The Soul Survivors Series Boxed Set

by Vella Munn

  Taking one of the candles with her, she stepped outside. The moon, full and golden and rich, dominated the night sky: The heaven was alive with stars, and she felt closer to God at this moment than she ever did inside a church.

  Although Father Joseph had explained that the rest of the nineteen missions had been built in a square with an inner courtyard, La Purisima was different. The fort-like design had been abandoned because of the likelihood of an earthquake, and it stretched out in a single unprotected line consisting of three main buildings, the livestock pens, gardens, and what appeared to be an extensive water system.

  She felt vulnerable and alone, and yet her determination to understand this place she couldn't quite believe existed propelled her forward. When she'd arrived, the settlement had been filled with people, the vast majority of them Indians, but she could no longer see or hear them. Maybe they went to their villages at night; maybe they were housed nearby. The heathens hadn't known about Catholicism before the padres arrived. Did they, even those who'd been baptized, still perform pagan rituals?

  There was so much she didn't understand, so many questions clamoring inside her, so many doubts and fears and—yes—excitement.

  Her attention on what lay at her feet, she half-shuffled, half-walked. She had it in mind to go to the chapel, not to pray, although she would once she stepped inside, but to see if her mother was done with her devotions and ready to join her in the cave-like place that had become their home. However, she'd taken no more than a dozen steps when she was distracted by the sound of running water. By holding her candle at arm's length, she located an adobe brick-lined ditch. Filled with clear water, the ditch obviously came from higher ground beyond the church.

  She shouldn't try to follow it to its source. Despite the padres' reassurance that wild animals seldom ventured close and had never attacked a human here and that she couldn't imagine savages like the one she'd seen on her way here being foolish enough to test the military strength, the world beyond the mission represented mystery and the unknown.

  Still, she hadn't yet convinced her feet to stop walking. Maybe it was the need to stretch her legs after hours on horseback. Maybe it was the need to replace the unknown with knowledge.

  And maybe...

  Father Joseph seemed favorably disposed toward answering her questions about how the mission functioned, but for now she had to rely on the imagination her mother insisted kept her from blindly accepting God's word.

  Would she spend the rest of her life here?

  Her mind closed itself off from the question, refused to acknowledge it had even been asked, and she reassured herself that she wouldn't go so far that she could no longer see the buildings. Thanks to the moon and stars as well as her candle, it wasn't as if she were stumbling about like a blind woman. All she wanted was to get a little exercise, observe, and learn, not think beyond the work and planning it had taken to create this outpost of civilization and religion in the middle of nothing.

  Because her senses were tuned to anything she might see, hear, or smell, it wasn't long before she came to the conclusion that the murmur of sound she now heard came from somewhere in the trees a distance from the padres' quarters. The soldiers were sitting outside their quarters, so it couldn't be them. If the neophytes spent their nights among the trees, they were entitled to their privacy.

  Still, it couldn't hurt if she took a quick look at where they lived, could it?

  Silent, she started down a narrow but well-worn path. She imagined the neophytes trudging to and from here as the endless days piled up and drew comparisons between their lot and her own, only it wasn't the same. Her father had a much-respected reputation as a military leader, and her mother was known throughout the city for her pious works, but those were her parents' accomplishments.

  When she first sensed the presence, she was momentarily grateful for the distraction from her thoughts, but that quickly changed. A man stood a few feet away and half-hidden by a low-growing brush, one arm hanging at his side. The other held what in the poor light looked like a long wooden branch. She made out his unclothed chest, something hanging around his neck, long hair trailing over his shoulders, muscled legs.

  Incapable of speech, she took a backward step. To her horror, he matched her pace.

  "Go away!" she gasped. "Oh please, go!"

  He did nothing to indicate she'd broken the charged silence. He might be deaf or too lacking in intelligence to comprehend her words. "I'll call the padres. My father... my father will make you leave."

  Only dimly aware of what she was doing, she retreated a few more feet. As before, the Indian kept pace. Her heart pounded and each breath she took sounded desperate and strangled. By contrast, the man made not the slightest sound.

  "You... you... they will punish you! How dare—"

  "Silence!"

  Her mouth hung open. Her throat burned from the need to finish what she'd begun, but this Indian, this savage, had ordered her not to speak, and she was obeying.

  "Why are they here?" he asked in a voice as deep as the night.

  "What? I... You have no right...." His Spanish, although accented, was perfectly understandable. In contrast, the Indians who'd waited on them while they ate had communicated with grunts and gestures:

  "Why are they here?" he repeated.

  "I-I..."

  "Answer me!"

  "Go away!" she squeaked. "If you don't, I'll scream."

  "No. You will not."

  "What? I—"

  "One sound and I will kill you."

  Maybe what he was holding onto moved in her direction; maybe she'd only imagined it. Not that it mattered, because she believed him with every fiber in her. Shaking, she forced herself not to run.

  "I ask you this." The words came from deep inside him. "Will the leatherjackets attack my people?"

  "Leatherjackets?"

  "You call them soldiers. Do they plan war with my people?"

  Despite the question, he didn't sound afraid. In truth, she couldn't imagine him fearing anything. Her father had always seemed so powerful and unreachable, but much of that, she knew, was because of the uniform he wore, the weapons he carried, his huge horse. This all but naked man needed none of those things because his strength and courage came from a place she couldn't fathom and knew better than to try to deny.

  "Your... people?"

  Pointing, he indicated the distant hills. "The Chumash who are free."

  "Chumash? Free?"

  "Not slaves or captives like those the padres call neophytes but men, women, and children who live the way Chupu designed."

  The word Chupu should have meant nothing to her, but there was something deep and respect-filled in his tone that made her wonder if it was his word for God. Despite her fear, her brain came back to life. "You... you were out there today, weren't you?" she gasped. "On the way here, I looked up and saw... saw you."

  He nodded.

  God help me. "And you followed me here?" Fear tasted both hot and cold in her throat.

  "I had to."

  She couldn't say how far apart they were standing. At least, he wasn't close enough that he could grab her without effort. That should have given her some measure of comfort, but it didn't because this whatever he was with his strong, unhampered legs could overtake her as easily as a hunting dog retrieved a wounded bird. She'd heard her father and his fellow officers talk about war; she believed she knew what it meant to fear death at the hands of the enemy.

  And this man was her enemy.

  "If... if you harm me, my father and his men will hunt you down."

  "No, they will not, because my medicine is too strong." He gripped whatever it was he wore around his neck, then touched the back of his right forearm. "I prayed to my spirit, and Wolf answered. I am safe, tonight. Listen to me. Listen and believe. If I had wanted you dead, your blood would now be staining the ground."

  Shock briefly rendered her speechless. "What... what do you want?"

  "Your father is chi
ef of the leatherjackets?"

  "Chief? You mean their commander? Yes." Saying that made her feel-a little more in control because surely this simple creature had been taught to fear well-trained and armed troops.

  "Why is he here?"

  "Why? To... it is his job."

  "His job is to command five men?"

  "Y-es." Only five.

  "And why are they here?"

  Pain sliced into her temple, and she couldn't stop herself from pressing the palm of her hand against it. She'd spent much of last year caring for the parentless children the Church supported. The experience had taken her beyond the sheltered life of her childhood, but she'd never expected to be standing here talking to an armed savage. He'd been built for a physical life. His black hair had been fashioned by the wind, and his dense voice put her in mind of hard earth. It was all too easy to imagine him being absorbed by the night, but if he was, she would never know whether he was human or part of the land.

  "I don't understand your question." Was that her voice? It sounded so small and hesitant, frightened.

  He took a step forward, loomed over her, blocked out the moon. "Your father and his men, are they going to hunt my people down? Kill them?"

  Her father had killed. No matter how many times her mother had begged him not to speak of such things around his daughter, Sebastian bragged about the blood he'd shed and the lives he'd taken.

  "Let me go, please."

  "I cannot."

  Cannot? "I won't tell anyone. Please, I... I have never hurt anyone, never wanted to. All I want is..."

  It had been on the tip of her tongue to tell him that all she wanted out of life was not to have to marry a man who disgusted and frightened her, but he couldn't possibly understand what she was talking about.

  "Soon I will walk away from you," he said, and for some insane reason she believed him. "But first I must have the truth."

  Tonight the wind was a playful child. She felt it caress her cheeks, tangle itself in her hair, sing through the grasses. The air smelled new and clean, and when she should be thinking of nothing except how to go on living it calmed her.

  "My father seldom speaks to me," she admitted.

  "Why not?"

  "He wanted a son. When I was born, he turned his back on me." Why had she told this man that?

  "He does not call you his daughter?"

  "Yes, of course. When he must," she amended. "But.... it doesn't matter." Suddenly on the verge of crying, she fought the need to run, an impulse that would surely result in that shaft penetrating her heart. "You... you think my father and the other soldiers are here because they want to kill you?"

  He laughed. "I would be a fool to think otherwise. I attacked one of them, made him no longer a man."

  "You?" Oh, God!

  "Yes. I will not lie about that. The soldiers must have their revenge, but I care not just for myself. There are women and children. Old men and babies."

  Babies! "He wouldn't..."

  There wasn't enough air in her lungs. Desperate for more, she took a deep breath, and it now seemed as if the air smelled not just of grass and earth but of the Indian—the savage—as well.

  "Do not lie to me."

  "I'm not! I... I do not know what my father's orders are."

  "But you can learn."

  "You want me to ask—" To her shock, she gave a short and bitter laugh. "He won't tell me his plans. That's the last thing he would ever do."

  The savage had slid a few inches away from her in the last few minutes. Now he put an end to the distance by striding forward, gripping her wrist, and pulling her off balance. Why didn't she scream?

  "I say this to you," he said. He stood so close that she felt his breath on her cheek. "Return to your father; find safety in his presence. If you tell him of me, it makes no difference because he will never find me. But you... you will know that I am here. Watching. Waiting for the time to speak to you again. And when I do, you must tell me the truth, or your life will end."

  He could do that; she had no doubt ,of it. Her muscles felt weak and she had to bite down on the inside of her mouth to keep from crying out, and yet she didn't hate him for making her feel this way.

  He was courage, desperate courage.

  And she admired him as she'd never admired another human being.

  * * *

  The woman had made little noise as she hurried away from him. She'd long disappeared from sight and he should be seeking a place of greater safety, but he couldn't put his thoughts to that.

  Despite the danger, Black Wolf knew he'd been right to confront her. It hadn't taken much to make her afraid of him, and her strength had been nothing compared to his. When he grabbed her, he'd wondered if her heart might stop beating, but he no longer did. She might be small and quiet and move as if she didn't want to call attention to herself, but hidden courage ran through her, courage he couldn't help but admire.

  He didn't know whether she would seek the truth from her father and could only pray she now wanted that truth for herself.

  His stomach cramped, letting him know he would spend the night hungry, but he'd experienced hunger many times in his life, and as long as he didn't weaken from lack of food, it didn't matter.

  Aware of the need for the deepest shadows, he slipped close to the nearest building, his thoughts too complex to put his mind to seeking shelter in the hills. The young woman believed her father didn't love her. She hadn't said those words, but they existed in the way she held her body, the tone in her voice. He was proud to have a son, but he would love a daughter just as fiercely; his heart could not beat any other way.

  The Spanish were so different from him and his people; he would never understand them.

  Suddenly angry at himself, Black Wolf spun on his heels and took the first long stride that would take him away from the mission. What the young woman felt and thought wasn't his concern. All he needed from her was knowledge about her father and the rest of the leatherjackets. She hadn't been able to tell him tonight, but soon she might have the answer, and he would force it from her.

  Chapter 5

  Lucita gripped the dry leather cord that served as the handle to where she now lived. By the murmur coming from within she knew her mother was praying; the sound made her want to laugh, to cry. She was safe! Safe.

  What was it the savage had said, that he'd prayed to his spirit asking for safety tonight and that a wolf had answered? Only he hadn't been talking about a pack of animals; she was convinced of that. Obviously he believed he had a spiritual relationship with whatever it was he called Wolf.

  How insane! How barbaric! God and Christ, the saints and apostles, angels, dwelled in the heavens, not some fierce creature that made her shiver just thinking about what the animal was capable of. But she had spoken to the Indian, felt his intensity and the depth of his belief.

  "What are you doing?"

  Alarmed, she whirled around, tearing a nail on the rough cord. "Father!" she gasped in recognition. "I... I did not hear you."

  "Obviously. Have you taken leave of your senses?" A spray of spittle landed on her chin. "Fool! You should be inside, not wandering about after dark. If I knew you were going to act so irresponsibly, I would have never allowed you to accompany me."

  Tell him! Tell him! "I... I was on horseback for so long. I needed to stretch my legs."

  "I forbid it."

  "I did not mean to defy you." Mindful that others might hear, she kept her voice low "It is just that this place fascinates me. I wanted to explore—"

  "Explore! You have no idea what it is like to be in hostile land, how to act." Although he'd been on the move since before daybreak, he still wore his uniform and carried his sword. He stood, feet wide apart as if supporting a weary body, right hand on the hilt of his weapon. "You do not belong here."

  "Where would you have me? Married to a man determined to take me to Texas?"

  Before her father could reply, the door opened and her mother stood there. "Stop it! Pl
ease, stop it!"

  Lucita's father, little more than a hulking shadow, spun toward his wife. "Do not attempt to order me, woman. I will say what I wish to my daughter."

  "Everyone can hear." The words rushed out, soft yet determined. "I was in the middle of my prayers. Do you have no consideration for—"

  "You are always praying." His voice, so much lower than his wife's high one, was filled with disgust. "Go back inside. Tell God everything; whimper about your unsatisfactory marriage to a brute of a man. It means nothing to me. Leave me alone with my daughter."

  "She is my daughter, too."

  Ignoring the comment, Sebastian grabbed Lucita's arm and propelled her inside. The room smelled of hot tallow, and the shadows had been forced into the corners.

  "What were you doing?" he demanded.

  Tell him! Tell him! Warning herself of the folly of trying to free herself from his firm grip, Lucita concentrated on her answer. "I told you," she said, her voice low. "Walking:"

  "I asked my men. None of them saw you for nearly an hour."

  Had it been that long? She should be telling him about the savage, should have gone looking for her father the moment she returned. But she hadn't.

  "I will not abide your silence, Lucita. Where were you?"

  "Trying to get my bearings." The lie came so easily that it shocked her. "I didn't mean to frighten you. If I'd thought—"

  "Do you think I'm capable of fear?"

  She had so little understanding of this man who must have once held her in his arms that she couldn't possibly answer his question. "What do you want me to say?"

  "Nothing." He released her. "Tonight you will listen."

  Her mother had closed the door behind them and was leaning against it, her eyes darting between daughter and husband. Margarita chose her battles with her husband carefully. Obviously, she had decided not to risk his wrath tonight.