by Vella Munn
"Damn." He set the end of his rifle on the ground and gripped it with chapped fingers. His other hand was looped around his belt, near the pistol. She thought of her only weapon, a knife dulled from cutting sage. "Damn."
"I do not want your anger, Jed," she ordered, although saying that wouldn't change what lived inside him. "If you have come here to throw it at me, I will not stay."
"I told you; I returned because that's how I face my nightmares. I didn't know you were going to be here."
"You did the other night."
He blinked but gave no other sign that he'd heard her. Today he reminded her of a wolf with nowhere left to run. Was that it? He was a wolf and she an eagle? Wolf and eagle—two creatures with little need to acknowledge the other's existence. Confused by her emotions, she couldn't think of anything to say.
"Were you there?" he demanded. "Did you see?"
Head high, she told him that Kientpoos and Cho-Cho had both wanted her near them because they no longer believed in Cho-ocks's medicine, but once the warriors were in place, she'd been sent away. She'd heard shots, but just 'those of her people'. "When it was over, they told me they had killed many."
"Bragged. That's what they did, didn't they?"
"They want to be left in peace."
His eyes told her that wouldn't happen. Caught in their spell, she couldn't think how to argue with him. "You are alive," she whispered. "I asked Eagle for a sign that you were. He sent me his voice."
"Did he? Let me tell you what it was like." His mouth tightened as did his grip on his weapons. "I spent the night trying to keep a wounded kid warm. Talked to him until I couldn't talk anymore. Filled him full of false hope. He died in my arms."
A whimper of pain escaped her lips. "I am sorry. So sorry."
"Are you?"
"Yes," she told him although she was unbelievably weary of trying to make him understand the beating of her heart. Did he think she could stand here and not be pulled into the nightmare, not feel what he had when that young soldier died? "Jed, I see the look in a woman's eyes when she is terrified her newborn will know nothing except war. I share my people's fear and sorrow when the enemy's weapons strike our sacred council ring, when the enemy steps over what our shaman promised would keep us safe. I understand why my uncle does not want another child because he fears he will not be alive to raise it. And I hear the spirit cries of the men who died here."
She readied herself for his anger, his denial of her emotions, but those things didn't come. Instead, he bent over and set down his rifle. He raked his fingers through his hair.
"When I came to the stronghold," he said, "and you and I waited inside that cave, all I could think about was what it must be like to know you have no other place to live. There weren't any spirits there, at least none I understand. But the cries here..."
He looked so weary, so confused, that it tore her apart. She would have understood his anger; maybe she wanted fury from him so he would stop haunting her. But this emotion...
"I knew what was going to happen when the warriors hid themselves here," she told him. "I wanted to warn you; I want you to know that. My heart cried out to you."
His look of exhaustion faded a little, but she didn't understand the emotion taking its place. "It wouldn't have done you any good. If anyone had seen you, they would have killed you."
"I felt as if there were two of me, one Modoc, the other—I do not know that other person."
He nodded slowly and for a moment a little of the tension went out of him. "I wish I'd never met you, Luash."
She pressed her hand over her heart, not caring how much the gesture told him. "I wish our feet had never walked the same way."
"It's too late. Too damn late. I don't want to ever be here again." He indicated his surroundings. "The ghosts..."
"A death-place," she whispered. "Just as the caves will always hold sorrow for what we lost."
"Death and sorrow. What the hell are we going to do?"
He was asking the impossible. If she'd known any way of carving out a peace between their separate people, she would have done so long ago. "Go away," she told him, even though the thought of him turning his back on her nearly tore her apart. "Take your boy soldiers and leave."
"It's not going to happen. Damnit—"
"What do you want from me! Our shaman was unable to keep your soldiers from attacking. Do you think I am more powerful than him?"
"No," he said quietly, sadly. "Damnit, let me take you to the reservation. It's not too late—"
"You want me to sit in the same house with my father, who would sell me for whiskey? This is better."
"You're going to die out here."
"It is you who almost lost your life at this place. It loves me; it hates you."
Jed thought she was incredible—more uncivilized than the racing wind and yet gifted with a wisdom and gentleness that staggered him. He wanted to hate her. He sensed she knew that, but she would never run in fear. Instead, she was presenting her woman's body and ageless eyes to him, killing his hatred with a look.
"You heard Eagle?" he asked, still battling her impact on him. "You didn't see him?"
She shook her head, hair sliding over her throat. His fingers ached with the need to feel her silky flesh. "He has found a mate. I sense his happiness. He will make a good father."
"Happiness? He's a bird, Luash. He doesn't laugh or cry."
"You do not know him; I do."
"What's to know? Damnit, there's no wisdom in him. When the hell are you going to see that?"
"Your anger sorrows me, Jed," she said so softly that the whisper nearly tore him apart. "All the hate you have allowed to grow inside you—a man cannot laugh or embrace spring if his heart is frozen."
His heart wasn't frozen; far from it. With the rocks that had held so many warriors clearly visible behind her, it should have been easy for him to wrench free of her, but she reminded him of laughter and spring and, damnit, he needed that. Needed it so much that his heart ached.
"He wasn't alone the last night of his life," he said. "William. A boy, a soldier. At least I gave him that."
"Jed, I never wanted that, for him or anyone. You have to believe me."
He did, completely and without reservation. But it made no difference. He was a soldier; it was the only thing he knew how to be.
"You know what's going to happen, don't you?" he asked. "There's no way your people can kill more than twenty soldiers without having to pay for it."
"Twenty," she said with a small, choked sigh.
"The army is going to run you into the ground."
"We had to protect ourselves."
"And so do we."
"Then why are we here?" Her voice caught. "You and me." She started to extend her hand toward him, then let it drop. "What brought us to this place where no one else stands?"
"I don't know."
"You said—you said you had to return to where your demons live. But maybe it was more than that. Maybe you knew you would find me."
"Maybe."
Tears slid out from under her lashes, ripping at him.
"Don't cry," he told her. "It won't change anything."
"I am not ashamed of my woman's heart."
Woman's heart. Was there any difference between what a man and woman felt? A sound briefly distracted him, but it was only a shriek from a hawk circling above the dead horse. He and Luash were the intruders here; the hawks and eagles belonged.
Looking at her again, with rocks and hills all around her, the wind in her hair and the sun setting in her dark eyes, he knew he was wrong.
This was her home. The land that held her heart.
The land she was going to lose.
Chapter 17
The sun burned the back of Jed's neck, and from his horse's labored breathing, he knew the animal was in need of a drink. Water had been hard to come by in the past few days, but Jed barely felt his own thirst. The same couldn't be said for the ten men accompanying him and Wilfred
this morning. Their complaints, along with the squeak of saddles and thud of shod hooves, echoed around him sounding like an angry, yet weary, hornet's nest.
He hadn't seen Luash in over a month. During the whole of May, the army had chased one rumor after another about where the Modocs were holed up, run roughshod over folks' ranches, and, because someone said the Modocs had taken off for their sacred, snow-capped mountain, stared south until their eyes ached.
Still, despite the never-ending military bumbling, Jed knew the end was near. In a few days, maybe even today, he, or someone else with the authority to accept a surrender, would stand face to face with Captain Jack. Curley Headed Doctor, Hooker Jim, and their followers had already turned themselves in, Hooker hiding out until he'd seen that the others weren't going to be killed before sauntering in full of his usual bluster. Now the man most folks believed had gunned down innocent settlers and been instrumental in the slaughter at the peace tent was leading the army to where his leader hid.
Jed didn't understand it, didn't like it one bit. But he wasn't the one in charge.
The battles at Scorpion Point and Dry Lakes had turned the tide. For the first time since this damnable war began, the Modocs had lost more than the army had. True, only one Modoc had been killed at Dry Lake, but soldiers had managed to round up a fair number of Modoc horses, some ammunition, even food. Jack and those still with him were on the run, but how much longer could people without food, water, or bullets run?
"You're going quiet on me again," Wilfred observed. "Been thinking about her, haven't you?"
"Every time I'm not yammering away like some black crow you decide I'm thinking about her."
"Because you always are. Don't lie to me; there ain't no reason to."
True. "She doesn't owe Jack her life. Just because he's scared to turn himself in is no reason for her to sacrifice herself."
"Scared?" Wilfred wiped sweat off his forehead and went back to studying the land around Horse Mountain, south of Tule Lake, where Hooker Jim insisted Jack was. "That chief doesn't know the meaning of the word."
"Yeah, he does," Jed insisted. "Just like he knows what it's like to be tired and hungry and thirsty, same as anyone else."
"Maybe he'll die out there." Wilfred indicated the deceptively flat-looking land that hid endless depressions and caves. "Wouldn't that be something. People have come here from clear across the country, wanting to see how this war plays itself out. They'll never be able to gawk at Captain Jack because the buzzards got him."
It was possible, he thought. Possible, but not too likely, since every buzzard sighting would be explored. Still, even if Jack handed over his guns, there was no way the rebel chief could escape justice. The settlers and ranchers, the ones who'd been putting up such a fuss about how inept the army was, wouldn't settle for anything less.
And if Luash was by her uncle's side—
No. There was no reason for her to suffer the same fate, whatever that might be. She'd be sent off to a reservation.
Wilfred grunted, distracting him. When he looked where his friend was pointing, he saw a squaw climbing down a rock and bunchgrass-choked hill toward them, one hand lifted in a pathetic gesture of greeting, the other clutching a baby to her breast. Several soldiers aimed their rifles at the woman, causing her to shrink back. Cautioning the men not to fire, Jed dismounted and slowly approached her.
Her eyes widened slightly, making him wonder if she recognized him. Maybe she'd been in the stronghold when he went there. He tried to tell her he'd take her to the others who'd surrendered over the past few days, but she obviously didn't understand English and he had no translator with him. He made a show of putting down his weapons before reaching for her infant. Her mouth began to tremble and tears formed in her dull eyes.
What he said didn't matter, just that he spoke softly and gently. The woman, looking haggard, let her free hand drop by her side. The gesture drew his attention to her stained and faded linsey-woolsey skirt. Whether her husband had bought it for her or she'd bartered for it with her body back when she could freely walk among the Fort Klamath soldiers, didn't matter. Her baggy shirt wasn't in any better condition and she was barefoot.
Did Luash look like that now?
"I won't hurt him." He indicated the whimpering baby. "We'll get him some decent clothes and you some food and shoes."
The woman cocked her head, trying to watch him and the soldiers behind him at the same time. In an effort to make himself clear, he pointed first at her feet and then at his boots. Finally he rubbed his belly and made eating motions. Still she stared, tears now running down her dry cheeks. He could have grabbed her and forced her with him; there wasn't a damn thing she could do about it, no one would stand up for her. But she'd defied the better part of a thousand soldiers for over six months, giving birth somewhere out in that godforsaken land. She deserved some dignity, some consideration.
When he began removing his shirt, she tightened her grip on the baby. Again her eyes widened. Shirt held out, he took several slow steps toward her. She drew away from him but didn't try to run.
While he draped the shirt over the baby, she continued to stare, mouth trembling, face bleached of color. Then, slowly, she sank to the ground and folded herself over her child, sobbing.
Please, don't let it be like this for Luash.
* * *
"He is gone."
Luash, who had been resting under the shade of a sagebrush to escape the heat, propped herself up on her elbow. Her legs ached. Her mouth was dry. She hadn't had anything to drink today, and she knew that if she got up too quickly, she would become dizzy, because she also hadn't eaten. Kientpoos stood over her, his shoulders still proudly squared despite the lines of exhaustion around his eyes and mouth.
"Who?" she asked dully.
"Cho-Cho." Kientpoos stared at another sagebrush where Whe-cha was sleeping, then dropped to his knees beside Luash. "He is gone. My friend, gone. His heart must have told him it is time to surrender."
"Uncle, I am sorry. So sorry."
"He does as he must, as Cho-ocks and Ha-kar-Jim did. I do not hate them for it. The soldiers treat us like dogs! I think they would chase me to the end of the Earth."
Maybe they would. The days since she'd last seen Jed blurred together in her mind until she couldn't remember whether it had been one moon or two. What she did remember was constant moving, hiding among endless lava, sage, low hills, trying to get close to Modoc Lake or a creek for enough water to keep going. Never enough food.
Two days ago Ha-kar-Jim had shown up, boasting that after he'd surrendered, the army had given him five days' food ration so he could find his chief and tell him to give himself up. Barely containing his fury, Kientpoos had ordered Ha-kar-Jim to go back to his captors and tell them that the chief of the Modocs would never grovel before his enemies. But now Cho-Cho was gone and Kientpoos's lips were dry and cracked. Whe-cha had aged ten years and barely spoke anymore.
"I am weary," Kientpoos said. "So tired of running."
She and her uncle hadn't really sat alone together since he'd killed the general. Much of the time he'd been busy with his braves, planning attacks, retreating, hiding, occasionally hunting.
But there'd been quiet moments; she should have approached him before now. What could she say to a man she loved but who had shot an unarmed man and then ordered an attack on unsuspecting soldiers while they sat eating their noon meal? "What will you do now?"
"Do?" He drew out the word, made it last a long time. "My legs are played out, Luash. My men are gone, captured. My wives cry with hunger and my daughter—I cannot bear her tears."
This wasn't the chief who'd defied an army through a frozen winter. The Kientpoos she knew would never confess such things to a woman, not even to her. But she understood the exhaustion in his eyes and voice; she felt the same way. She was too tired and heartsick to care about anything. "Ha-kar-Jim says we will be treated with kindness and given food and water. So did the doctor they sent to talk to us
."
Kientpoos stared at the ground, saying nothing. Yesterday Kientpoos had promised the slow-talking doctor that he would turn himself in along with what remained of his followers. Then Cho-Cho had snuck away in the middle of the night, taking a few Modocs with him. The army doctor might believe Kientpoos to be a man who didn't keep his word, but Luash knew the truth. Her uncle simply couldn't bear to watch the rest of his people surrender.
With shaking fingers, she pulled a eagle feather out of the rope she'd tied around her waist and handed it to him. The black tip was broken and it had been flattened in the middle, but it was still glossy, still held warmth throughout its length. "Eagle left this for me during the night," she said quietly.
"He came to you? I did not hear him."
"I did not see him," she admitted. "I called for him, over and over again, but..."
"As you have many times since we began running."
"Yes." The admission clogged her throat. Where was Eagle? If his absence was a sign—"I did not hear him. But when I woke this morning, this was near my head."
"A broken feather," Kientpoos whispered. "That is how I feel, bent by battle. Luash, this land, the Smiles of God, was given to us by Kumookumts and we were right in fighting for it, but what a man believes and what truly is are not always the same things."
She barely subdued the whimper building inside her. The same thoughts had been pounding at her for weeks, even while they were still at the stronghold. There, she'd been forced to ask herself if she could face living the rest of her life in a cave instead of the wickiup of her ancestors. Eagle protected her and brought peace to her heart; he couldn't take her back into the past.
"I do not want this for you. To become a prisoner—"
Kientpoos shot her a look that froze the rest of her words before they could escape. "If you hide now," she whispered, "maybe no one will find you. A man alone casts a small shadow."
"You ask me to leave my people? My wives and daughter—to never see you again?"
"When I came to live with you, I knew I might never see my parents again. I did what my heart needed so it could hear the song of freedom."
