White Flame (19 page)

He sucked in a breath. The image of her became so startling clear then shifted, blurred and reappeared, but this time, he saw himself, in an identical pose. Moving slowly, the couple in his vision came together. Heads and bodies moved close until they touched from the chest down. Their arms lifted, their palms pressed together over their heads.

Then they turned so they were back to back. Their hands lowered to their sides, fingers entwined. Again, they tipped their heads back, faces to the moon rising above. Her head rested on his shoulder, his leaned against hers. They were one. Red hair mingled in the breeze with black. Warmth surrounded him, inside and out. Curls of wind wound around them, lifting them high above the ground.

Then, without warning, a jagged bolt of lightning shot from the sky, separating them. Emma faded into the darkness. Striking Thunder fell back to the earth. Standing, he found himself surrounded by enemies on one side and his people on the other. They crowded around. Shouting, gesturing, demanding. Louder and closer, until they blurred into one mass and he could no longer see, no longer feel.

Emma! Where was she? Cold. He felt so cold. The vision faded. Opening his eyes, he realized the cold came more from within but he was too exhausted to give it thought. Lying on his side, pulling his buffalo robe over him, Striking Thunder slept.

Pinkish streaks across the sky heralded the arrival of the new day. Sun lifted herself over the horizon and, leaving her partner, Old Woman Moon, in their lodge, took her place in the sky. Peeping down, she sent fingers of light over the mountains, chasing away dreams brought on by her counterpart,
Hanwi.
Seeing the still form of an Indian warrior asleep on top of Great Gray Rock, she sent a beam of warmth sliding over the warrior, warming him, luring him from the darkness of the night.

Striking Thunder woke as soon as the ray of light struck his closed eyes. Before taking refreshment, he stood and greeted the four superior gods and their associate gods. First,
Inyan,
the Rock, ancestor of all gods and all things; then
Maka,
the Earth, mother of all living things.
Skan,
the sky, and source of all force and power, sat in judgment of all gods and spirits. Last of the superior gods, but the highest ranking among them was
Wi,
all-powerful, defender of bravery, fortitude, generosity and fidelity.

After performing his morning rituals, Striking Thunder drank a little water from his pouch and chewed a piece of jerked buffalo meat as he stared out toward the distant plains. With his mind clear and his body refreshed, his vision returned to him with startling clarity. In the clear, cold light of day, he gave it careful thought and consideration. Though visions were usually interpreted by holy men, Striking Thunder knew he and Emma were to become lovers. That didn’t surprise him. He’d been fighting the inevitable.

But the difference in his acceptance of it came with the knowledge that Emma would leave when the time was right. That had been the message of their abrupt separation. Rather than feeling pleased, the thought left him feeling bereft. Yet keeping her was out of the question. Letting her go was as it should be, and this laid his mind to rest with regards to Star’s visions of Emma. He’d feared Emma’s presence in his life would become permanent.

His life was mapped out. When the time was right, he’d take to his tipi another wife, one of his own, an Indian maiden who would give him strong sons and daughters, as his mother had given his father. He didn’t think of his mother as white. Her Sioux blood flowed strong in her, and she’d passed it on to her four children. Even his brother who lived among the whites did so to help The People. His spirit was Sioux, even if his eyes and hair were not.

But Emma was wholly white. She had nothing to offer the Sioux.
But she has much to offer you,
his heart cried out. A lump formed in his throat when he recalled the feel of her, the taste of her, and the sound of her passionate cries in his ear. His heart jumped and his body sang with a life of its own. He craved her, craved what she and only she could offer him. Never had a woman touched his heart as this white woman had.

A shaft of sadness arrowed deep into his heart. He had to remain strong. There was no room for weakness. She was his only until he’d avenged the death of his wife. After that, she’d no longer be needed. In the meantime, he’d take her to his tipi and rid himself of his obsession. Then, come spring, he’d send Emma back to her people.

Satisfied, he gathered his supplies then remembered how cold and alone he’d felt toward the end of the vision, just before he’d slept. Frowning, he glanced around, wondering if that had been part of the vision, or if it had been his body’s reaction to the weather and lack of food and sleep.

As much as he longed to put it down to the latter, he couldn’t. In a vision, everything was important. Even colors and patterns. And the more he thought of his vision, the more confused he felt. Though he was eager to see her again, now that he had the spirits’ blessings to take her to his mat, a niggling worry ate at him.

He buried it. What would be would be. The will of
Wakan Tanka,
the chief god, would be revealed in time.

Leaving the top of the tall granite rock, he drank more clear, cold water from the stream and ate a bit more. After a quick wash, he headed east, taking the direction in which he knew he’d find his tribe. Each tribe moved in a fairly set pattern. A warrior could always find his people, no matter how long he’d been gone.

Forging his way through the thickly wooded forests, Striking Thunder quickened his pace when the first fat snowflakes fell. By early afternoon, the storm broke, coating the land with a blanket of white. Finally, he came within sight of his village. He slowed, took stock of the scattered tipis. Some lined the bank, others were set up a short distance away.

After stowing his weapons in the tipi his mother or sister had set up for him, he started a small fire to warm the enclosure, then went to find Emma. During the day, she would continue to help Star Dreamer, but her nights now belonged to him. At Star’s tipi, he hailed, “
Hau,
my sister.”

Star Dreamer opened the flap. “
Hau,
my brother. It is good to have you back.” Her gaze roamed his features and like him, she gave none of her thoughts away.

Striking Thunder entered and addressed his reason for the visit. “Where is Emma?’

“In the woman’s lodge.”

Striking Thunder couldn’t help the stab of disappointment at the news. All during the day he’d envisioned the night to come and only now, faced with the prospect of postponing his plans to take her to his mat, did he realize how much he’d been looking forward to the night.

Morning Moon glanced up from an oval-shaped piece of hide and called him over to see her work. He stared down at her crude portrait of a laughing young girl. Brushing the girl’s braid over her shoulder, he hunched down at her level. “You are very good.” It was obvious that Emma had been instructing her, which reminded him of the day she’d done the same with him.

Staring closely, something about that picture drew his attention. It seemed familiar. Only the eyes stood out with clarity. The rest was slightly blurred, though the mouth, that hint of a grin, reminded him of a mischievous imp. Something in that simple sketch of lines and smudged charcoal drew him. The eyes, he realized, and that mouth. They belonged to Emma’s young sister.

He lifted a brow. How could Morning Moon know what Emma’s sister looked like? He tipped her chin and stared into her eyes. Morning Moon stared back but revealed nothing, avoiding the question in his gaze. When her glance slid to her mother, he knew it would have to be later, when they were alone. For a long time, he’d suspected she had the gift. Seeing this drawing confirmed it.

Turning to give his nephew equal time, he ran his fingers over the new larger bow the boy had helped his grandfather make and promised to take him out hunting soon. Preparing to leave, he noticed Star’s haggard appearance. Concern rose. He went to her. “You have had more visions?” He kept his voice low, knowing she didn’t like to discuss them in front of the children.

She shrugged but wouldn’t meet his gaze either. “Nothing I can make sense of.” Her voice was bitter.

Pulling her to him, Striking Thunder held her close. Most men didn’t demonstrate their affection to their female family members but his mother had known none of that. Her children had grown up showing their love for one another and consequently, they were close. “The spirits will reveal all in time.”

Star stiffened in his hold. “But will it be in time for the knowledge to be of use?” She tore
free, wrapped her arms tightly around herself. “I couldn’t save even my own husband. His death is my fault,” she whispered, so softly that he barely heard.

He frowned. “What nonsense do you speak? It was not any fault of yours.”

Star Dreamer lowered her head. Tears coursed down her cheeks. “You’re wrong, my brother. If I hadn’t fought the messages of the spirits, I could have warned him. He could have stayed behind and been alive today.”

Her inner torture made Striking Thunder angry. He loved her so much and wished she could come to terms with her gift. If only he had the words of wisdom to help her accept what was. But he could dispel this one foolish belief she clung to. “No,” he said, his voice hard. “You are wrong.” Forcing her to meet his gaze, he willed her to open her mind to the truth of his words. “Had you seen his death, had you warned him of your vision, do you think your husband would have remained behind?” He waited a heartbeat. His fingers pressed firmly into her shoulders. “Your husband’s place was at my side.”

He gentled his tone, his fingers moving soothingly down her arms. “Knowing does not always change the outcome. Many times our people have benefited from both your visions and those of our grandmother but we can’t change the plans of the Great Spirit. He is our creator and he chose to call his brave warrior home.”

“I know your words to be true, my brother, but still the guilt remains.” She drew in a deep breath. “I cannot help but fear the next time. Will I fail to warn of danger? Is what happens a result of ‘what is to be’ or is it a result of my failing to understand? This is what I cannot live with—the knowledge that I might have been able to prevent the death of both your wife and my husband.” She glanced over at her children. Running Elk sat with his bow and tiny quiver of arrows in his lap, and Morning Moon played with her doll and tipi.

“I give thanks that I have not passed this gift on to my daughter. Though you disagree with me, it is a curse, one I would never wish to impart onto another.”

Striking Thunder frowned, his gaze resting on his niece. She seemed oblivious to their conversation, yet he had the feeling she knew exactly what they discussed. He decided now was not the time to voice aloud his own suspicions that Morning Moon had inherited the gift of sight from her mother and grandmother. Time would tell. Star Dreamer interrupted his thoughts as she told him of Night Hunter’s visit.

With much to think about, he bade his sister and her children good-night. Leaving the tipi, he stood undecided. Emma still did not know Renny lived with Night Hunter and his wives. Worried that the Cheyenne warrior had come to tell him that the young girl needed him, he decided this was another good time to go visit Emma’s sister. He’d promised the girl to come whenever she needed him.

Staring at the lodge, he wished he dared go inside to see Emma, to tell her of his plans to leave and that when he returned, she’d share his mat. But men were not allowed in that lodge. Perhaps he could speak with her through the door. Keeping his voice low, he called out, “Emma?”

There was no answer. He called her again, louder. Still no response. Worried that she might be ill, he eased the hide flap aside a mere inch in order to scan the inside. A voice behind him startled him.

“My son. What are you doing?”

Striking Thunder felt relieved to see his mother. Letting his hands fall to his sides, he explained, “I came to check on Emma but she does not respond to my call.”

White Wind tilted her head to one side. “You wish to speak with her?”

Hesitantly, he nodded. White Wind tried to hide her smile but failed. Striking Thunder scowled at his mother’s back as she bent down to enter the lodge. Seconds later, White Wind rushed out, her features drawn with worry. In her hands, she held several sheets of paper.

“She is not here. I only found these.” She held out several sheets of papers that had come from the supply she’d given Emma.

Stunned, Striking Thunder took the fluttering papers but didn’t look at them. A new worry took hold. If Emma was not here, or in the tipi with Star, or in his tipi, where was she? Closing his eyes, he knew. She’d run away. And with what Star had told him of Night Hunter’s reaction to her hair, he suspected she’d somehow learned where her sister was and had set out to find her.

Guilt swept through him. This was exactly the reason he hadn’t said anything to Emma about her sister’s whereabouts. He knew she’d risk her own life to go after her. Now, with a storm brewing, her life was in danger. Running to his tipi, he gathered fresh supplies. With the snow storm outside worsening with each passing hour, there was no time to lose. Grabbing his snowshoes and extra furs and his supplies, he draped a thick robe over his back and set off on foot. A horse would only slow him.

Emma struggled through the worsening storm. Her destination was the thick stand of trees off to her right. There, she prayed, she’d find shelter. The wind gusted. Her mare shook its head and stumbled in a deep drift. “I’m sorry, girl,” Emma murmured, rubbing the animal between its ears. “But we can’t stop now.”

An hour later, Emma reached the edge of the white-frosted hill and the sheltering pines. She dismounted and tied the horse to a tree. Another burst of cold air sang through the trees. Shivering, she pulled the robe around her tighter. Her feet were numb with chill, and she no longer felt her fingers. To conserve warmth and protect her face, she tucked her chin and mouth down beneath the thick fur and exhaled, trying to warm herself with her own breath. A fire. She needed a fire.

Gathering some small sticks, she tried to remember Star’s instructions. But with the wind, it was hopeless. She sat back on her heels and choked back the tears. She was cold and so tired. And wet. She stomped around, trying to warm herself. When that didn’t work, she found the thickest tree trunk to shield her, sat and ate a piece of hard, dry bread and a strip of jerked buffalo meat. Then, utterly miserably, she waited for the storm to abate.

The afternoon wore on and the snow grew more blinding, turning into a full-fledged blizzard. She fretted over the delay the weather caused. By now, Star would know of her escape and would have alerted the warriors. Emma longed to forge ahead, but it would be foolhardy to do so with a blizzard raging around her.

Moving as quickly as her freezing limbs would allow, she gathered fallen branches and brush, piling them several feet away from the tree trunk to form a sheltering barrier of sorts. She pulled long, thin branches from several smaller pines then laid them over the top of the three-foot-high shelter, crisscrossing them to keep them from being swept away by the strong hand of the storm. Next, she piled snow around the base. After clearing the snow from the inside, she had a small enclosure with just enough room to squeeze into and huddle back against the tree trunk.