by Vella Munn
True Hand again closed his eyes. His lips moved, but he didn't make so much as a single sound. He held the rifle in the crook of one arm, and his bow and arrows were on his back. His other hand cradled the medicine bag he wore around his neck. Finally he took a deep breath and released it in a long, low howl that sent chills up her spine.
A wolf's sound!
Morning Song lifted her head, but she did it so gradually that the soldiers didn't appear to notice.
“What's a wolf doing around here?” one of them asked.
“Danged thing sounds like it's right over there.” The other pointed at where Kayla and True Hand hid.
Kayla caught Morning Song's look of relief and concern. True Hand howled again, not quite as loud, but longer than before. It sounded like the real thing to her. The horses stomped their feet. One whinnied.
“You get the animals,” the first speaker, a bearded man, ordered. “No way we’re feeding some mangy wolf.” Even as he issued his order, he headed toward the rock where he'd left his rifle.
Just then True Hand sprang to his feet and stepped into the open. He aimed his rifle at the bearded man. “Run!” he ordered his sister in Modoc. Then in English, “Do not touch your weapons.”
The bearded man froze and stared at True Hand. His mouth sagged open. Gathering herself, Morning Song sprinted away from the creek. Because her hands were tied behind her, she couldn't run full out. The other man leaped toward her, but before he could reach her, True Hand fired. Screaming, the man fell to the ground and grabbed his leg. Kayla gasped, but although the blood shocked her, what really concerned her was that True Hand's rifle only held one bullet.
True Hand dropped his now useless weapon and reached for the bow and arrows. He was still fitting an arrow in the string when the bearded man snatched up his rifle and aimed it at True Hand.
“Stop!” Kayla yelled. She stepped from behind her bush. “Stop!” she repeated, determined to distract the soldier.
The bearded man gaped at her, but his rifle didn't waver. In slow motion, she saw him pump the chamber. A half second later, an explosion filled the air. At the same instant, Morning Song swung around. “Brother!” she screamed.
Kayla expected to see True Hand fall. Instead, obviously giving no thought to his safety, he pulled back on his bowstring. His arm muscles bulged. Behind him, dirt and small rocks disturbed by the wayward bullet settled back to the ground.
“Eagle, I thank you,” True Hand said.
The bearded man stared at his rifle, then pumped another bullet into the chamber.
“Stop!” Kayla repeated. “You can't! All they want is to live the way they always have,” she continued when the soldier turned his attention to her. She had to make him understand. “Leave them alone! Just leave them alone.”
Morning Song remained where she was. True Hand didn't so much as blink. If he heard Kayla, he gave no indication. Kayla's heart beat so hard she half expected it to jump out of her chest and yet she felt calm.
“Morning Song,” Kayla ordered. “Get out of here. Your son is waiting for you.”
“He—lives?”
“Yes,” True Hand said. “Kayla saved him.”
“What is this about?” the bearded soldier demanded. “Who are you?”
That didn't matter, not with his rifle aimed at True Hand's chest. The wounded soldier moaned. “Kill him!” he ordered. “Stinkin' arrow's not going to reach you.”
“He won't hurt you,” Kayla told the men. “All he wants is to free his sister. Let them go and—“
“Eagle,” True Hand said softly. “Eagle, you are at my side.” Looking as self-confident as an eagle himself, he stepped toward the armed soldier.
“Shut up!” the soldier ordered. “One more step, and you'll be—“
“Shoot him!” the wounded man sobbed. “Look what he done to me.”
Why was True Hand still walking toward his enemy? Didn't he know—k
The rifle blast stunned Kayla. She thought she screamed; she knew Morning Song did. Time seemed to hang suspended. True Hand didn't fall.
“Eagle,” he said softly. “I thank you.”
Wide-eyed and babbling, the bearded man started to pump yet another bullet into the chamber. As he did, True Hand's arrow flew through the air and struck him in the shoulder. Gasping, he dropped his weapon and reached for the arrow now sticking out of him.
“True Hand!” Morning Song yelled. “Listen!”
Like True Hand, Kayla now strained to hear. Both wounded soldiers gasped and moaned, but she still caught the sound of approaching hoof beats.
“Soldiers,” True Hand said calmly. Turning his back on his enemies, he ran toward his sister, reaching for the knife at his waist as he did. Two quick slashes freed her. Taking hold of Morning Song's arm, he pointed in the direction they'd come from. “Run!” he ordered Kayla.
Kayla did, because the approaching soldiers had become her enemies as much as they were her new friends.
Although they could no longer hear the soldiers, Kayla, True Hand, and Morning Song ran all the way back to where Kayla and True Hand had left their horses. Kayla understood Morning Song's desire to see her baby, and from the pace he set, True Hand, too, must have sensed her need. As for Kayla, running was easier than thinking.
Just the same, she couldn't completely silence her thoughts. Those two bullets, fired from rifles aimed right at True Hand, should have struck him. If first his own bullet and then his arrow had found their marks, trained soldiers should have been able to do the same.
But they hadn't.
Because Eagle, True Hand's spirit helper, had been with him?
****
“I owe you everything,” Morning Song said as she held Kayla in a fierce hug once they'd reached the horses. Although Kayla wanted to ask True Hand how he'd kept his bearings through all their twists and turns and thank him for his bravery and leadership, that could come later—if there was a later.
“You don't owe me anything.” Kayla hugged Morning Song back. “I'm just so glad you're all right.”
“I do not care about me. My child's life is everything.” Tears ran down Morning Song's cheeks. “My husband was a warrior. He knew of the dangers. But our child's life is just beginning.”
She was talking about her husband in the past tense, as if she was sure he was dead. From out of the corner of her eye, Kayla could see that True Hand was thinking the same thing. He'd untied the horses and was running his hands over their legs, but he hadn't taken his eyes off his sister. Again Kayla was struck by how at home he looked here.
Wondering if she was falling in love with True Hand, she took a deep breath. “I wish I could see you with your baby,” she managed. “What...” She fought off a sob. “What are you going to name him? I’ve thought of him as Night Sounds because of the way he cried when it was just the two of us.”
Morning Song touched Kayla's sweaty cheek with a dirty hand. “Kayla, my son shall be called Kayla.”
“That's a girl's…” she started to protest. “I'm honored,” she said instead. She couldn't help crying.
Once again the two girls hugged each other, then Kayla forced herself to step back. She looked at True Hand. His expression was sober, and he kept staring at her.
“What I saw,” she said because his gaze unnerved her, “couldn't happen. There's no way two bullets fired from such short range could have missed you.”
Instead of offering an explanation, True Hand loosened the string around his leather necklace and pulled out an eagle feather. “My spirit walked with me today,” he said, holding up the feather.
That's impossible, Kayla nearly said. Eagles can't stop bullets. But she'd stepped into the past, hadn’t she? Maybe anything was possible.
True Hand extended the feather toward her. “Take this with you,” he said. “Wherever you go, whatever you do, it will be part of you.”
Morning Song sobbed, but although her heart felt heavy, Kayla's tears dried. She took the large, black, white
-tipped feather that still retained True Hand’s heat and flattened it over her stone necklace. “You know, don't you?” she asked True Hand.
“That you must return to your people and your time?” He nodded. “I saw it in your eyes. Your task here is done.”
“Almost.” She waited until she felt strong enough to continue. “True Hand, and you, too, Morning Song, I know you believe in your people's spirits. After what happened today, I do, too. But because I'm from the future, I know what's going to happen to your people.”
They stared at her.
“You're not going to win this war.” It took every bit of strength in her to meet their eyes. “And when it ends, you'll be sent far from here.”
True Hand straightened. Despite that he looked vulnerable.
“At first it will be hard, but eventually you'll learn how to live there.” Please let that be true. “Children will be born there, and when their children are grown, they'll be allowed to return to your homeland. Maybe your grandchildren will be among them.”
“I do not want that world!” True Hand's features darkened. “I want what belonged to my grandparents and those who came before them. I need to see my babies learn to walk on the same paths I did.” Then, looking resigned, he pulled another feather from his pouch and touched his lips to it. “But I believe you,” he whispered. “You know what will happen.”
“I wish I didn't. Please.” She looked over at Morning Song, then back at True Hand. Yes, she did love him. “Please promise me something. That you'll keep your beliefs and take your spirits with you to that new place.”
Through blurred vision, Kayla saw True Hand step toward her. Still grasping the feather he'd given her, she held out her arms for him. He drew her into his embrace.
“I will never forget you,” he whispered.
“I will never forget you,” she replied. She glanced at Morning Song. “Any of you. Or what I've learned.”
They were going to leave; she’d never see them again. About to tell them goodbye, she stepped back from True Hand and pulled off her necklace. Smiling through her tears, she handed it to Morning Song. “Please give this to your son, and when he’s old enough, tell him how he got it.”
Crying, too, Morning Song nodded. Then she indicated the feather that had been in True Hand’s medicine pouch. “We will each take something of the other,” she whispered. “Thank you my friend. You will live in my heart forever.”
And you in mine.
Epilogue
The restaurant was brighter than Kayla remembered, either that or she still hadn't gotten used to artificial lighting. Looking around the table at her parents, brother, Megan and the baby, she felt more at peace than she had since she'd walked away from True Hand and Morning Song. Just the same, she'd do anything to be able to bring the two groups together.
Her brother stood and held up his glass of iced tea. “As the eldest of our parents' offspring,” he said, winking at Kayla. “I have taken it upon myself to offer the first toast. May your next ninety-three years of marriage be as good as the first.”
“Twenty-three years,” her father corrected with mock anger. “Even if I look it, I'm not that old.”
“Neither am I,” her mother insisted. “Although after the day I've had—forget it, I'm not going to talk about work, not with my children and a baby to share our anniversary with.” She leaned over to kiss the sleeping Short Stuff on the forehead, then turned to Kayla. “Honey, thank you for pulling this surprise off. And for getting your brother to join us. It means more than you can know.”
“It means a great deal to me too,” Kayla said. Feeling dangerously close to tears, she wrinkled her nose at her brother. “Thanks for doing this,” she told him. “I appreciate it.”
“No thanks needed. I needed a reminder of what's important.”
“Speaking of what's important,” Megan said. She started to shift the baby in her arms, then handed him to Kayla. “I’ve decided to go back to school and get my GED.”
“You have!” Kayla and her mother exclaimed at the same time. “That’s wonderful.”
“I haven’t gotten there yet, so hold your applause, but I know it’s something I have to do.”
“I know what you mean,” Kayla whispered. As she spoke, the feather she now wore against her skin heated. “The rewards are worth it.”
Megan frowned. “Speaking of rewards, you haven't said much about the world of modeling since you got back. What's next?”
“Yes,” her brother interjected. “Paris just around the corner?”
“No.” Kayla studied the peacefully napping infant. Although Short Stuff looked nothing like Morning Song's son, the two felt the same in her arms–as if they belonged there. “Right now I don't have any plans in that direction.”
“You're sure about that?” her mother asked. “After what you told us about that company in San Francisco, I kept thinking you'd be asking us to sign a permission form. If it fell through, or they decided they didn't want you after—”
“It's not that,” Kayla interrupted. What would Morning Song think about sitting in a restaurant while people served her food she hadn't had to lift a finger to gather or prepare? How would True Hand react to being waited on by people he considered his enemies? Would he and Chuck discover they had something in common? Would they at least try to understand each other?
Where were her new friends right now? What were they doing?
“What?” she asked, belatedly realizing her father was talking to her.
“I'm just being a father,” he said. “Concerned about my only daughter's future. Your mom and I weren't all that enthusiastic about you modeling. If we've discouraged you, we're sorry.”
“It's not that,” she said, meaning it. “I've decided to take a class at the junior college next term. If it’s as good as I hope it is, I want to take more.”
Her father's blank stare reminded her of how little she'd talked about herself since returning from the lava beds. She couldn’t help it; her thought had been so private, so impossible to explain.
“A college class?” her brother and Megan said almost in unison. “You're still in high school,” Megan went on. “Why are you torturing yourself already?”
“It's not torture. It's something I really want to do. And it's at night so I can fit it in.”
“What's the subject?” her brother asked. “Boys, 101?”
“No boys.” Joel had asked for her phone number but, comparing him to True Hand, she kept thinking how immature he acted. Besides, her heart still belonged to someone she’d never see again. She needed time, maybe a lot of time before she could begin to think about having a boyfriend. “I want to take a history class. Native American history.”
“You never—“ her mother started, obviously flabbergasted. “You never cared about the past before.”
Instead of trying to explain, Kayla reached under her blouse and pulled out the necklace she’d made the other day. A new silver chain held the eagle feather True Hand had given her. Thinking of what it had felt like to be in his arms, she caressed the feather.
“There's so much I want to learn about the Indians, the way they once lived,” she said softly. “Their lifestyles and beliefs. It isn't the same as being back there with them, but it helps.”
That way, she added silently, I won't miss you so much.
About the Author
A committed country hick, Vella Munn would rather clean out the garage and re-roof the house than go shopping. She lives in beautiful, rural southern Oregon with her husband. The mother of two grown sons and an amazing grandson, she has been writing since she got her hands on her first ink pen. When people ask how many books she’s written and had published she draws a blank. Around 50. Maybe. Except for minor gardening, she has no other marketable skills.
Also from Astraea Press:
Chapter One
The weirdest week of my life didn’t start out as the weirdest week of my life. In fact, it started out as pretty normal. I wo
ke up at the regular time, dressed in my self-prescribed uniform of baggy jeans rolled to my calves, dark hoodie, and black Chuck Taylor Converse high-tops. I pulled my short blonde hair into two little ponytails, and as an afterthought, defiantly swiped pink lipstick across my lips.
When I got to school, my friends were already there. I caught up with Jett, Sixx, and Creepshow hanging around at our usual spot, sitting on the wall. I nodded when they saw me.
“Hey Juice!” Sixx called out.
Sixx is my best friend. Her real name is Nicole. But she has always loved Mötley Crüe, and so, while we made fun of her, we also renamed her Nicky Sixx and after awhile only the Sixx part stuck. I suppose it had been in retaliation that she nicknamed me Juice. My real name is Lucy. Juicy Lucy. Get it? Our friend Jett has black hair and always wears Ray-Bans. And Creepshow is obsessed with horror flicks. I guess we’re not all that original.
“Hey, Sixx.” I unslung my backpack and let it drop to my feet. Claiming a spot on the wall, I joined my friends on our morning perch. We sat there watching everyone stream into the school and successfully ignored them all.
“What’s going on, girl?” Jett leaned over and gave me a hug. As always, he enveloped me with the smell of salt air and board wax.
“Not much. How were the waves?” Jett and Creepshow surfed every morning before class. If I woke up early enough, I rode my bike down to the beach and watched them. Afterwards, they’d put my bike in their beat up old van and give me a ride to school.
“Sweet. Better than yesterday. Not as good as they’ll be tomorrow.”
“You know Jett’s never satisfied with his ride, Juice. He always thinks there’s a better one coming.” Sixx fished around in her giant bag for something. “I’ve got something for you. Aha! Here it is.” She pulled out a dark wad of material and handed it to me. “Found this over the weekend at a thrift shop. Screamed your name at me.” I unfurled the wad and almost stopped breathing.
