it was, it’s gone,” Moonfeather said.

They had resumed the march. For several hours, Cailin scanned the trail and the forest. She’d nearly convinced herself that they were right, that she was tired, when she saw the same wolf crouched on a rock overlooking the gully they were traversing.

“There,” she’d called to Moonfeather, pointing.

“What? What did you see?” the older woman asked.

“A wolf. It was right there. Didn’t you see it? Didn’t any of you see it?” she’d demanded of Cameron and the others.

Pukasee shook his head. Joseph glanced at Kitate, and the dark man frowned and muttered something to his companions in Shawnee.

“We saw nothing,” Lachpi said.

“I’m not mistaken,” Cailin insisted. “I saw a wolf watching us.”

“Wolves are naturally curious,” Cameron said.

But as they continued on, Cailin couldn’t help wondering if her mind was playing tricks on her.

At noon, Moonfeather called for a rest beside a stream. They ate dried meat and berries, and a little fish caught the evening before. Cailin washed and dried her feet in the stream. They were fully healed now, hard and callused from the days of marching. She felt strong, as though she could walk as long as anyone. But then, sitting in the shade, she drifted off to sleep and dreamed of the big wolf.

She blinked. An acute awareness spread through her body. She was conscious of the weight of her limbs, of the texture of the gravel under her bare leg, of the breeze kissing her cheek. She looked around quickly, trying to guess how much time she had lost, but it must have been only seconds. Pukasee was still scraping the tobacco from his pipe, and Moonfeather was licking crumbs off her lip as she had been doing before.

Cailin was afraid to mention the dream. Terrified, she studied every turn of the trail, every shadow for the image of the wolf, but it didn’t return.

Minutes passed, then an hour. She thought that her madness had passed as her heartbeat slowed to normal, and her anxiety began to fade. She was walking behind Joseph with her father following her. Then, abruptly, she stumbled on the trail and fell to her knees, bringing the whole party to a halt.

Her father was the first to reach her. He put an arm around her shoulders to help her up, but she pushed him away. “No,” she stammered. “No.” She covered her face with her hands and tried to shut out the waking dream that consumed her.

This time she wasn’t asleep. She was wide awake, but she could no longer see Joseph, Moonfeather, and the others who had been walking ahead of her.

S
terling stumbled and fell to his knees under a torrent of blows. Nearly blinded by his own blood, he fought excruciating pain and the ingrained Indian acceptance of his own fate.

This is how it ends, he thought. I’m dying.

Black clouds of smoke and ash swirled across his field of reason. Another object slammed into his head. He continued to struggle, but the heart had gone out of him.

There is no shame in dying an honorable death,
the stoic voice in his brain intoned. A
warrior’s death, a death that the Iroquois will sing of on long winter nights.

Then another entity spoke, not as loud as the first, but utterly compelling. It was a voice that he had heard only once before, long ago, during his youth vision. “Open your eyes, Na-nata Ki-tehi!”

Sterling did not have the strength to oppose that command. He opened his eyes and looked directly into the face of a gray wolf.

With the raw power of a lighting strike, a firestorm leaped between them. And in the jagged bolt of energy, Sterling felt Cailin’s touch and heard her cry his name.

And took from her the will to live.

With a last mighty surge of strength, he heaved himself to his feet amid the howling blood-thirst of the mob. His wrist bonds snapped, and he seized a club from the hands of the nearest Mohawk warrior and laid the man senseless with his own weapon. It wasn’t until the brave was falling that Sterling realized that he’d defeated Ohneya.

Sterling had little time to gloat. There were still more Iroquois screaming for his blood. With a shout of triumph, he waded into them.

The element of surprise gave him the precious seconds it took to regain his reason. He sprang forward, blocking the descent of a spear shaft, elbowing the youth wielding it, and twisting left to jab another warrior in the pit of his stomach with the end of the knobbed club.

Strike. Twist. Duck. Swing. Sterling moved down the shifting channel of the gauntlet with the vengeance of a Greek hero, oblivious to the beating he was taking ... until he reached the far end of the line and there were no more opponents to face.

He gazed around him in bewilderment, then caught sight of the torture stake. He reached it in three strides, set his back to the solid oak post, threw his hands high over his head, and defied them all with a chilling Shawnee war whoop.

Instantly, the scattered throng converged on him in knots of outraged fury. “Kill him!” a woman screamed.

“He cheated! He took Ohneya’s war club!”

“Death to the Shawnee dog!”

A graying elder shook his fist skyward. “Burn him!”

The masked shaman snaked out of the seething crowd. “I smell a witch!” he cried, waving his staff of office. “We saw the prisoner fall to his knees. No mortal could rise against such odds. Only one in league with demons could leap up and complete the gauntlet. I tell you, this is foul Shawnee witchcraft!”

“Burn the demon!” A brave staggered forward with swollen face and forearm bent unnaturally. “I, Rax-aa, saw ghosts around him. I will light the fire!”

“My husband! My husband is dead!” screamed Ohneya’s wife. “He is a witch! He knew our shaman’s name, didn’t he? Who but a witch would know?”

Ohneya lay moaning in the dust, obviously still very much alive, but the fact did not dampen his wife’s ardor for Sterling’s scalp.

“Look at your war chief!” she wailed. “See your fallen leader. Will the Mohawk let such a witch live?”

Jit-sho shook his turtle-shell rattle at Sterling. “Ni-yoh the Creator cries for this demon’s blood!” he shouted. “His nostrils long for the scent of burning flesh! Will the Mohawk suffer a witch to live?”

Two men helped Ohneya to his feet. Through bloodied lips, he mumbled something and then pushed through the angry mob. “This white-skinned Shawnee ran the gauntlet with dishonor,” Ohneya croaked. “Give me a knife, and I will cut his man-parts—”

Sterling silenced him with a scornful laugh. “Is this the war chief of the Mohawk? This pissing dog’s vomit who hides behind his woman’s skirts?”

The shaman hissed in disapproval and shook his rattle again, but many villagers cast sidelong glances at Ohneya.

“His insults are but the foolish bleating of a dead man. He broke the rules,” Ohneya said. “He tricked me with black magic and stole my weapon. He is not worthy—”

“Bear Dancer will say who is worthy,” the old sachem said in English. A pathway opened for him, and he came to stand near Sterling. “Ohneya thinks to speak for the Mohawk. When I am dead, he may speak for you. But here I stand, and you will listen to my words.”

“Listen to Bear Dancer,” Sterling said. “Not to the unworthy one who seeks power. A coward who murders infants and does battle against helpless women. A coward who thinks to take Bear Dancer’s staff. A dung-eating weakling who dares not fight a man.”

“What man?” Ohneya’s wife shouted. “I see no man. Only a Shawnee witch.” She put out her hands to Bear Dancer. “Father, I am your only child. Will you see my husband wronged and not take vengeance? Burn the witch, I say!”

“Yes, burn him,” cried one of Ohneya’s supporters.

“Bear Dancer is old,” Ohneya said. “My wife’s father’s heart has become as soft as his head. Listen to our shaman, not this Shawnee offal.”

Bear Dancer turned to glare at Jit-sho. “What say you, mighty shaman? Do you fear this Shawnee?”

The little man stiffened; the wooden mask tilted on an angle. His moccasined feet began to step back and forth as an eerie flood of garble issued from the snarling mouth. Then the spew of syllables became a high-pitched chant. “Jit-sho fears no witch. Jit-sho fears no demon. Jit-sho is mightier than the storm.”

The circle around Sterling tightened. Warriors and a few women drew closer, while other mothers tugged their children away.

Overhead, thunder grumbled. Someone looked up and pointed. What had been a cloudless sky had darkened.

“Witchcraft,” a stout woman moaned.

“See! The storm comes to do battle.”

Another whispered. “Jit-sho challenges the elements.”

The wind began to pick up, forming spouts of whirling dust that rose to the height of a longhouse. A black feather came loose from Jit-sho’s carved mask and tumbled away. A half-grown girl screamed and fled toward the huts.

Thunderheads rolled in from the north. The wind gusted and began to blow in earnest, sending drying racks, mats, and household articles spinning.

“Jit-sho boasts that he is mightier than the storm!” Sterling shouted.

Lightning cracked. To the north, a fiery finger reached down to shatter a pine tree.

More villagers ran from the square to shelter. Old Bear Dancer ignored the wind and stood staring at Ohneya. “Is my daughter’s husband afraid to fight the Shawnee witch?” he demanded. “He says that I am old. I say that a Mohawk war chief should fear no one—man or ghost.”

A wolf howled nearby, so close that men looked around nervously and women clutched their children.

“Fight me!” Sterling dared. “Fight me, Ohneya, or prove that your courage is water and you are not worthy to call yourself Mohawk.”

“You will die!” Ohneya screamed. “You will not trick your way out of the torture stake! Your flesh will—”

“Do you fear him?” Bear Dancer said.

“No, but—”

Bear Dancer’s head snapped around, and he looked into Sterling’s eyes. “If you are a witch, Shawnee, you must die. I do not know if what you did in the gauntlet was bravery or treachery. This I know. You will fight Ohneya to the death.”

“And if the witch bests Ohneya?” Jit-sho shrieked. “What then, noble Bear Dancer?”

The old chief’s lined face grew stern. “Then we will consign him to the fire and eat his roasted heart to share among us the courage of a worthy Shawnee warrior.”

 

Her father’s face was the first one that Cailin saw when she opened her eyes. She threw her arms around him, desperately wanting the comfort of human touch, forgetting for the moment that she had vowed to show him no affection. Forgetting that he could never be more than a father in name to her.

“Shhh, shhh,” he crooned soothingly. “’Tis all right, lass. ’Tis all right.”

His arms were strong despite his years, and it was easy to lean against him. The images in her mind were not so easy to dispel. “I dreamed ...” she stammered. “But it wasn’t a dream.” She pushed back and met his worried gaze. “Am I losing my mind?”

“Did you see the wolf again?” he asked.

“No ... yes.” She shook her head and covered her face with her hands. “It’s all mixed up. A nightmare—but I was wide awake. I swear it.”

“Ye had a waking vision,” Moonfeather said, laying a cool hand on Cailin’s shoulder. She smiled. “Do not fear the power. It is the gift of your amulet.” She glanced at Cameron. “I think this is best spoken of between Cailin and this woman, don’t you?”

He nodded. “Talk to Moonfeather,” he said. “If anyone can ease your soul, she can.”

Cailin let go of him and slowly let out her breath.

Cameron touched her cheek. “It will be all right, lass. I promise. Listen to what she has to say with an open mind.” He got up and motioned the men out of earshot.

Cailin rubbed her eyes. “You must think I’m crazy,” she said to Moonfeather.

“Nay, I dinna think that. Tell me what happened today. Tell it all,” the Indian woman urged. “From the beginning.” She unslung a water skin and offered it to Cailin. “Come, we will sit over here on this rock in the shade, and you will say what ye saw.”

Cailin’s legs were shaky, and she was grateful for the solid granite. Murmuring thanks, she took a sip. The liquid was warm, but it wet her dry mouth. “I can go on,” she said. “We are wasting daylight when we should be walking.”

“This is more important,” Moonfeather replied, clasping Cailin’s hand in hers. “Tell it, leaving nothing out.”

“If you’re sure,” Cailin said. She glanced toward the men, but they had taken off their packs and settled down to wait a distance away. “It began with the wolf,” she said. “I saw him on the trail ...”

The peace woman listened without comment as she related the strange events of the day. “I think I’m with child,” Cailin said in apology. “I’ve heard that it addles the brain for some women.”

Moonfeather smiled. “No, you are not mad. This is something very different. Tell me more about the face ye saw in your vision. Was it human, or could it have been a wooden mask? Something like this?” She picked up a stick and drew a crude image in the sand.

“Yes,” Cailin agreed excitedly. “Only there was ... hair. Not real hair, but a red stringy mass around the face.” She took a deep breath and let it out slowly “Could it be the heat, or do ye think I’m fevered?”

“No,” Moonfeather assured her. “You are not ill. You have the sight. Surely, a Scotswoman has heard of—”

“Yes, of course. But I never had it before. Why—”

“’Tis your love for Sterling.”

“Ye mean I saw something in the future. Or was it the past?” A sudden chill passed through Cailin. “He’s dead, isn’t he? I saw him fall.” She shook her head. “Nay, more than that. I
felt
him fall.”

“Past, future, they are the same,” Moonfeather murmured. “Your ties to him are very strong. That’s why you felt as though you were there with him. But I dinna think he is dead. We must hurry. The face you saw was an Iroquois mask, probably a shaman’s magic.”

Gooseflesh rose up on Cailin’s arms. “Magic. Shamans. What’s a shaman?”

“A physician. Medicine man. They also deal in magic, sometimes what you would call black magic. Good ones have power.”

Cailin’s eyes widened. “They’re in league with the devil?”

Moonfeather laughed. “Indians don’t believe in the white man’s devil. That’s not to say we don’t have a few demons of our own. But if the Creator is all-powerful, which He is, how can a devil steal away His souls? The Shawnee believe that evil or good comes from a man’s heart. The Great Spirit can only be good and offer good. If we choose to turn our backs on what we know is right, we can go astray. But we cannot blame our fall on a devil. Each man or woman is responsible for his or her own actions.”

Cailin pulled her hand free and ran her fingers through her hair. She was feeling much better physically, but all this talk of sight and magic was as hard to fathom as her waking dream. “But you said these ... shamans ... can do black magic.”

Moonfeather chuckled. “There is no black magic or white. There is only magic. And a few tricks. Most shamans I have known use more knowledge of men’s weaknesses than real magic.”

“What about the wolf? There was a real wolf that came to our plantation before we built the house. At least, I thought it was real. This looks like the same animal, but that’s impossible. And now, I’m dreaming that the beast talks to me.”

The Indian woman’s eyes narrowed. “The wolf is real, but I believe it is Sterling’s spirit guide, not a flesh and blood wolf. It is a powerful totem.”

“A ghost wolf.” Cailin shook her head. “I don’t believe it.”

Moonfeather shrugged. “You don’t have to.” She hesitated and then went on. “But ye should know that Sterling dreamed of you ... long ago, on his vision quest.”

“How do you—”

“It is my business to know such things. I am peace woman to the Shawnee. Every boy must seek a spirit guide to become a man. He goes off alone to a high place for days to fast and pray. To each new man comes a vision and a spirit protector. Sterling saw you.”

“Impossible. That must have been years ago. I was in Scotland ... still a child.”

“Yet, he saw the woman you would become. His journey was longer than most, but you led him home to his spirit wolf protector. Now the circle is complete, the vision whole.”

Cailin got up and shook her head. “This is nonsense. Indian superstition.”

“Perhaps,” Moonfeather agreed. She spread her hands gracefully. “Perhaps not. You did see the wolf and hear his words of wisdom.”