The Soul Survivors Series Boxed Set

by Vella Munn

  In sharp contrast to Micanopy, Panther looked like a man ready for war. He wasn't armed this afternoon, but the lack of weapons made little difference in his appearance. He carried himself as if he might have to do battle at any moment. His eyes were never still, always testing his surroundings. He often held his head cocked slightly to the right, and she guessed he was determined to hear everything. He used his height to look not just at those who surrounded him, but in the distance as well. She'd heard tales of his hunting prowess and now knew he succeeded because he hunted with his whole body and all his senses. If he could find the smallest deer hidden in the deepest shadows, was he capable of knowing her thoughts?

  Shaking herself free of the question, Calida again tried to concentrate on what Micanopy was saying. He kept pounding his fat chest with his fist and often held a musket aloft. She wondered if he'd taken the weapon from some soldier he'd killed. When Panther spoke, he didn't boast, but the others held onto his every word. Both he and Micanopy were addressing the entire village now. Unfortunately, they spoke too rapidly for her to understand what they were saying. Looking around, she spotted Winter Rain. Hurrying over to her, she begged her to translate. The half-Seminole, half-Negro did so without once looking at her.

  "Micanopy says there is no truth to the army leaders' promise of food and clothing for those who lay down their arms. He cannot smoke with the army men because he has killed so many of their brothers." Winter Rain fell silent, listening. Calida wanted to prompt her for more information but was afraid she might miss something important. Finally, Micanopy stepped back, ran his hands over his belly, and looked up at Panther.

  His eyes taking in everything, Panther took the place of prominence. To her shock, he briefly locked his gaze with her. As long as they remained like that, she couldn't remember why she had to leave the village. Leave him.

  When he began, his voice was low and deep, the voice of a man concentrating so much on what he needs to say that he is unable to ask himself whether others can hear. Winter Rain leaned forward. Her frown grew. She nodded.

  "What?" Calida asked.

  "Silence."

  Upset by Winter Rain's sharp reply, Calida glanced over at her, but Winter Rain didn't take her eyes off Panther, and after a moment, Calida brought her reluctant gaze back to the war chief. He spoke without gestures. His body reminded her of a tree untouched by the wind. If she didn't know better, she might think he was talking about something of no more consequence than whether it was time to build a new canoe. But emotion coated his words, emotion that reached out to her and told her about a man who cared, who felt.

  "What is he saying?" Her question was more insistent this time.

  "He speaks of his hatred for whites."

  She'd already guessed that. "Why does he—"

  "Quiet!"

  "What happened? Why does he hate them so much?"

  "It is not for me to say."

  * * *

  Panther's speech had been much shorter than Micanopy's. For maybe thirty seconds after he'd finished, no one spoke. Then slowly, quietly, people began talking among themselves. Panther had already disappeared inside his chickee followed by Micanopy and the others who'd come with the older man. Gaitor remained outside a little longer while he spoke to the healer. Although he nodded to indicate he'd seen her, Gaitor didn't come over to where Calida now sat alone. She was relieved. Sick at heart but relieved.

  Tomorrow morning she would walk out of the Egret village. She'd never see Gaitor or Winter Rain again. Never again see Panther. Fighting the pain that went with the thought, she turned her mind to her determination to get her mother away from Croon, but when she did, her fear that it was too late for Pilar grew.

  Fighting too-familiar fear, she began walking. Two Negro women asked her to eat with them. A little Seminole girl tripped on an exposed root and fell, banging her chin on the ground. Calida picked her up and cradled her until her mother came to take her. She was still watching mother and daughter when she sensed that she was being watched. Without thinking what she was doing, she turned toward Panther's chickee.

  His guests were seated in a circle under the brush roof, smoking and talking. She expected him to join them, waited for him to ease himself to the ground, but he continued to stand and study her. Finally, although she knew the danger in what she was doing, she started toward him. He met her halfway, his hunter's legs carrying his body effortlessly. She felt small and fragile next to him.

  "I don't know what you were saying," she admitted when he remained silent. "Not all of it. Please, will you tell me?"

  "I spoke of the past."

  The past? That didn't make sense, or maybe it did. "I asked Winter Rain to translate, but..."

  "She has heard my words before. They have little meaning for her."

  She should tell him Winter Rain had hung on to his every word, but if she did, they might talk about that instead of what he'd said earlier. "Have you made a decision about Fort Dade?" she asked. "I know Micanopy doesn't dare show his face around the army. Are you going to stay with him?"

  "I did not talk of decisions, Calida."

  Because those things were for him and the other leaders to discuss in private? She wished she understood more about how such things were done among the Seminole; she wished she knew more about taking control of what happened in ones life. "What, then?" she prompted.

  "What I feel inside."

  He'd touched his chest much the way Micanopy had earlier but without Micanopy's boastfulness. She thought about his heart beating beneath that dark skin and powerful muscles. "What do you feel?"

  "Hatred."

  The word sounded clean and final. He hadn't had to give his response a second's thought. "Why?"

  "Because of what the army did to my father," he said. His attention flicked off her. Out of the corner of her eye, she spotted the little girl who'd fallen. Her chin looked red, but she was laughing. Calida ached to hold her, to rock her, to never let her go.

  "What did they do to your father?"

  "Army men whipped him until life left his body."

  She no longer cared about the little girl, her own mother, the decision she'd made about tomorrow. Only Panther mattered. "Oh, Panther. I didn't know."

  "He was not yet dead when I found him. He did not die alone."

  But he died in your arms and you're left with that memory. "Why? What did he do that—"

  "It was five summers ago." His eyes glowed dark and hot. "There had been no rain for many moons. The sun sucked water from ponds and creeks, from the ground where our people had planted their corn and squash."

  She remembered last summer's heat, Croon's concern that his crops would fail. From the window, she'd seen tobacco and other plants drooping, watched slaves carry water to them from the drying river. Even Mistress Liana, who had known little about how things grew, had shared her husband's concern. It had been one of the few things husband and wife had talked about. "What did your father do?"

  "Not just my father. The entire clan. We left our village and went closer to the sea because it had rained there. That land had once been ours but was no longer."

  Because whites had taken it from them. "Was he the only one?" she asked. "Did anyone else lose their life?"

  "Not from a whip, but yes, from drought."

  She didn't want to hear about that. Still, she knew she had no choice. "Many?"

  "Old people. Babies and children."

  "You found him?" she made herself ask. "Where were you?"

  "Hunting. When I should have been by his side."

  "Panther, I..."

  "There were only women and children. My father had gone with them to trade for food. The whites called him to them, held out their hands in friendship. Then they grabbed him and beat him until there was nothing left of him."

  No!

  "They forced the women to watch."

  It wasn't just his eyes. His entire body burned with an anger that came from his soul. Croon had hated the savag
es, as he called them, but his hatred existed because so many Seminoles managed to evade him. They refused to surrender, struck like poisonous snakes and then disappeared. But Croon hadn't lost anyone he loved to the enemy. Panther had. "Was Croon one of them?"

  "I do not know. The women were too terrified to remember the faces of my father's killers."

  But it could have been Reddin Croon. "That's why you'll never agree to take your clan to a reservation, isn't it? Because of what they did to your father."

  "Because I know not to trust them."

  She saw the truth in the hard way he held himself, the lack of emotion in his voice. Not trusting was only part of what he felt. The rest was hatred.

  She wanted to touch him, but she didn't dare. "Panther, don't think about the way your father looked the last time you saw him. If you do, it'll haunt you."

  He stiffened at the word haunt, and she guessed she'd spoken a truth he thought he'd kept to himself. "Was he a good father?"

  "Yes."

  Good. "And you loved him."

  "Yes."

  "Then think about that. Remember the way he was while you were growing up, hunting together, smoking together. Laughing."

  He'd been looking off into the distance, and although she wanted it to last longer, he barely glanced down at her before fixing his gaze on the wilderness again. It was growing darker. Night creatures like bats and owls, like the panther he'd been named for, would soon be out. When the morning sun sent them back into cover, she'd leave, but it wasn't morning yet. "I love my mother, Panther. I know what you feel toward your father."

  "Your mother lives."

  Maybe. "Our parents will always live in our hearts," she managed. "Look for him there. Keep him inside you. If you feed your hatred for the whites, it'll take over everything, even your memory of your father."

  He turned as if to leave. Not thinking, she grabbed his arm. He could easily have shaken her off, but he didn't. "The hatred I feel for the enemy needs no feeding, Calida," he said. "It will live forever. There is no way I can change that. I believe the same emotions beat inside you."

  It was as if she'd opened herself up to him and he could now examine her every emotion. Her every thought. Without effort, he'd dug through the protective layers to the truth. "He believed he owned everything about me," she whispered because she had no choice. "That not even my soul was my own."

  "He was wrong."

  Wanting to believe Panther, she nodded. But Croon's power and arrogance had reached her even here in what should have been a place of safety. She couldn't turn her back on the man and what he was capable of, not as long as her mother lived, not as long as danger existed for the Egret clan. And maybe most of all, for Panther.

  Emotion clogged her throat. She wouldn't tell Panther that she was leaving She didn't dare.

  "Come with me," Panther said.

  Blinking, she forced herself back to the present. She was still holding onto his arm. Feeling self-conscious, she released it. He rubbed his hand absently over where she'd gripped him, and she imagined him feeling her heat. "Come? Where?"

  "To Fort Dade."

  She couldn't have heard him right. Surely—"No!"

  "I have given you shelter, Calida. My people have accepted you. You have a debt to repay."

  At the word debt, she struggled against an urge to strike him. She felt trapped, but more than that, she felt angry. "I don't belong there. There's nothing I can do. Unless—" Cold, she backed away from him. He watched her every move, and she knew she could never outrun him. "Are you going to turn me over to them?"

  "No."

  "No? Then why—"

  "You can read."

  She needed time to make sense of all this, but Panther stood too close. When he did that, he robbed her of a little of herself. She thought of the sound of his voice, not the meaning of his words, the way sunlight lost itself in his dark eyes, not the emotions glittering in them.

  "I'm a woman, Panther. Women don't belong at peace talks."

  "Peace talks! I am not so stupid to believe that."

  "If you think it's going to be a trap, why are you going there?"

  "Not a trap. Something else."

  He wasn't telling her nearly enough, but the sun had fallen behind the trees and she was talking to a shadow. He'd become size and outline, deep rumbling voice, dark shining hair. The wilderness sang for him, maybe for both of them. Believing that, she couldn't keep her mind on this place called Fort Dade. "Calida, the Seminoles are one person and yet they are not. It is not our way to live together, to share the same leaders, to think and act with one mind."

  She already knew that. The Egret clan didn't depend on their neighbors for survival, and except for watching the army's pursuit of the Turtle clan, they had little contact with the other villages. At Fort Dade, all those separate clans and villages would come together and their leaders would try to achieve some kind of unity, but maybe that wasn't possible.

  "The army will present its demands. They will say what we can and cannot do. What will and will not happen to us. Those things will be written on talking leaves and we will be expected to sign our marks to them. I will not place my hand on something I do not understand."

  But even if she read the documents he called talking leaves, could they trust the army to keep its word? What if those pages contained things Panther and the other leaders found unacceptable? "Panther, Reddin Croon has a piece of paper that says he owns me, but I'm not with him. Just because something is written down doesn't make it so."

  "I know that."

  "Then why are you having anything to do with them?"

  "Because the Egret clan cannot spend its life running and hiding."

  He was right. They'd been uprooted from their traditional village, hadn't they? Forced to live in temporary shelters, they hadn't had time to reestablish the huge gardens capable of feeding everyone. They'd lost many of their cattle to the army and settlers. And once the army had finished chasing the Turtle clan, they might turn their strength against Panther and his people.

  Still, she didn't understand what he was saying.

  "This is not an easy thing for me to do, Calida. I feel as if I have two minds. One says that I must listen to the army, must do as they say and leave my ancestors' land or I will not live to see another winter. Another voice screams at me to take my people and travel so deep into Piahokee that no one will ever find us."

  And he wanted her with him, reading for him and the others, because knowing what the army said would help him make his decision. In the distance a baby cried. The sound wasn't repeated. Gaitor had told her that Seminole women sometimes pinched their babies' noses shut so they couldn't cry and give away where they were hiding. She'd heard two Negro women talking about the dead newborn the Turtle clan had left behind. It had, they'd said, been killed by its desperate parents because it wouldn't stop crying and the army was getting closer. If the Egret clan decided to flee, would they have to do the same to their infants in order to remain hidden?

  "Will you help us, Calida?"

  Would she walk into an enemy fort? No! She wanted to scream.

  No!

  "What she say?"

  Panther didn't look up when Gaitor ducked his head and slipped into his chickee. He wanted to be alone tonight, but that wasn't possible. If anyone broke his concentration, his thoughts, he was glad it was Gaitor. "She will go with us."

  Silent, Gaitor sat across from him. Panther handed Gaitor his pipe and he filled it with dried tobacco leaves. For several minutes they smoked in silence, the glow from their pipes the only light. "I's glad and yet not glad," Gaitor finally said.

  "She will tell me the truth about what the army men have written down."

  "The truth? Ha!"

  If Gaitor was the tastanagee, the Egret clan would already have bundled up their belongings and headed south deep into that wild land of panthers and bears, snakes and uncounted alligators. "I have thought on this for a long time," Panther admitted. "So long t
hat my head beats like a drum."

  "Micanopy and Osceola, they want things to end. You knows that."

  He did. That was what made his decision all the more difficult.

  "They calls themselves warriors. Micanopy boasted so today. He beats on his chest and talks about what a great warrior he is, but, ha! I knows better," Gaitor said.

  "He is old and tired. His heart is weary of fighting. And my chief is sick."

  "What 'bout you? You tired?"

  When he first came here, Gaitor had kept his thoughts to himself. For awhile, Panther had wondered if his mind, his will had been beaten out of him, but as time went on, Gaitor became more of a man. His friend. The one person he kept nothing from—except how he felt about Calida. But then how could he, when he didn't have the answer himself?

  "Yes, I am tired. Not my body, but my heart is weary." He pulled smoke deep into his lungs, but the tobacco he saved for times when he needed to relax wasn't doing its job tonight. "I have been thinking. Asking my spirit for guidance. If Osceola and Micanopy agree to go to Oklahoma, I will do as my chief says."

  He waited for Gaitor to say something. Instead, the big Negro turned his attention to the stars. Was he asking himself what they looked like in Oklahoma? He hadn't asked Gaitor if he would stay with the clan if it left Florida. The decision was his, but his friend, like the other Negroes here, belonged with Seminoles. In Oklahoma, maybe, he would no longer be considered a runaway. His soul would feel free. Maybe.

  "You needs someone who can reads, all right," Gaitor said. "Someone who ain't gonna lie to you. But Panther, what if Reddin Croon's there? How you gonna save her from him?"

  Chapter 10

  Sweat trickled down Reddin Croons back. He ran his finger under his starched collar, but the moment he released it, the fabric bit into his neck again. Despite the discomfort, the last thing he'd do was allow himself to be seen out of uniform.

  The Seminoles would be here today. Finally. At least some of their chiefs would. Word was out that Micanopy was having second thoughts and had sent others in his place. As for Osceola, he was too sick, or so he said. General Jesup was concerned that without Osceola or Micanopy, the others wouldn't make a decision about whether to agree to the document commonly known as "The Capitulation of the Seminole Nation."