The Soul Survivors Series Boxed Set

by Vella Munn

"You do not know that. A man like Reddin Croon has ways of turning silence into words." He watched to see if she would shrink from what he'd just said. She didn't.

  "I know me. I would never... Thank you." She took a step toward him, then stopped. Only then did he notice the slight tremor around her mouth. "You saved my life."

  He didn't want to think about that. Glad for the distance between them, he made a show of studying her legs. "You can travel?" he asked. "You are not hurt?"

  "No. I'm fine. Tired but—Travel? What are you talking about?"

  "We must return to the village."

  She didn't immediately say anything. Instead, she concentrated on him just as intensely as he'd done her. When she was through, it seemed to him that she was less sure of herself, as if she'd found something in him that made her uneasy. That should not be. She was brave, the bravest woman he had ever known. "I can't."

  "Calida, the Freedom Trail is not safe for you. Croon will let many people know how much he wants you back. They will be watching for you."

  His argument seemed to have no impact on her. He wanted to tell her that many escaped slaves never made it to freedom and because Croon had both money and connections, it would be more precarious for her than for most. But watching her with her wet hair splayed over her slender shoulders, he couldn't. "The Egret clan is no longer at the village," he said. "I have ordered them to move deeper into the wilderness."

  "So they'll be safe?"

  "I pray they will be safe."

  She nodded, the gesture seeming to encompass her entire body. She had nothing, just the clothes she wore. When he reached the plantation this morning, he'd spotted her small pile of belongings and guessed she was collecting those things for the long journey north. She'd been there for several days, not leaving, risking everything by staying. He understood why. She was determined to take her mother with her.

  "You cannot return to her. He won't let you."

  "No. No." Wrapping her arms around her waist, she bent over as if trying to protect herself from further hurt. "I have to—she can't..."

  "Listen to me, Calida." He wanted to touch her and take away a little of her pain, but she looked so distant and fragile. "He knows why you were there. They will find your belongings. He will never let your mother out of his sight."

  "No. No. Panther, if he hurts—"

  Taking her in his arms, he held her stiff body. He'd carried her when she was more dead than alive and should be used to the feel of her, but this was different, unsettling and yet what he wanted, what he needed. "You cannot help her. If you try, he will kill you."

  "I don't care!"

  I do. "You would lay down your life? I think not, Calida. Would that save your mother?"

  "N-no."

  "Would she find peace?"

  "Stop it. I don't want to hear—"

  Although she pushed against him, he refused to release her, and after a moment the fight went out of her. She looked up at him, so close that her features were a blur. Still, her tense and trembling body told him everything he needed to know. Much as she hated to admit it, she knew he was right. "Later, when he has gone, you can return for her," he told her. "But now, all you can do is stay alive."

  "I tried," she whispered, and he wondered if she'd heard what he'd just said. "I begged her to come with me. But she's sick. Swamp sickness. I—I gave her what I could—herbs and plants I took from Piahokee. She's so weak."

  He nearly pointed out that her mother could be dying, but she must have already considered that possibility. She wasn't crying. If she did, maybe when the tears were over she would feel better, but she was becoming like a warrior, holding her emotions inside. Trapped within her, they might make her strong, or they might feed and fester until they destroyed her.

  "I make you a promise, Calida. Somehow I will let your mother know you are all right."

  * * *

  It had been dark for a long time. Calida lay beside him, sleeping. She'd said almost nothing all the time they were walking, and he guessed she hadn't been able to chase her mother from her mind. It was possible that Croon would torture Pilar in an attempt to get her to tell him what she knew about where Calida had gone. Calida had to have been thinking the same thing, sick at heart, and scared and helpless.

  At least the long hours of walking had worn her out enough that she'd been able to fall asleep. Fear would return as soon as she woke, but for now, she looked like an innocent child.

  No, not a child, Panther admitted. They'd stopped on a small hammock made up of strangler fig and pigeon plum trees. They grew far enough apart that the full moon reached the ground and caressed her features. He didn't want thoughts of her to fill his mind this way. Hadn't he told her he'd come after her so she wouldn't jeopardize the clan's safety? Now that they were together and heading back to his people, he should be thinking about the future.

  Not how the moon made her skin look like still, smooth water.

  Angry at something he refused to put a name to, he propped himself up on his elbow and continued to regard her. Gaitor loved her. Gaitor had wanted to be the one to try to find her. Why hadn't he let him then?

  The answer was out there somewhere, or perhaps the truth lay within him.

  The night was alive. The sounds that had been part of him since birth echoed around him and he briefly lost himself in them. As a child, there'd been nothing to fear except alligators and big cats, and witches and ghosts. He'd learned which plants to avoid and which fed his body. The shamans had told him stories of Seminole beginnings, and from those stories he'd learned how to walk a path that pleased the spirits. He'd filled his medicine bag with panther hair and sacred stones and thus had no reason to fear witches or ghosts.

  But life was no longer that simple, because the army pursued them.

  The whisper of a groan pulled him from his thoughts. Calida had stirred, the movement easing her skirt farther up her leg. Even before going on his quest for his protector spirit, he'd been aware of a girl's laughter, long arms and legs, a feminine smile. Those girls had been members of his clan, and although their growing up fascinated him, he remembered when they too were children. There was no mystery to them.

  Calida was mystery.

  She groaned again, the sound soft and yet filled with anguish. He leaned closer but held back from disturbing her. Dreams were messages from the spirits. It was not right to step between a person and those messages. Nightmares were different, but he didn't yet know what was causing her restlessness.

  "No. N-no."

  "Calida," he whispered. "Can you hear me?"

  "Go—leave me. No!"

  He called her name again, his voice still low. As before, she paid him no attention. "No," she hissed, more strongly this time. Her eyes were half open now but unfocused. Certain that the spirits hadn't been trying to reach her, he started to touch her, then stopped because sometimes there was honesty in nightmares.

  "You can't. Can't. I will..."

  "Will what?"

  "Kill."

  He opened his mouth to ask her what she meant, but before he could, her eyes shot open, and she stared at him in slowly dawning comprehension. He watched as tension seeped out of her body. He now regretted that he hadn't taken her in his arms and offered her comfort, but it was too late. She was once again in control of her thoughts, determined and strong.

  "You called out," he explained. "A nightmare."

  "I don't..." she began, and he thought she was going to tell him that she didn't remember it. Instead, she slowly sat up, pulled her legs tight against her body, and clamped her arms around her knees. She stared out at the night. He wanted to turn her toward him so he would know the truth in her eyes, but maybe she needed to keep that from him.

  "I'm never free," she whispered. "No matter how much I try to deny what I did, it always comes back to me at night."

  "We are unarmed in sleep, Calida. We cannot protect ourselves from what happens then."

  "No." She rested her chin on her knees. "We
can't."

  She reminded him of a little girl torn from her mother's side. He expected her to tell him she couldn't go on with him after all, that she had to return to her mother. He didn't know what he would do then, whether he would force her and thus risk her hatred.

  "Gaitor waits for you," he said, when that was the last thing he wanted to tell her. "He sent a message."

  "A message?" she asked without looking at him.

  "That he wants to build you a shelter. That it pains him to see you sleeping outside."

  "He's a good man. Good and gentle."

  He wanted to spring to his feet and plunge into the jungle because that way he wouldn't have to listen to her. But if he left, she would have to spend the night alone. "There will be no Oklahoma for the Egret clan," he said instead. "You understand that?"

  "Because of people like Gaitor and me?"

  "That is part of it. Calida, I never wanted to put my mark on the peace paper. I belong here, not—"

  She shook her head, causing her hair to fly about. "I'm not worthy. Whatever you decide, don't do it because of me."

  She was crying. He heard the emotion in her voice, and when he looked at her again, he thought he saw a glimmer of tears on her cheek. He brushed at the warm moisture. "Your mother would not want you to throw away your life for her. She wants you free. It is the way of a mother to put her children first."

  "Don't." She began rocking, the gesture hard as if she wanted to hurt herself. He grabbed her wrists and pulled them off her knees, then yanked her around until she was facing him. The moon told him a great deal. In her dark eyes he found anguish and self-hatred, a woman lost and hurting.

  "What is it?" When she didn't try to pull away he placed her hands flat against his chest so she could take comfort from his warmth. She kept staring at him, not blinking, lips parted and vulnerable. "Calida, there can be truth in the night. Tell me."

  "Tell you?" She stared at his chest, then focused on him again. She was still crying, silent tears pooling in her eyes before spilling over. "Tell you? Panther, I..."

  He wanted to shake her, to threaten not to release her until she told him everything. Instead, he clung to silence because whatever was in her had to come willingly from her lips.

  "I—I didn't put my children first. I—oh god, I..."

  "Your children?"

  "My babies. Master Croon put them in me and I killed them." Her head snapped back and then fell forward. She looked utterly exhausted. He wanted her to lift her head so he could better judge what was going on inside her, but she didn't.

  "Tell me."

  "Tell? I wouldn't let them live. Oh god, I wouldn't let them live!"

  Acting on instinct, he wrapped his arm around her shoulder and drew her close. Instead of fighting him, she sagged against him. Her tearstained cheek heated his throat. He felt her hair on his chin, and when he lowered his head he was able to run his lips over the soft strands.

  "Tell me, Calida." His people called him tastanagee, but tonight he felt weak. He hurt for her and could give her nothing except his body. Maybe she could take comfort from it, and maybe nothing would stop her agony. "Tell me about your babies."

  "You will hate me. I hate myself."

  "Calida. You saved my life when you could have left me for Reddin Croon. I know of your love for your mother. What you did, you must have done because you had no other choice." He'd never talked to a woman about such things and could only pray his words helped. "Did he know?"

  "No. He..."

  "What? Calida, do not stop now."

  "He—he would have sold them. Torn them from my arms the moment they were born. I could not—for them to never know me—for them to be alone and frightened..."

  He felt his grip on her tighten but couldn't make himself relax. He was no longer aware of the moon, the night sounds, even his clan's precarious future. There was only Calida's pain and their shared darkness.

  "He—he wouldn't have wanted his wife to know they were his. That's why..."

  "Why what, Calida?" He hated doing this to her, but her agony was like an infection inside her. Maybe she would be whole only once she'd exposed the wound to the air, to him.

  "Why—oh god—why he would never let me keep them."

  I will kill him. With my own hands, I will kill him.

  Chapter 13

  Gaitor straightened, his senses instantly on the alert. When he spotted his war chief and Calida walk into the small opening where the clan now huddled, he forced himself to relax. Someday, if he lived long enough, he would stop reacting like a runaway.

  Someday.

  Several of the children called out a greeting. One little boy toddled over to Panther and clamped his arms around his legs to prevent himself from falling. Panther lifted the boy and rested him against his hip, rubbing his nose playfully against the smaller one. The boy giggled. Panther laughed.

  Gaitor couldn't take his eyes off Calida. He took careful note of the way she watched Panther, her fisted hands, her painful attempt at a smile. Panther glanced at her, returned his attention to the boy, looked at her again. Then after saying something Gaitor couldn't hear, Panther handed the boy to Calida. She looked as if taking the wiggling burden was the last thing she wanted to do, but when Panther continued to insist, she held out her arms. The boy studied her gravely but didn't draw away.

  Panther had found her, brought her back to where she belonged. There was no joy in either of their faces, and yet they stood close to each other, communicating in a way Gaitor couldn't understand. He didn't try to join those gathering around Panther and Calida. Sooner or later his chief would look around and spot him. Until then, he would watch and learn.

  Questions were being thrown at Panther one after another until, if it were him, he would have insisted on silence. Instead, Panther patiently answered each and every one while Calida stood nearby, her head cocked to one side as she tried to make sense of the Seminole language. Although her arms must be feeling his weight by now, she still held the little boy. The child no longer leaned away from her. Instead, he placed his hands on her shoulder to help balance himself. She looked over at the boy and smiled. Gaitor felt his body stiffen. Calida had never smiled like that at him.

  Why had she willingly returned?

  What had happened between her and Panther during their days and nights together?

  When, if ever, would she look around for him?

  The final question, the one that in the end was the most important, gnawed at him until he wanted to stomp it into the ground. When his wife had been torn from his arms, he'd vowed to never love again because that was the only way he could survive. Then he'd allowed Calida to get close to him, dropped his barriers.

  How could he erect them again?

  At length, Panther's eyes locked with his, but the war chief made no move to come closer, and because he needed time with his thoughts, Gaitor remained where he was. Finally, Calida handed the child over to its mother. Although the two women smiled at each other, he didn't think either of them spoke. He wondered if there was a language between women that revolved around children and needed no words.

  Eager to be distracted, he looked behind him and discovered that he wasn't the only one who hadn't joined those crowded around the war chief. Winter Rain stood at the edge of the wilderness. Behind her grew a large, smooth-barked gumbo-limbo tree, which cast its shadow over her. Her eyes were fixed on Panther.

  While the rest of the clan had been making its way through the jungle toward the small clearing, Winter Rain had gone to visit her father at Osceola's village. She must have just returned. Eager for news of Osceola, he started toward her. He stopped when he realized she still wasn't aware of his presence, although he'd made no attempt at stealth.

  She continued to study not the gathered clanspeople but the man who stood in its center. Something about Panther held her attention, something—

  "Winter Rain," he called out. After a moment, she tore her eyes off Panther and faced him, reluctant
ly it seemed. "You's back."

  "Yes."

  "How is he?"

  "He?"

  "Osceola," he prompted. "He any worse?"

  "Worse? I do not know."

  Surely she knew how vital news of the Seminole leader was. "Ya saw him, didn' ya? He have any message for Panther?"

  "Panther?" She stared at the tastanagee again, mouth tight. "He brought her back. Why? She wanted to leave. Why did he not let her go?"

  "I don' know. Winter Rain, this is 'portant. What did Osceola say?"

  "Osceola? I barely saw him. He stays in his chickee. The healer is with him all the time trying to cool his fever. He—he does not look strong enough to walk."

  Panther needed to know that.

  "My father—my father says that Osceola will become strong again."

  "I prays yur father is right."

  Winter Rain blinked and then frowned. "You are not sure?"

  "I seen swamp fever afore. It comes en goes. Every time it attacks, it leaves a body weaker."

  Sighing, she ran her hand through her dark, curly hair. "I spent much time with my father. I have never seen him look so defeated."

  "Defeated?" Winter Rain's father had always put him in mind of a shark. It was as if once he'd tasted freedom, he'd made the decision to die rather than lose it again.

  "It has already begun to happen," Winter Rain whispered. "My father says that some clans have turned their Negroes over to the army so they will be allowed to go to the reservation."

  Although he'd known that would happen, the reality of it rocked him. "What about someone like me, Gaitor?" she asked unexpectedly. "My mother was Seminole, but I look like my father. If the army sees me, will they say I must become a slave?"

  He didn't know. In truth, the question had never occurred to him. "What's your papa gonna do? He ain't gonna surrender, is he?"

  "No. He chooses death over that."

  "So does I."

  She stared up at him, her gaze intense. "It's her fault. She read the talking leaves and told us the army would allow Negroes to stay with Seminoles. She lied. She—"

  "Calida did not lie."

  "How do you know? She—"