The Soul Survivors Series Boxed Set

by Vella Munn

  "Who did it?" Sebastian demanded. "Damnation, tell me!"

  "Stop!" Lucita ordered her patient. "You must lie still. Otherwise you'll bleed to death."

  "Lucita?" Her mother's voice became a whimper. "Your blouse—what have you done?"

  "What I must," she answered distractedly, then grabbed the soldier's ruined shirt and used that to cover the wound. Mundo's shaking had become so pronounced that her father was hard-pressed to keep him on the cot, and she nearly convinced herself that none of the trembling came from her.

  "My child, my child," Margarita whimpered. "Dear Lord, please take her from this. Protect her and shield her from this horror."

  "Shut up!" Sebastian bellowed. "The Lord has nothing to do with what happened. A savage, a damnable savage—look at that knife! It's one of those animals."

  "Please, Sebastian. Do not say such things in our daughter's presence. She is a maiden, innocent."

  Innocent? What was that? Her parents' argument continued around her, punctuated by her patient's hoarse sobs. His cries and the wound claimed her and answered her question about innocence. Whatever that state might be, it no longer had anything to do with her.

  Finally, unable to tolerate her parents' arguing, she sent her mother to ask the padres for silktassel bush leaves and European myrth, which she then used to clean and pack the site. Loss of blood had finally rendered Mundo so weak that her father no longer needed to restrain him.

  "Let me know if there is any change," Sebastian said as he got to his feet. "If you can get through to him, make sure he tells you who attacked him."

  "Where are you going?"

  "That is none of your concern."

  * * *

  His boots slapped the ground with every step, giving sound and weight to Sebastian's emotions. He looked around for the soldiers, but neither of them was nearby, the worthless curs!

  Thinking to take himself to where he would find some peace and quiet for thinking, he headed for the horse corral, but before he could reach it, he spotted Father Patricio coming toward him.

  "What has been going on?" Father Patricio demanded. "All that commotion—"

  "If you were so curious, why weren't you there?"

  "Because I was occupied with the mission's finances. Senor Portola will not be able to linger, and I want to be ready for him. What happened?"

  Sebastian told him.

  "Mundo has no idea who attacked him? You are certain?" , "I told you, he hasn't spoken since we found him."

  "But you have your suspicions, don't you?"

  For a man of God, Father Patricio had a remarkable grasp on reality. "I daresay we are thinking the same thing."

  "What are you going to do about it? How many soldiers will that creature attack before he's stopped?"

  The question was precisely why Sebastian had wanted to avoid the padre. Damnation, didn't Father Patricio understand how difficult it was to bring down one man when that man moved ghostlike wherever he willed? But if the corporal said that, Father Patricio might say and would surely think him unequal to the task, and he couldn't tolerate, couldn't abide, that.

  "No more," he said. "What happened today will never happen again."

  Skepticism danced in Father Patricio's eyes. "How can you say that?"

  "Because..."Just when he thought he might falter, his mind clicked down on a plan. "I will no longer wait for Black Wolf to come to me."

  * * *

  Margarita remained with Lucita after her father left, but it was clear this was the last place she wanted to be. As Mundo lapsed into unconsciousness, Lucita asked her mother to pray for him. Muttering that she had to be in a place of God before God could clearly hear her, Margarita slipped away.

  "You aren't alone," Lucita whispered when it was just she and her patient. "I won't let you do this alone."

  Taking, Mundo's trembling hand, she held it for what seemed like hours. Occasionally he stirred, and when he did she again and again told him she was with him and wouldn't leave, that her mother and the padres were praying for him. Sunlight briefly made its presence known through the too-small window, but before long, the shadows took over.

  Mundo, who had looked so fierce and unapproachable before, had sunken into himself, become smaller somehow. Sweat poured from his body, and no matter what she did, his wound continued to seep. She was aware of the stench of his ruined body, her bloody blouse, the discarded knife nearby, the sticky stains on her fingers. Most of all she was aware of her inability to pray.

  An Indian had done this.

  Awareness of a change in the room pulled her out of herself, and she realized Mundo had opened his eyes and was staring at her, only she wasn't sure he could actually see her.

  "Get him away from me!" Mundo bellowed with unexpected strength.

  "Easy, easy," she whispered. "You are safe."

  "No! No! Damnation!"

  "Shoo. Quiet," she crooned, hoping her soft and feminine voice would make an impact. "You are all right."

  "Savage!"

  "I know." I know.

  "His arm—knife... his arm, no!"

  "What about his arm?" she asked because it seemed to her that Mundo was more afraid of that than the weapon he was seeing in his mind.

  "What is that! Something... something... No! Not a wolf."

  Black Wolf!

  * * *

  No more than a half hour after Mundo had spoken his last words, Lucita released his limp hand and got to her feet. She walked to the door on nerveless feet and stepped outside, retreating momentarily from the sunlight, but before long her eyes adjusted and she took in her surroundings.

  Her father and the two soldiers along with three saddled horses were near the entrance to the church, and in the middle of the small, tight group stood Father Patricio.

  All eyes turned her way as she approached, but she didn't try to acknowledge anyone except her father. Neither could she rouse herself enough to ask what they were planning to do.

  "It's over?" he asked.

  "Yes."

  "Did he say anything?"

  "No," she managed. "Nothing."

  * * *

  Lucita had been untruthful. Father Patricio had no doubt of that, but still he didn't believe the time was right to tell Sebastian of his suspicions. Instead, he waited until the girl had left before returning to the conversation they'd been having.

  "I do not understand," he said to Sebastian. "Obviously Black Wolf can come and go at will, and yet you intend to leave the mission undefended?"

  Sebastian looked irritated and Father Patricio was worried the corporal might ride away without saying anything. "Black Wolf has no quarrel with you, Padre. Has he ever threatened you or Father Joseph?"

  "No."

  "Then you will not be in any danger while we are gone."

  "But where—"

  "Do I need to draw you a picture?" Sebastian snapped. "He is getting bolder and bolder and undoubtedly now believes he can do whatever he wants without fear of reprisal. The next time he attacks, he won't be alone."

  Despite himself, Father Patricio stared at the distant haze.

  "Yes!" Sebastian sounded excited. "Things have escalated to the point where they demand immediate attention. The wild Indians live somewhere in the hills. There is only one way to assure that attack won't come, and that's by stomping on the snakes' den."

  "I thought you said your men weren't ready for that."

  "I have no choice. As soon as I've collected the others, I will accomplish what I was sent here to do."

  * * *

  "Lucita, where are you going?"

  Too exhausted to speak, Lucita slowly turned.

  Catching up to her, Margarita tentatively fingered her dirty sleeve. "Throw it away, please. The washwoman will never be able to get all the blood out, and even if they could, I couldn't abide seeing you in it again. I'll order one of the seamstresses to make you another. Certainly the padres can spare enough cloth for that."

  She'd watched a man die tod
ay, and her mother was talking about her attire. "It doesn't matter."

  "Not matter? How can you stand to wear it?"

  "Mother, there is nothing repulsive about blood."

  "That is not what I said. We cherish the blood of God's Son, but that soldier only rarely stepped inside the church or took communion."

  "That was Mundo's decision, just as mine was to try to save his life." The sun felt hot. Added to what she'd absorbed of her patient's fever, she felt as if she might burst into flames. If only she could reach the trees, the ocean.

  No, not the ocean.

  "I do not understand you, Lucita," Margarita went on. "Look at your hands."

  She did as she was told. To her, the dark stains served as a mockery of her efforts to keep Mundo alive.

  "I'm not sure I understand myself," she whispered. For a heartbeat, she wanted to rest her heavy head on her mother's shoulder. Then she remembered how small and vulnerable Margarita had looked earlier and the impulse died.

  "It is this untamed land," Margarita whispered after a too-long silence. "You should be back in Mexico City, safe and surrounded by others who embrace and are capable of understanding what the Church is about. Everything is... so different here." Reaching out, Margarita touched Lucita's cheek but only briefly. "It is changing you."

  Chapter 14

  Lucita's father rode at the head of the small band of leatherjackets moving south from the mission. In addition to the corporal Black Wolf saw only two grim-faced men; he didn't have to ask what had had happened to the final man. Lids lowered against the hot afternoon sun, he watched until the group disappeared from view. Only then did he stand and brush dirt and leaves from him.

  Never before had he seen the mission left undefended, which meant they believed their destination and their task there were more important than keeping the mission protected. Their mounts carried sleeping blankets, and he guessed the bulging leather bags contained foodstuff.

  He was responsible for this. He!

  If he could walk backward through time, not allow himself to be driven by instinct, keep his hand off his knife, he would—maybe—but it was too late for that.

  Speed my people's feet as they make their way home; keep that home safe from the enemy. Wrap Much Rain's heart in eagle down and give him the courage to face tomorrow.

  His prayers for the others over, he turned his thoughts to what he must accomplish. Even with the leatherjackets gone, he was hesitant to enter the mission grounds. However, he had no choice.

  Holding his body so still that he ceased to think of himself as separate from the rocks, he listened. The sound of many voices carried to him, and even if he hadn't seen the neophytes at work, he would have known how many were about this afternoon.

  Guide my feet, my spirit. Understand my need for knowledge and bring that knowledge to me. My people's safety depends on what I do and learn today.

  After sending a silent message of love to his son, he clambered onto a nearby boulder and lifted his face toward the heavens. He thought he saw the outline of a frog in a cloud formation, but Frog was the shaman's spirit, while he trusted in Wolf.

  His throat filled, his mouth opened, and he let forth with the cry that had led him into manhood. The howl rose, spread, thinned, and yet remained deep, and he imagined it drifting upward until it, and he, became one with the clouds.

  At length nothing remained of the sound he'd made, but still he waited for his spirit's answer. The cloud ceased to be a frog and became a five-legged horse and then a leafless tree.

  Confused, he repeated his howl, but once again his message was met with silence. The tree was no more, nothing else showed itself to him for a long, long time, and then—The sound began as a thin whisper, which slowly, steadily, grew deeper. No throat, either human or wolf, could sustain itself that long, but then Wolf was a spirit and his laws were his own.

  I wait for your wisdom. Please, reveal to me what I must do.

  The howl ended abruptly, and Black Wolf felt as if he himself had stretched out in the silence and ceased to exist. Once again he let his thoughts go to his son, then to the stranger-woman who maybe understood him in ways no one else had and to his need to step far back in time to where only the seasons existed and his grandfather's grandfather waited.

  Wolf, calling to him. The cry deep and strong.

  I must think like a predator, that is what you warn, is it not?

  A single, sharp answer.

  Feeling as strong as Wolf's voice, he jumped down and began slinking toward the mission. He wondered if the older woman he'd spoken to earlier had kept her knowledge of him to herself. Maybe her hatred of the leatherjackets remained as strong as before and she believed he'd done right by attacking Willow's killer, or maybe she had spent so many years here that fear of the padres and leatherjackets had loosened her tongue. However her thoughts went, he didn't dare risk his life by trying to talk to her. Still, there was another who might tell him the truth.

  When he'd slipped as close as he dared in the daylight, he sat and leaned against a fallen tree trunk and waited for dark, as patient as his namesake. He had just been brought to the mission when this tree gave up its life. Because he had not yet had the Chumash beaten out of him, he had cried out as the tree fell and begun to pray that its spirit would find a new home, but then the padre had laid a whip across his back and he'd learned to be silent.

  The lesson of silence, if nothing else, had remained with him, he thought as he spotted two neophytes struggling under the weight of something. They were followed by Lucita and her mother. The neophytes stopped just outside the cemetery and began digging into the unyielding earth. Sunset had come and gone by the time the neophytes finished their task. Only then did the padres arrive, their heads bowed as if the world around them were of no consequence. With the leatherjackets gone, shouldn't they be concerned with their safety?

  Despite the need to absorb everything, he couldn't take his eyes off Lucita. Although she'd remained close to her mother the whole time it had taken for the grave to be dug, she seemed separate from what was happening, as if her thoughts, her soul even, resided somewhere else. Even now while the padres prayed and her mother sprinkled handfuls of dirt on the body, Lucita remained motionless.

  She should not be part of this!

  Perhaps she heard him; perhaps the thought had come to her on its own. Either way, Lucita abruptly left the small gathering, and other than her mother, who was staring after her, no one seemed to notice. When the padres were done, they, too, walked away, leaving only the neophytes to cover the body and Lucita's mother to pray. They'd just buried the leatherjacket he'd attacked; after seeing the size and width of the body, he had no doubt of that.

  * * *

  It was dark when the church bells rang, telling both Black Wolf and those who lived within the mission that the time for night prayer had once again arrived. As the sound of bare feet slapping on earth reached him, he cautiously started forward, reminding himself that the padres might have left those few they trusted to remain outside as guards.

  It wasn't right! His heart understood that he should hide from the leatherjackets, but to fear his own kind, those who had once been as one with him and who might again know what it was to be Chumash!

  The door to the leatherjackets' quarters was locked, making it necessary for him to slip around to the side where the window was, but he had no choice, hoisting himself onto the sill and making himself as small as possible before looking back. It didn't matter why the leatherjackets lived so close to the padres or why they all slept near the putrid tallow-rendering place. What did matter was that there was no hiding from the memories.

  He knew the smell, the feel, the size, maybe even the taste of what Father Patricio called home. How many times had he prayed he'd never have to enter the cell-like enclosure again, and how many times had his prayers gone unanswered?

  Despite his struggles, he ceased to be a man and became a child again. Although years had passed, he still felt
Father Patricio's hands on him and heard the man's whispered orders, felt himself tremble.

  Barely aware of what he was doing, he lowered himself back onto the ground and stared up at the small opening he would have to climb through if he hoped to capture what weapons the leatherjackets might have left behind. He didn't need to enter Father Patricio's living place, didn't have to trap himself inside that prison!

  Wolf had given him courage countless times. Wolf would once again fill his body with strength, and he would remain a warrior, no longer a helpless child. This he believed.

  His back pressed against the leatherjackets' wall because he couldn't force himself to be any closer to Father Patricio's essence, he howled, careful to keep the sound no louder than a whisper. What might have been nothing but could be danger caused him to whirl back around. The darkness was complete, and his eyes soon ached from the strain of trying to see. His ears told him that no one was there, and yet—

  Eyes, red and hot.

  Sucking in air, he leaned forward. A rush of warmth surged through him as he accepted that Wolf had come to him in the night and was staring back at him.

  You hear my heart beating, my spirit. You know my greatest fear. You understand that certain things will never leave me and that I will always need you.

  The amber eyes momentarily disappeared and then reappeared, and Black Wolf knew his spirit had blinked. He now made out the faintest of outlines and in his mind saw the great head with its open, grinning mouth and killing teeth.

  He had nothing to fear. Wolf was with him.

  One step became two, but before he could take another he stopped, because he was only a man and a man does not carelessly touch his spirit.

  "Thank you," he whispered.

  Another light glow appeared, but this one had nothing to do with the spirit world. Angry because someone had opened a door and was stepping outside, candle in hand, he balled his fingers into fists and stalked toward the intruder. Wolf was gone, taking his burning eyes with him.

  Sheltered by the night, Black Wolf belatedly remembered where he was and why he'd come here. Wolf would not protect him from his stupidity.