by Vella Munn
I wish you weren't here, he wanted to tell her.
"You could be killed," she whispered. "The truth. Why did you come?"
Because of you, he nearly said, but trapped the words inside him. "It's my job."
"So you say, but I do not understand, Jed."
"Jed?" Scarface said. The large, V-shaped scar under his right eye briefly held Jed's attention. Even with it, the man was somberly handsome. "How well do you know this soldier?"
"Not at all; not enough," she replied, then explained that Jed was the man who'd prevented her from running into a burning wickiup after a dying old woman. She added that she'd seen him near Van Bremer's ranch following the abortive attack on the stronghold. Jed wondered what, if anything, she'd told anyone about the other times they'd met—the things they'd said to each other.
"What's going to happen?" he asked Scarface.
"They will not kill you today, white man. Kientpoos will not allow it."
"Maybe Kientpoos no longer leads."
Scarface stared intently at him, and he wondered if the warrior was reacting to his use of Captain Jack's Modoc name or surprised that he understood so much about the Modoc chain of command. "All are weary of living here," Luash spoke for him. "But they know that it is not Kientpoos's doing."
Although he wanted to ask her how much longer that sentiment might last, he couldn't. She'd shifted her weight so that the winter sun slanted over her, and despite himself, he was losing himself in her. Her dark hair lay tangled around her face and throat. She looked like a woman awakening from a night spent in her lover's arms. He knew that wasn't true; she'd told him she hadn't shared herself with a man and he believed her. Still, the thought of how she would look and feel in his bed stirred his senses.
Although she still wore her blanket coat, she no longer held it tight against her chin. He could see a few inches of soft flesh, imagine a fragile vein beating at the side of her neck.
A boy who looked to be about eleven or twelve appeared at the cave opening and informed Scarface that Kientpoos wanted him. The boy then pointed at Luash. "Our chief says you are to stay with the army man and that he is not to leave."
Luash didn't stir as Scarface scrambled to the surface and disappeared. "You've been well?" Jed asked cautiously. Being alone with Luash made him feel very uncertain.
"My heart is sad but my body strong."
"And Eagle? You've seen him?"
"Not so much."
Not so much. The simple words chilled him. "Maybe you haven't been able to get away. I imagine you have a lot to do here."
"A lot, white man. Every day we see more soldiers coming to our land. Wagons and tents. Weapons. Sometimes it is dangerous for me to leave, to be alone so Eagle can hear my words."
"I told you that was going to happen. They're setting up a permanent camp."
"They have no right."
"They have every right, Luash. They outnumber you and they have more weapons."
She didn't react, but he guessed she was assessing what he'd just told her. "So, your leaders say the Modocs are to be moved to the coast," she said without a trace of emotion.
"It's either that or risk being annihilated."
"Annihilated. I know that word, white man. Killed, all of us. Many of your people would be happy if that happened."
At seventeen, with his scalp torn open and bleeding and arrow wounds in his side and leg, he'd hated enough to want the entire Sioux race wiped from the Earth. He couldn't say when he'd stopped being driven by rage; maybe, until he'd met a Modoc woman named Luash, nothing had mattered except the fighting.
He'd seen things that haunted his nights—a wagon train after an attack, two settlers' homes burned, scalpings—but he couldn't keep any of those memories with him today. "It doesn't have to happen, not if the Modocs agree to the peace terms."
Although she didn't say anything for a long time, he sensed that she was carrying his comment through to an undeniable end. If her people surrendered, they would have to comply with whatever their white captors decided to do with them. If they continued to resist, maybe not even the owner of the tule doll would leave the Land of Burned Out Fires alive. Would Luash choose death over the alternative? "Can the white man's words be believed?" she asked, splintering his thoughts.
"I don't know."
"You do not know? You have been part of many treaties. Surely you know the answer."
Damn, she was hard. Hard and direct. "I've seen them work and I've seen them broken. Mostly broken."
"Because Indians defied the rules?"
"Not just Indians," he told her honestly, not at all surprised when she nodded, a small, cool smile touching her lips.
"It is not easy, is it?" she asked as several high-pitched voices from unseen children reached him.
"What isn't?"
"This thing between you and me."
Her words touched him, no stronger than a small bird's feather and yet so powerful that he felt buffeted by them. "No," he said. "It isn't."
By Jed's reckoning, the Modoc men met for the better part of an hour. During that time, he and Luash said little to each other. Occasionally children poked their heads in the opening and stared down at him. He tried to look beyond their large eyes, round faces, and ragged clothing to their individual thoughts and emotions.
Most giggled and hurried away when he acknowledged them, but the boy who'd come for Scarface spoke some English. He told Jed that he'd been riding horses ever since his father had bought one from a settler. He was convinced he could outrun the wind. Jed smiled at the boy's boastfulness and was pleased to see Luash relax enough to smile with him. Neither of them said anything about whether the horse, or the boy, would survive the winter.
Finally Captain Jack sent word that he was ready to see Jed again. This time, Jed was surrounded by close to forty men, probably the entire fighting force within the stronghold today. The rest he guessed were either out scouting or hunting. Jack explained that although Ha-kar-Jim, Cho-ocks, and the others who'd attacked the settlers still objected to having anything to do with the whites, he and Cho-Cho had asserted their leadership. They were willing at least to meet with the peace commission. "What I will think and do once the peace people have stopped talking I cannot say," Jack explained. "But I am weary of fighting; I want to take my family home."
Although he should have pointed out that "home" would no longer be where Captain Jack had always lived, Jed simply promised to carry that message back with him. Given the way the shaman and Hooker Jim and several others were glaring at him, saying as little as possible seemed like the wisest decision.
"When the time comes for peace talking," Captain Jack added, "I want you there."
"The president didn't appoint me. I don't—"
"I believe your eyes, Lieutenant. I know what they say, and I will know if we are being lied to."
He digested that. "I'll tell the general. I don't know how he's going to react."
"There is only one way," Jack said with a small, cold smile. "If your peace people want to meet with me, they will keep you with them."
"Why me? It has to be more than my eyes."
Jack's smile grew. He looked older and wiser than he had a few minutes ago. He nodded in Luash's direction. "There is lightning between the two of you. Lightning and thunder. It is like the energy which accompanies a storm. When I speak with your peace people, my niece will be by my side and your eyes will say the truth to each other."
Energy? Studying Luash, he noted that her only reaction was to continue to meet her uncle's gaze, her expressive eyes sober.
"Go with him," Jack told her. "Make sure he is safe."
* * *
"What does he mean?" Jed whispered after the Modoc chief and his warriors left. They were still surrounded by women and children, prompting him to keep his voice low. "He can't want you to go clear back with me. It isn't safe."
"Not to the soldier place, but to where there is a line on the ground. What do you call it, a bounda
ry? If I stay with you until you have crossed it, no Modoc will attack you."
Hearing that made Jed wonder, again, just how close he'd come to getting his scalp lifted today. Still, knowing he didn't yet have to leave her made it difficult for him to think of anything else. Barely acknowledging him, Luash led the way down the narrow but well-beaten trail. Once they reached his horse, she said something in Modoc to the old man who had been looking after it. Grunting, the man handed the reins to Jed and hobbled away.
Jed started to swing into the saddle, then asked if she wanted to ride behind him. He wasn't surprised when she shook her head. In truth, he was relieved, because if she placed her arms around his waist and he felt her breasts pushing into his back, he wasn't sure he could handle it. He decided not to mount.
They walked side by side, the horse to his left while, inch by inch, he allowed himself to believe that he wasn't going to be killed today. Luash was closest to the lake, but although a large number of eagles were near the shore, they didn't hold her attention. "They've been bunching a lot lately," he observed. "I take it they're going to be migrating before much longer."
"I am always sad when they leave. When they come in the winter, it is as if they have taken over the world. When they fly, the sky is dark with them."
"What about your eagle? Will he leave with the others?"
She shook her head, eyes on the horizon. "He is not like his kind in that way. This is his only place."
Because of the bond between the two of you?
When he said nothing, she pointed south to a distant, mounded butte. Her lips parted slightly and he waited for her to speak. Still, it took her a long time to break the silence. When she did, her eyes were back on him. "From there, one can see the morning sun spread itself over the center of the world. Why would Eagle not want to spend his life here?"
"The center of the world?"
"We call that peak Spirit Butte. Those making their vision quest have always climbed it; it is a place of great wonder and peace. I wish—I would like to go there now."
But she couldn't. The army wouldn't let her. "Tell me about it."
"This matters to you?"
"Yes," he said without explaining further.
She took a deep breath. "I should say nothing; this is sacred to the Modocs. And your Sunday doctors tell us we are wrong to believe as we do."
"I've heard some of those preachers. They don't have the answers any more than anyone else does."
"Remember something, Jed. My heart rejects the words of the Sunday—the preacher. It also rejects your words when you say it is wrong to believe in anything."
Just then, a large flock of geese rose off the lake, their wings making a loud whirring sound. He felt all but buried under movement, watched intently as, eyes shining, she followed their flight. "What about Spirit Butte?" he pressed when he could make himself heard.
She glanced over at him; then her attention fixed on the horizon. "When the sun rises, it first touches Mount Shasta and turns the snow on it into fire. Little by little, sunlight blesses the rest of the world as if a blanket is being pulled away. It is like golden rain, clean and beautiful, waking animals and birds, finally reaching the lake. Everything is warmed and brought to life. Everything except the caves."
"The caves." He was barely aware that he'd spoken aloud. The wind blew freely here and because she made no attempt to tame her hair, it whipped around her like a soft, black cloud. "You're lucky you've got them."
That made her laugh and spread her arms as if to encompass everything they could see and even beyond that. "Lucky? You do not have to live in them." She pointed at the ground. "Down there, everywhere, are caves and tunnels. It is said that a strong man could spend his life exploring what exists beneath the surface and not know it all. It is another world, a dark, cold, lifeless world."
Breathing in sweet air, watching the unbelievable number of birds on the lake, hoping for a glimpse of her Eagle, he found it hard to concentrate on what she'd just told him. "Do you ever explore them?"
"No. I want to be where the sun lights my way."
"I understand."
"Do you?" There was a sharp edge to her voice that he'd been waiting for without realizing it.
"Yeah. I do. When I was in Scarface's cave and saw that little doll, it hit me. Your people didn't have any choice but to take shelter there. Or maybe the truth is, they've cut off all other options. If they'd stayed on the reservation—"
"Enough! A person cannot go back in time."
She was right. Too damn right. "I have to ask something. Do you really believe Captain Jack—"
"Kientpoos."
"All right, Kientpoos. Do you believe he can keep the others, like Hooker Jim and the shaman, in line?"
"I do not know."
"But he's going to try, isn't he? I mean, the Modocs need unity."
"What do you care about unity? It would be simple to defeat us if the Modocs fought among themselves, if Cho-ocks lost his medicine."
"Yeah, it would. But I'm trying to understand some things, so I can judge the success or failure of the peace talks."
"If you believe Kientpoos is not strong, will you tell your general to wait until the Modoc have fought among themselves and have no leader?"
"That's not my decision to make, Luash." The moment he'd spoken, he was sorry. She'd asked for an honest answer and he'd given her an evasion. "What I do know is that the president's getting a lot of pressure from folks wanting this war over before it gives other Indians ideas."
"Ideas?"
"If a handful of Modocs continue to defy what's soon going to be close to a thousand troops, the Sioux and others will go on fighting."
"I would like to see that."
For some reason that made him laugh. They were nearing that imaginary line in rock and earth beyond which she wouldn't step. When he'd crossed over it, she'd return to her people and maybe he'd never see her again. "You're warm enough?" he heard himself ask. "There isn't much wood for—"
"Do not ask whether I shiver at night, white man. You put me here; your army says I can no longer travel into the mountains for what I need to keep me warm."
He wanted to throw arguments and denials at her but nothing he said would shave away her sharp honesty. Although he'd long known that the basic problem between whites and Indians was that they both claimed the same land, always before the enemy had been braves painted for war, fierce warriors who killed and flaunted their scalps and believed that without honor there was no life. Who wanted him dead. Today the enemy was a beautiful, soft-spoken young woman who'd snuck into an army camp because she needed to know whether he was still alive.
When he stopped, his horse immediately dropped its head and began searching for grass beneath the ice and snow. Luash continued walking, her gaze fixed on the silvery gray lake. She ran her hand along the back of her neck, drew her hair off her blanket, released it so the wind could play with it again. Maybe thirty feet now separated them. For a moment, he thought she was going to turn back toward him and readied himself for her dark eyes. Instead, she lifted her arms toward the horizon. As she did, the blanket slid off her shoulders and pooled at her feet. Her deerhide dress wasn't heavy enough to protect her against the chill and didn't have enough body to prevent the wind from pressing it tight against her body.
She swiveled toward him, arms still outstretched. Behind her, the clouds that had begun building on the horizon shifted from gray to deep purple. She seemed unaware that her small waist was sharply outlined, that the top tie was missing from her neckline. The teasing wind caught the loose fabric and lifted it, giving him a glimpse of dark flesh.
She was no longer looking at him. He felt lost, angry, and relieved. If there were any sharpshooters about, she would have made a perfect target, but there were few lava outcroppings along the lake shore and thus nowhere for someone to hide.
Even before he saw the eagle, he guessed what had captured her attention. How she'd sensed its approach didn't matte
r. Like the silent communication that brought the Modoc woman and eagle together, certain things were simply beyond his comprehension. As the great bird drew closer, he realized that some of the smaller birds nearby were becoming agitated, proof that the magnificent, white-headed creature really existed.
He felt her drawing away from him. As she continued to watch the eagle, envy surged through him. She had something to believe in, a spirit. And he had—what?
His horse shied. He spoke softly to the startled animal but couldn't take his eyes off either Luash or the eagle. They were becoming one again, the eagle risking dashing his body against the ground, she exposing her flesh to those killing talons. When the eagle moved its wings, Jed heard a heavy rustling sound and thought he felt a sharp push of air. Birds squawked and rose off the lake; his horse again tried to break free.
And Luash swept her hands over outspread wings.
The eagle didn't stay long. It seemed that it had no sooner come close enough for her to touch than it lifted its head to catch some invisible wind current into the sky. She continued to stare after it, her body a long, motionless, and utterly graceful line. When, finally, she lowered her arms and pivoted toward the watching man, the wind blew her hair across her face until all he could see were her eyes. They glistened with tears, with love and awe, and despite himself, he lost himself in them. He wanted to run his hands over the white streak at her temple, wanted to feel its silk on his lips. Most of all he wanted to make love to her until who they were didn't matter.
"He is still here," she whispered.
"Did you think he might not be?"
A shadow touched her features; she didn't try to hide its existence from him. "I see more and more soldiers. I listen to braves boast like small children who run to their parents when they are frightened."
