The Soul Survivors Series Boxed Set

by Vella Munn

  Wandering aimlessly, she slowly circled the cave, taking note of the winter gray sage and grass, of the tiny holes where mice and other creatures would remain until spring. Not far away were the few cattle some of the braves had stolen. Once they were gone, there might be no more meat for a long time. Her lungs burned from pulling in frozen air; her face became numb. Still, because she'd known seventeen winters here, she would wait patiently for the return of warmth.

  Cho-ocks might be nearby, hidden from her by the rough terrain as he went about making his magic. Would he ignore her presence or remind her, as he so often did, that she wasn't a shaman and thus incapable of drawing true power from her spirit?

  She could make out the fogbound lake from where she was, its hidden surface promising endless water. Jed had been wrong; so far the army had made no attempt to cut her people off from what always had supplied them with water and food. She needed to break a hole in the ice and dip her tule basket into the lake so those in her cave would have enough to drink.

  She also needed to sort out what had happened between her and Lieutenant Jed Britton. There was something about the man she couldn't begin to understand. He'd made the army his life. He had killed her kind; she only needed to look into his eyes to know that.

  Still, when they talked and she looked deeper into those endless gray depths, she forgot about his hatred and thought only of the hollowed-out places deep inside him.

  Her thoughts were pulled from Jed when she saw an old man emerge slowly from one of the other caves. From this distance, she couldn't tell who he was. She thought he might walk into the sage so he could relieve himself. Instead, he stood with his face uplifted as if studying the sky. It worried her that his coat was torn at the shoulder and he didn't have something over his head, but it wasn't her place to look after him.

  He looked lonely and sad. Studying him, she saw that he'd clasped his hands in front of him. After a moment, he stopped staring at the sky and looked down at his hands. Then, the gesture tearing at her, he let his arms drop by his side. His back bowed and his head sagged. His breath spread out around him like fine white feathers.

  "Luash."

  She started but quickly recovered when she recognized her uncle's voice. "You are done talking?" She indicated where Kientpoos and the others had been sitting.

  "For now. Cho-Cho has spotted more cattle not far from here. He is taking several men with him."

  Luash nodded, her head suddenly heavy. "If they are successful, the ranchers will have even more reason to hate us."

  Kientpoos's attention strayed from her to the old man who'd lowered himself to his knees on the icy ground. "They are foolish to let their cattle roam. And this is our land."

  Again she nodded, then lovingly touched her uncle's arm, pulling him away from the old man's sorrowful prayers. "I know. I should not have said anything."

  "No. You have every right." Kientpoos briefly cupped his leathered hand over his reddened nose. "I do not want this; I want you to know that. To be at war... last year I was welcome in Yreka. Now I would be shot if I went there, all because I want to live my way."

  She gripped his wrist. "You tried to explain we were being asked to do the impossible. How dare they say we must turn our backs on a shaman's wisdom and healing and take up their religion!" She imagined she could hear the old man chant as he prayed to his guardian spirit and sent out her own prayer that his plea would be rewarded. "Again and again you went to the officers. Only—"

  "Only they did not listen." Sighing, Kientpoos settled himself on a rock and stared off into space, a solitary figure surrounded by harsh vastness. She sat near him, her own gaze following the same direction. Ever since that first time, when Eagle left his sign in her hair, her people had walked in a wide path around her. The men didn't understand why she should be blessed by Eagle when many of them had no spirits despite repeated quests; the women didn't understand how she had gained a spirit before her puberty dance. But nothing had changed between her and Kientpoos. They could still open their hearts to each other and he treated her not like a root-gathering woman, but like someone with wisdom.

  "That is behind us. We cannot change what happened," she offered, all the while wondering if her words were enough.

  "That is what I keep telling myself." His smile lasted maybe two heartbeats. "I must look forward; everyone expects that of me—except for those who say I should have already attacked. But to declare war against many armed soldiers..."

  "Ha-kar-Jim, Slolux, Ki-esk," she spat. "Especially Cho-ocks, our shaman. They are men of war. Men who attack unarmed settlers and spill their blood in retaliation for what was done to us. They say they did right, but my woman's heart says they condemned us."

  "Condemned? Is that how you see it?"

  She'd wondered why Kientpoos had sought her out when his two wives were waiting to feed him. Now she understood. "I believe that, even after the army attacked, there was still a chance of peace. They did not come to kill. Aga's death was an accident." She paused, working through her horror at the senselessness of what had happened—thinking briefly of Jed Britton's role. "But some of our braves let themselves be ruled by revenge. Now the army will never forgive or forget."

  Kientpoos continued to look at her but said nothing. "Ha-kar-Jim, Slolux, and the others are young men full of themselves," she went on. "Quick to anger, slow to think."

  Her uncle's deep sigh left a white puff on the air. "I told them that, but they anger again and call me a frightened old man. Luash, I tell you this. I believe the Modocs will survive only if we are one. If we fight among ourselves..."

  He took another deep breath. "Will any of us be alive in the spring?" The question seemed wrenched from deep within him. "My niece, I do not understand this blessing Eagle has bestowed upon you. Still, I see you with him and know it is good that your spirit protects you from all danger."

  "Safe." Her mind floated into the past and embraced memories as vivid today as when they took place. "Yes."

  "Because of Eagle, your father has not tried to use you."

  "Nor does he speak to me," she said as a child's laughter cut through the air. Glancing in that direction, she spotted a couple of boys, one chasing the other into the sage. The praying warrior didn't acknowledge their presence.

  "Do not mourn what cannot be changed," Kientpoos said kindly.

  "I try not to, but sometimes it is hard."

  "No one can walk that journey for you. Luash, I must ask you something. Eagle is your guardian, but does he look with favor on all Modocs?"

  She pulled her lower lip into her mouth and held it firmly in place. She'd been asking herself the same question for days and nights now, praying she'd find the answer her heart needed. Yesterday, she'd been so distracted by Jed's presence that she'd barely remembered what else had happened. Now she reached under her blanket and pulled out a great, dark feather. "Eagle gave me this the last time I saw him." She handed it to Kientpoos. "It is my gift to you, a promise from my spirit. Whoever holds it may be blessed as I have been. He and those who look to him for guidance and leadership."

  Kientpoos gently ran his fingers over the feather's glossy surface. He smiled a little and she wondered if it was because the boys, both of them laughing now, had reappeared. "I want to believe."

  "My thoughts were full of you when I called Eagle to me. Why else would he leave a part of himself, if not to lighten your heart?"

  Kientpoos tucked the feather inside his white man's shirt but said nothing, only looked up at the still-growing day. Thinking he needed to be alone with his thoughts, she started to stand, but he stopped her. "The children—it is still a game to them. They do not understand, but they will. You do not have to remain here. You have no husband who wants you by his side. If you return to the reservation—"

  "Never! My home is with you, with everyone who will not be treated like cattle."

  "If you were married—"

  "I have no husband because I will not be a slave like my mother!"
Her words sent shards of pain through her head, and she forced herself to calm. "And because too many Modoc men forget what it is to walk the old ways. Even if I wanted to live with a man, I am set apart. You know that."

  "A husband is mortal, not a gift from Kumookumts. But a man can give you things even Eagle cannot."

  Despite what happened between her parents, she knew Kientpoos was right. His young wife Whe-cha loved him; the affection between the two simmered like boiling water. And Kientpoos's old wife Spe-ach-es didn't seem to mind sharing her husband with another. "What man wants a wife who would rather chase after windblown eagle feathers than gather roots, camas, and wocus?" she teased. Then: "I cannot give my heart to a man who forgets his Modoc name."

  "Our world has changed; we must change with it."

  She turned her attention from him to the massive clouds. Eagle was out there somewhere, living his life of freedom, waiting for the next time when one of them would seek out the other. "Not all change is right; there must be wisdom behind it."

  "Wisdom and caution; I know." He pushed himself to his feet and shook his head in response to the boys' uninhibited yells. "It is good that we are so far from the enemy. I need to hear children, want them to laugh without fear. At least they have that. Luash, a lifetime of no one next to you is a lonely thing. I think—" he held out his hand and helped her stand "—that there is a man for you. When you find him, you will know."

  * * *

  "They're attacking!"

  Jed found himself standing without being aware of moving. He stabbed around in the dark for his boots and jammed his cold feet into them. At the other side of the tent, Wilfred was doing the same.

  Not bothering to speak, he grabbed his rifle a half second before Wilfred reached for his. Shoulders colliding, they bolted through the opening, all but taking the canvas with them.

  "Attacking!" someone yelled. "Injins, attacking!" His cry was repeated immediately by countless others. Jed tried to make sense of what was happening, but the dying campfires did nothing to take away the night. Gradually, he became aware of frantic activity as several hundred men milled about. He'd returned from Yreka with General Canby just yesterday. If the Modocs had seen—if the general was in danger—

  "Where?" he hollered as a man on horseback pranced nearby. "Where are they?"

  "I can't see 'em! Oh God, they're going to slaughter us all. Murdering—murdering—" Whatever else the rider might have said was lost in the sound of a rifle shot.

  Trusting Wilfred to follow him, Jed took off on the run toward General Canby's. Because someone had placed a lantern on a nearby rock, he was able to spot the Department of the Columbia commanding officer, his trousers unfastened, speaking earnestly to one of his aides. Jed didn't try to deny his heartfelt relief at seeing the man safe.

  "Who sounded the alarm?" Canby demanded of the violently shivering youngster at his side.

  "I don't know, sir. I was—I was—"

  "You'd fallen asleep, damnit. What the hell's going on?"

  Another shot sounded, followed by another. Cursing the dark, Jed was forced to trust his other senses to tell him what was going on. One thing he already knew: if it had been an Indian attack, he would have heard shooting before the cry of alarm had been raised. "Sir, I don't think—"

  "What don't you think?" Canby interrupted before he could finish.

  "Listen. Do you hear fighting?"

  "You're right," Canby breathed after a moment. "Jed, where are the Modocs?"

  Although he wasn't sure that was as important as calming everyone down, he started to assure the general that if the Indians had been on the move today, the scouts would have known.

  "Unless they'd fallen asleep like this fool." Canby pointed at the shivering young man. "What'd they do, wait until I got here? Where's my horse? And Lieutenant Colonel Wheaton—where the hell is he?" Canby grabbed his aide's arm and shoved him toward the corral. "Check on the horses, and bring mine as soon as you get him saddled."

  Turning toward Jed, he continued, his voice loud so he could make himself heard over the continued shouts and occasionally discharged rifle, "This is Wheaton's responsibility. He should be taking charge. Where the hell is he?"

  "I'll look for him, sir."

  "You do that. And while you're at it, tell the men not to fire unless they've got something to shoot at. We don't have enough ammunition, and they know it. In this dark, they'll only hit each other."

  An hour later, Jed was back at the general's tent. It had taken most of that time to get the word to everyone that whatever had happened, it wasn't an ambush. A few of the soldiers and volunteers had gone back to bed, but most continued to mill around the now brightly burning fires as they reassured themselves that they were safe. Wheaton had appeared before Jed had had a chance to search for him, leaving Jed and Wilfred free to concentrate on other matters, namely making sure the ammunition didn't disappear completely.

  Now, waiting for General Canby to begin speaking, Jed couldn't help thinking that if Canby had taken a half second to put things together at the start, he'd have realized that the Modocs would have to be total fools to try to take on this many troops. Dawn had begun to make itself known. General Canby had combed his thick, well-trimmed beard. His drooping lids all but covered his dark eyes and emphasized his bushy eyebrows, putting Jed in mind of a kindly bear. Canby was in full uniform, his appearance commanding respect.

  "I think the best we can do is put this incident behind us," he said. He jerked his head at Lieutenant Colonel Wheaton, who stood with his hands locked behind his back. "The lieutenant colonel has assured me that adequate guards will be in place tonight, so there won't be a repeat of this performance. Much of the problem, I'm convinced, is that the men are tired of inactivity. They know I'm here; they're anticipating action."

  "They should be," Wilfred spoke up before Jed could warn him to keep his mouth shut and his opinions to himself. "They came to fight, not wait."

  "I know that," Canby snapped. "However, they don't understand how complicated this campaign is."

  Jed knew what the general was talking about; after all, he'd been the one to brief him. Much of the food was uneatable. Mules sent as pack animals had turned out to be half wild and useless. A wagon load of whiskey brought from Jacksonville had been a bitter disappointment; most of the jugs' contents had leaked out. Although Jed had been relieved that they wouldn't have to contend with a camp full of drunken men, the incident had put everyone in a foul mood. Maybe that, and not Canby's arrival, had been the catalyst for the mass hysteria that had taken place during the night.

  "I've been thinking on this," Canby continued. "And I'm ready to admit that I, and you, the officers, are partly to blame."

  Jed waited.

  "Starting today, the men will know why they're here." He glared at Wheaton. "There will be regular briefings. The howitzers are now at Van Bremer's ranch and ready to be brought here. It's time to put our plan into action, or at least make it clear that there will be action, soon. Lieutenant Colonel Wheaton, I want the men assembled this afternoon; I intend to personally address them. In the meantime, I expect my officers to draw up their final opinions on where each outfit should be stationed when we attack and give me a timetable on how long it will to take to get the troops into position. Gentlemen, this is a war."

  * * *

  Did Jed want to throw his life away? Was that what he was asking to have happen by going back to where he'd seen Luash? No matter how Jed tried to turn his attention to something else, it insisted on returning to the same damn question.

  In the distance, he could see dark clouds gathering and guessed it was snowing on massive Mount Shasta, a hundred miles to the south. If the storm reached here and snow again blanketed the beds, their ugliness would be hidden beneath white quiet, but that hadn't happened yet.

  Today the air felt of tension, hostilities, years of co-existence between white and Modoc thrown away.

  Still, here he was.

  He hadn't a
lways had so little regard for his life. Growing up on his father's plantation had instilled in him a deep respect for what the land was capable of producing. But his father was buried next to his mother on land that no longer belonged to the Britton family. Why he hadn't died along with his parents he couldn't say, except maybe he'd been too young to have his heart broken.

  That's what had killed them. Their neighbors, most of them ruined too, believed that fever had taken his mother and his father had died of infection after cutting his leg, but Jed knew different. He'd seen it in their eyes as they struggled to make a go of things after the war. But the carpetbaggers had come down from the North and with the government behind them, the newcomers had managed to wrestle what was left of Britton Plantation away from his parents.

  History. The past.

  It took several hours to reach the lake and then work his way around to where he'd seen Luash. By then, it was spitting snow, but it didn't look like a full-blown storm. If he was wrong, he'd get cold and wet, nothing new for a man who couldn't remember the last time he'd slept inside walls. As long as he remained near his horse and the horse didn't break a leg, he'd get back to camp in one piece.

  He'd heard from a couple of local ranchers that the Modocs had taken off for Mount Mazama, leaving the army protecting folks from ghosts. A half Klamath roustabout was adamant that he'd seen a trail of Modocs on horseback heading toward Mount Shasta. He didn't believe either of those stories any more than he did the one about how several Modocs had dressed up like soldiers and were living in the middle of camp, but neither could he be sure that Captain Jack's bunch was still deep in the beds. That, he told himself, was why he was here.

  That and because he didn't want to hear any more about how the army was determined to end the Modocs' miserable excuse for resistance.

  Dismounting, he hobbled his horse's front legs so it couldn't roam. He spent several minutes wandering around, trying not to look over his shoulder—trying not to call himself a fool. He kept his eyes peeled on the sky, but saw no sign of an eagle.