The Outcast (9 page)

Zach King trudged gloomily along, his thoughts as dark and ominous as a thunderhead. He had failed his wife, failed the one he loved. He had let himself be caught, and now their fate and the fate of their unborn child were in the hands of warriors with no mercy in their souls.

Not that Zach would give up. Lou had been right about being a King. Among the many lessons he learned from his parents was the most important: Never, ever give up or give in. No matter what life threw at him, no matter the challenge, no matter the peril, never surrender.

So as Zach trudged, he pondered. He must get Lou out of there. On horseback would be best, but if not then on foot. He must do it before they passed over the divide, while they were still in King Valley.

The Heart Eaters had taken his weapons. But they couldn't take his mind, and the mind was the most useful weapon of all. A mind could scheme. A mind could plot. A mind could come up with a way to snatch life from the fangs of death. A mind could defy fate.

Zach studied his captors without being obvious. With him bound, they must figure he wasn't much of a threat. None had arrows nocked to their bows. Only one kept a hand on the hilt of his knife. The others seemed to take it for granted that he would not give them trouble, not with his wife in their clutches.

Little did they realize that was all the more incentive for Zach to slay them. But Lou presented a problem. She had hurt her leg and limped with every step. She couldn't run fast or far. So whatever he came up with must take her handicap into account.

Zach glanced at her and saw she was smiling at him. “What?”

“I am happy you are here.” Lou was near giddy with glee, in fact. She thought she had lost him in the slide.

“You're happy they caught me?”

“No, silly.” Lou laughed. “I'm happy you weren't killed.”

“If they have their way, we will be.”

Lou stared at the warriors on either side. “We've been in tight situations before, but this is one of the worst.”

“I'll get you out of this or die trying.”

Lou touched his arm. “I'd rather you didn't. I'm going to have a baby and she'll need a pa.”

“There you go again.”

Lou hoped for a girl. Zach wanted a boy. The next nine months promised to be one long argument because neither—Lou caught herself. Here she was, thinking of their future, when it was very much in doubt they would live out the week.

Zach squinted skyward. They had several hours of daylight left. More than enough. The question was, when? He must pick the right time and place.

Louisa said quietly, “I want to tell you now, in case I don't get the chance later, how much I love you. How much having you as my husband has meant to me. How proud I have been to be your wife.”

“You sound like you're saying good-bye.”

“It's just that there are things that need to be said and this might be my only chance.”

“I won't let them harm you.”

“I know you'll do your best. You always do. You're as fine a man as any woman could ask for.”

Zach shook his head. “I'm a hothead. I don't have much patience. I don't always consider your feelings. I tend to do what I want when I want and the rest of the world be damned.”

Louisa grinned. “I didn't say you don't have flaws. Everyone does. But as flaws go, yours I can live with. You more than make up for them by being a devoted husband.”

“I don't do any different than my pa.”

“That's just it,” Lou said. “Your pa had always put your ma and you and your sister before everyone and everything else. A lot of men don't do that. They'd rather drink and carry on with their friends than spend time with their families.”

Zach was puzzled by why she was talking about how they got along at a time like this. There were more important things, such as how they were going to escape.

“They're not stopping us,” Lou said.

“What?”

“They're letting us talk. I was testing to see if they would, or if they would make us stop.” Lou stepped on a pine cone and her foot slipped, sending a sharp pain up her hurt leg.

Zach noticed. “Is it getting worse?”

“I can manage.”

Zach had his doubts. She could barely walk. What would she do when they had to run for their lives? “I want you to stick close to me from here on out.”

“You and only you.”

The next slope was thickly forested. High above were sheer cliffs. A game trail bought them slowly and sinuously higher, until they came out on a short grassy bench. From there they could see for miles.

Lou paused to admire the view. She could see the lake and the brown square that was their cabin. She would give anything to be back there now, rocking in her chair or cooking, or maybe taking a stroll along the shore. She loved that more than just about anything.

The warrior behind her pushed her.

Lou stumbled. She tried to recover her balance, but her bad leg flared and she grabbed at Zach to keep from falling.

The warrior cuffed her.

So unexpected was the attack that Zach was rooted in rage for all of five seconds. Then he exploded. Whirling, he kicked the man in the leg. The warrior doubled over and Zach kneed him in the face. He drew back his foot to kick again, but a blow to his back sent him tottering toward the edge of the shelf. His heel came down on slick grass, and the next Zach knew, he was tumbling out of control. For harrowing moments he thought he would slam into a tree, but he came to a stop unhurt.

Two Heart Eaters were coming after him.

Heaving upright, Zach ran. It took some doing with his hands bound behind him. Angry shouts followed, and the crackle of underbrush. He rounded a boulder and nearly collided with a large log. Vaulting over, he dropped onto his side and pressed against it.

Feet padded. A warrior flew around the end. The second man leaped over the log as Zach had done—and over Zach, as well. Both raced on down the slope, unaware they had gone past him.

Scrambling erect, Zach stayed low and paralleled the bottom of the bench. He ran until he was out of sight of the warriors up above. Casting about, he searched for a flat rock with a serrated edge. He'd about despaired of finding what he needed when a godsend appeared at his feet. He set to sawing at the rope.

Angry yells told him more Heart Eaters had joined the search. From the sound of things only a few were guarding Lou.

Zach sawed and sawed. A few strands parted. Back and forth, back and forth, until his wrists and fingers ached. The rock was no knife. At the rate he was cutting it would take minutes he didn't have. He pressed harder. The rock bit into his palm, but pain was the least of his worries.

Below, the Heart Eaters went on hunting him. They had gone quiet, save for an occasional yell.

Zach felt blood on his palm. He kept cutting. More strands were severed. Impatient to rescue Lou, he stopped slicing, bunched his shoulders and tensed his arm muscles and exerted all his strength. He wasn't as immensely strong as his pa, but he was solid muscle. His body protested, but he strained and strained until, with an audible snap, the rope broke.

Quickly, Zach climbed to the top of the bench. He peered over. Forty feet away stood Lou, staring down the facing slope, her pretty face mirroring concern. Two warriors had been left to guard her. Beyond were the bay and the pinto.

Zach debated. Forty feet was a lot of open space. Both warriors had arrows notched to the strings of their bows. He couldn't possibly reach them before one or both of those shafts transfixed his body.

The warriors were talking.

Zach hefted the rock he had used to cut the rope. Then, cocking his arm, he threw it as high and as far as he could toward the other end of the shelf. Luck favored him and it came down in a tree, clattering from branch to branch as it fell. Both warriors whirled. Raising their bows, they moved toward the tree.

Zach exploded up over the bench and sprinted toward Lou and the horses. He remembered that one of the Heart Eaters had put his pistol, tomahawk, and knife in the parfleche on the bay.

Lou heard him and spun. She beamed in relief, only to have her husband fly past her. He was so intent on the bay that he didn't see what she saw—one of the warriors had gone into the trees, but the other had turned and was sighting down a barbed shaft. Lou went to cry a warning.

Zach had to pass the pinto to reach the bay. He was almost to it when the pinto whinnied and stepped directly into his path. He thought he was the cause until it wheeled and he saw blood welling from a long cut on its flank. In its flight it collided with the bay, and both horses bolted toward a warrior reaching for another shaft in his quiver.

The man leaped aside to avoid being trampled. He did not quite have the arrow out when Zach launched himself like a cannonball. His shoulder caught the warrior full across the chest. Down they went with Zach on top. Both grabbed for the hilt of the knife the warrior wore. Zach got his hand on it, but the warrior clamped hold of his wrist.

Zach punched him, a jab to the jaw that rocked the warrior's head. The man didn't let go. A second punch did no good, either, so Zach drove his forehead into the man's face. There was a
crunch
and moist drops spattered Zach's brow. But still the man held on to Zach's wrist.

Zach hit him in the throat and the warrior broke into convulsions. He raised his fist for a last blow, only to have small hands seize his forearm.

“Forget him!” Lou urged. “We must flee.”

Shouts from below warned Zach why. The horses had made such a racket in running off that Skin Shredder and the others were hurrying back. Snatching the knife, he grabbed her hand and headed up the mountain.

Lou grit her teeth and did her best to keep up. She couldn't stop limping, though, and they went only a short way when before Zach slipped an arm around her and practically began carrying her.

“I can manage on my own.”

“Hush and run.”

The last thing Lou wanted was to slow him down. She pumped her good leg and put as little weight on her bad as she could. For a while that helped. They went more than fifty yards, into growth so thick the Heart Eaters would have to be right on top of them to see them. She began to think that maybe, just maybe, they would get away.

Zach was listening to the sounds of pursuit. Four or five warriors were spread out in a line.

Lou hurt worse with every step. She clung tight to Zach, furious at herself, yet elated they were eluding their pursuers. Or were they?

Zach sought a place to hide. A cave, a crevice, anything, so long as it would shelter Lou while he led the Heart Eaters away. He would gladly sacrifice himself for her sake and the sake of the baby.

Lou looked back. A swarthy, scarred form was plowing through the vegetation. Any moment he might spot them. She pulled on Zach, whispering urgently, “We need to find cover! Now!”

Zach did as she wanted. He didn't ask why. He darted into some aspens and threw himself to the ground, pulling her after him.

Lou's heart hammered. When the warrior flew past, she breathed a little easier.

Zach didn't linger. Helping her up, he bore to the north. He hoped the change of direction would confuse the Heart Eaters.

The woods became ominously still. The wind died, and not so much as a pine needle moved.

Zach liked it better when he could hear their pursuers. He slowed so they weren't making as much noise.

Lou accidentally put all her weight on her hurt leg. Torment racked her. She clamped her mouth shut to keep from crying out and was grateful when Zach stopped and hunkered. She squatted beside him, her hands on the ground for support.

“I think we lost them,” Zach whispered. Now all they had to do was make it down the mountain to their cabin.

“I've hardly ever been so scared,” Lou confessed.

“You hide it well.”

“If they ever get us to their village—”

“They won't.” Zach paused. “Your leg is worse, isn't it?”

“Don't worry about me.”

“You can barely stand.”

“I'll keep up.”

“That's not what I asked.”

“Shhhh.”

“If I have to I can carry you.”

Lou touched his cheek. “You wonderful idiot. How far do you reckon we'd get?”

“I'll have you climb on my back. We'll go slow. By morning we'll be down near the lake.”

Suddenly a rabbit streaked by.

Zach shifted in the direction it came from, wondering what had spooked it. The answer was a who, not a what. He started to rise, but thought better of it. He would be dead before he took a step.

An arrow was centered on his chest.

Skin Shredder was beside himself. The war party had been his idea. He organized it. He led it. If it was successful, if he brought back captives, his people would hold him in high esteem. But he must return with all the warriors who went with him on the raid. Lose even one, and his people would say the raid was bad medicine. They would hold him to blame and whisper behind his back that he was a poor leader.

The Tunkua had never been numerous. At their highest they numbered barely three hundred. That was before war with a much stronger tribe cost them many lives and forced them to leave the land they had called their own since they were formed from the clay of the earth. Now the Tunkua numbered one hundred and sixty-seven. So many men had been lost in the war and on the long trek north that for every warrior there were three women. The loss of a single man was a cause for grief and dismay.

Bone Cracker was dying. His throat had been crushed by the half-breed, and he lay gasping and gurgling and convulsing.

“He was my friend,” Star Dancer said sadly.

Skin Shredder glared at the captives and fingered his knife. Both were bound hand and foot and would stay that way until they reached the village.

“We should kill him here,” Star Dancer said.

“You would deprive our people of his heart?” Skin Shredder snapped.

It would be worse than losing a warrior. He would be held in low regard by one and all. No one would ask his opinion in councils or want to go on a raid with him.

“No,” Star Dancer reluctantly replied.

Bone Cracker arched his back. His mouth gaped wide and his tongue protruded, and with a final convulsion he gave up his spirit. A long exhale, and he was still.

Skin Shredder stepped over to the breed and kicked in the ribs him as hard as he could.

“Leave him be!” Lou cried. She had been dreading what the Heart Eaters would do.

Zach bore the punishment stoically. It would be a sign of weakness if he didn't, and he would be damned if he would give them the satisfaction.

“Here come Eye Gouger and Red Moon,” Splashes Blood said.

The pair had gone after the two horses. They returned with only the black one. “We did not see the black-and-white horse,” Eye Gouger reported, and wagged the bay's reins. “These were caught in a small tree or we would not have brought back this one.”

Skin Shredder gnashed his teeth, a habit when he was angry. One warrior and one horse; he must not lose any more. He gestured at the captives. “Throw these two over it.” Maliciously, he made it a point to add, “Belly down.”

Lou didn't resist when warriors took hold of her arms and legs. She guessed what they were about to do and tried to tuck at the waist to cushion the jolt, but they held her too tight. She was jarred to her spine, her stomach a riot of pain. Inadvertently she cried out.

Zach saw red. As the same two warriors bent to pick him up, he slammed his feet against the knee of one while simultaneously rearing up and butting the other in the groin. Both staggered back in pain. Rolling, he kicked the first warrior's other knee, eliciting a yelp, then swiveled to kick the other.

Skin Shredder couldn't credit his eyes. The breed was bound hand and foot yet he was about to bring down two formidable Tunkua warriors. Uttering a screech of rage, he pounced. He drove his knees into the breed's chest, pinning him. Gouging his fingers into the breed's throat, he drew his knife.

“No!” Lou shouted.

Skin Shredder sneered at her. He pressed the tip to the breed's neck and a drop of blood bubbled.

“Please, no!” Lou knew he didn't understand the words, but her expression and the tremble in her voice were enough. She couldn't bear it if anything happened to Zach. She just couldn't.

Zach held still. Lou needed him. He must not provoke them any further—for now.

“Cut his nose off and force him to eat it,” Star Dancer suggested.

Skin Shredder was about to, but he stayed his hand. Maybe it was the thought that his people would enjoy the ceremony more if they got to carve on the prisoner first. Lowering the knife, he barked, “Get him on the horse and we will be on our way.”

Zach's ribs and chest were on fire. He submitted to being seized and was flung like a sack of flour up and over the bay, behind Lou. It didn't help his ribs any. His back was to Lou. He tried twisting so he could see her but a warrior poked him with an arrow.

Zach took the hint. They didn't want him talking to his wife. He waited until they were under way, then bent his head to whisper, “Are you all right?”

“Never better,” Lou said, but she was scared, terribly scared. Not for her or for him but for the seed she hoped to nurture. She wasn't very far along, so the rough treatment shouldn't faze her, but it couldn't be good for her, either.

“I tried. I'm sorry.”

“It's my fault we were caught again. I slowed you down. I'm the one who should be sorry.” Lou had to stop. Emotion choked her at the thought that were they to die, she must shoulder the blame.

Zach would like to take her in his arms and comfort her. He settled for saying, “You're the best wife any man ever had.”

“What made you say that?”

“It's true.”

“You pick the darnedest times to be romantic.”

Despite everything, Zach chuckled. He would be the first to admit he wasn't as tenderhearted as some men. His pa, for instance, was constantly bringing his ma flowers and giving her gifts.

Skin Shredder heard the half-breed chuckle and turned. It puzzled him greatly, this lightheartedness when they must know they were going to die. These Bear People, even those half and half, were truly strange. He didn't say anything. Let them whisper if they wanted. Before very long they would never whisper again.

The Outcast thought he was seeing things. The blow to the head had put his head in a whirl. But no, he blinked and the pinto was still there, nostrils wide and lathered with sweat. It had come trotting down the mountain and stopped when it saw him.

The Outcast went up to it. The pinto nuzzled his outstretched hand and rubbed against him. He stroked its neck, scratched behind its ears. “Where have you been? I thought I lost you in the rockslide.”

His parfleche was still tied on. So was the club with the metal spike. Gripping the mane, the Outcast swung on and reined up the mountain.

The return of the pinto was an omen. All he needed was a bow and some arrows and he would be complete. The hideous warriors who took his captive had bows and arrows.

The Outcast thought of her eyes, the color of the lake. He thought of the times she had smiled. Most of all, he thought of her belly and what was in it, and he remembered Yellow Fox and what had come out of her.

He found himself thinking of Yellow Fox a lot. An irony, given that he had shut her from his mind for so long. What was it about the young white woman that caused this in him? He would be wise to slit her throat and be rid of her so she would not stir his memories.

The trail was easy to follow. The scarred warriors made no attempt to hide it. Evidently they felt they were safe. But they were wrong, as they would soon find out.

The Outcast untied the club with the metal spike. He tried a few practice swings. It had a nice balance, and the spike was sharp. He would rather have his bow, but the club would do. With it he could take out an eye, rip open a stomach, or pierce to the brain.

Overhead, the sun beamed. In the woods, birds sang. A butterfly fluttered by, making for the valley floor.

The Outcast climbed rapidly. The pinto was tired, but it had more than common stamina. He would let it rest later.

Time passed, and the Outcast came to a grassy bench. He rode up the slope to the top and drew rein in rare amazement at the sight before him. He scanned the forest and the slopes above, but there was no sign of anyone. For a while he stared at the body. Then he dismounted and squatted.

It was a scarred warrior, bare from the waist up. His arms had been folded across his chest. Someone had cut him from his sternum to his navel and pried the flesh apart.

The Outcast leaned closer. There was something missing, an organ. He realized what it was: the heart. Someone had reached in and cut out the heart.

This was new. This was different. This was bewildering. The Outcast knew of tribes that tortured and mutilated enemies. But he had never heard of any tribe, anywhere, that cut the heart out of one of their own. He tried to fathom why they had done such a thing. Then for them to ride off and leave the body for scavengers.

The Outcast rose and turned to the pinto. He would leave the body as it was. The strange thing they had done must be part of a ritual, and while he did not understand it, he did know it was not his place to judge how others reached out to the Great Mystery.

He was about to mount when he noticed a patch of color in the grass. A lump the size of his fist, most of it a reddish pink but parts slightly blue and purple. Puzzled, he walked over.

It was the missing heart.

His bewilderment grew. Why cut out the heart only to throw it aside? He poked the heart with his club, then rolled it over. The other side was pockmarked with odd scoops taken out of it, half a dozen from top to bottom.

The Outcast went rigid with dawning horror. The marks were
bites.
Six of them—and there were six scarred warriors left. They had cut out the heart and each of them had taken a bite of it.

Gooseflesh prickled the Outcast. In all his winters, he had never heard of anything like this. He thought of the young woman who reminded him so much of Yellow Fox and of the heart beating in her chest. A chill rippled through him. It was a terrible way to die.

He climbed on the pinto and slapped his legs. A new urgency goaded him. He tried to tell himself that she had been nothing more than bait to lure her man to his death. He tried to tell himself that he didn't care about the new life in her womb. He tried to tell himself all this and more.

The Outcast firmed his grip on the club.

Soon.

Very soon.

Skin Shredder licked his lips. The taste of raw heart always whetted his hunger for more. Ever since his first bite when he had seen but six winters, he liked to eat heart more than he liked to eat anything. It was the same with all his people. The heart to them was more than meat. It was strength. It was power. When they ate the heart of another, they acquired some of that person's vital essence.

When one of their own died a violent death, they removed the heart and each of them took a bite. In doing so, they took into themselves part of the friend they were eating. It was the highest honor the Tunkua gave their own. Many looked forward to having their hearts eaten. They dreaded dying of sickness because then their hearts would stay untouched and they would go into the next world without the mark of honor.

Skin Shredder would have liked to take Bone Cracker back to the village so that all his people could take part. But it would be several sleeps, and by then the body would bloat and give off an unpleasant odor, and the heart would not taste as sweet.

Skin Shredder glanced back at the bay. The white woman had a look of distress on her face, which pleased him. The breed showed no discomfort. He could bear much, that one, and would, too, before the Tunkua were done with him. His mettle would be tested to its utmost.

The Tunkua had tortured their enemies for as long as there had been Tunkua. They didn't do it out of a desire to inflict pain. They didn't do it because they delighted in suffering. To them it was a test of courage, of manhood, of the warrior spirit. The more their enemy endured, the higher they regarded him. They ate his heart with the utmost reverence, for in the eating they took into themselves that which they most admired.

Skin Shredder couldn't wait to eat the breed's heart. He would cut it out himself. He had that right; the breed was his prisoner.

His shadow acquired a shadow of its own.

“I think we are being followed,” Star Dancer said.

“You think?”

“I am not certain.”

“What did you see?”

“What might be a man on a horse. But only for a moment. He is most careful not to be seen.”

“One of the Bear People come to save these two?” Skin Shredder had been expecting it. He was surprised there wasn't more than one.

“I cannot say. He is too far off.”

“Do we stop and wait in hiding?” Splashes Blood asked.

Skin Shredder pondered and came to a decision. “If we push on, we can be over the pass and in our valley by the rising of the sun.”

Star Dancer said, “If I am right, the rider will follow us, perhaps all the way to our village. He will go to get other Bear People and they will come and try to wipe us out.”

“He will not reach the pass. You will find a spot where he cannot see you and wait for him, and when he comes, kill him with arrows.”

“It will be done.”