Windwalker

by Sharon Sala

  He stayed close to her as he scanned the crowd, searching for the absent Shamans. When he finally saw them struggling to push through the crowd, he shouted down. “Let them pass.”

  The crowd parted, and the old men came up the steps one by one. By the time they reached the top, they were hesitant to look into Singing Bird’s face for fear she would have them banished as she had Chak.

  Cayetano knew what they were thinking and gave them a warning look.

  Ah Kin dipped his head and whispered softly. “My Chief, do you want us to pray?”

  He tightened his grip on his woman. “There is no need,” he said. “Singing Bird says it means nothing.”

  “But Cayetano, if we anger the Gods, they may not give back the light.”

  His frown darkened. “I said, there is no need. You heard my woman’s words. The sun and moon are merely passing each other and the light will return.”

  Layla knew what courage that took to deny everything he knew about Gods and omens, and take her at her word. She stood beside him, her head up, her gaze fixed on their faces. They looked away, and so the watch continued.

  When the sun was completely gone, a gasp rose from the crowd. Layla felt their fear, but the New Ones held their ground, and she knew that they were safe.

  When the first sliver of sun began to appear on the other side of the darkness, there was another sigh, but this time, it was one of relief.

  Cayetano’s whole body relaxed and she felt it.

  “See, my heart, my words were true,” she whispered.

  “I knew that,” he said.

  She stepped away and shouted out as she pointed to the sky.

  “See, the moon is telling the sun goodbye and is going away. It will be light again soon, and the birds will fly and all will be as it was.”

  As they waited, the sky went from dark to dim, then from dim to dusk, and then finally the bright light of day had returned. The sun was whole. The moon was no more, and as Singing Bird promised, the sky was filled with birds, and the jungle woke as if it was a new day.

  The crowd that had been in such a panic moved away, going back to their daily tasks with nervous laughter. Layla took off down the steps to the New Ones who had turned to face her. They were waving and shouting her name.

  Layla was in tears as she stopped at the first tier of the temple. She began walking around it, calling out her thanks and waving, laughing as she recognized faces in the crowd. It was a homecoming long overdue.

  She walked until she had circled the temple to find Cayetano waiting. She ran the last few steps, laughing.

  He caught her as she ran, sweeping her off her feet and into his arms, unashamed of feelings for the woman who held his heart.

  Late that night, long after the boys had gone to bed and the palace was finally quiet, Layla lay in Cayetano’s arms, but she couldn’t sleep.

  The night was dark. The moon was gone from the sky. It was a dark so profound that she would have been afraid were it not for his presence. The air was cool, but his body heat kept her warm. She snuggled backward a little closer, taking comfort in the way his arms instinctively tightened, as if, even in sleep, he would not let her go. Finally, she laid one hand on his arm, the other on her belly, and closed her eyes. Her family was complete.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  The day of harvest celebration dawned with the sounds of jubilation. Many tapirs had been killed for the feast. The night before, the carcasses were wrapped in banana leaves and placed in fire pits, then piled high with fiery coals so they could cook all night. Squash and beans were in pots over cooking fires, while yams baked in hot coals. Women were pounding grain to make flat cakes they baked on hot stones and the scents of roasting pig and baking bread filled the air.

  Layla had been sick again all morning and stayed in the room, but as the sun moved across the sky, her energy returned. The servants knew the Chief’s wife was with child, which meant even more good fortune for Naaki Chava.

  Cayetano sat with her, watching the rise and fall of her breasts as she combed the tangles from her just-washed hair, and seeing the laughter in her eyes as the boys sat around her feet. They were like little parrots from the jungle, always moving, always squawking; entertaining her with their chatter. She was a natural mother, and yet she would give birth to only one. It hurt his heart to know this was so, but reminded himself the journey they were on was no longer about them. They had both come back in time to right a wrong.

  Layla caught him watching and flashed back to the day she’d first seen his face. Time had taken care of her confusion between loving Niyol and remembering Cayetano. The man before her was beautiful in her eyes. He was flesh and blood real, not a spirit, and she was a woman with a baby in her belly. It was enough.

  Suddenly, she wanted him, and knew the lust was on her face as she watched his eyes narrow and his nostrils flare.

  She stood. “Boys. Go play for a while. Feed the birds. Find something to play outside. The day is too beautiful to be indoors and I want some quiet.”

  The boys left willingly, but the moment they were outside in the hall they began to giggle between themselves.

  “They will make love,” Yuma said, rolling his eyes.

  The twins nodded.

  “It’s better than making war,” Evan said.

  Adam punched his arm and then all three of them went running down the hall.

  Cayetano closed the door and dropped his breechclout; his erection growing even as he walked toward her.

  Layla came out of her clothing to stand naked before him, wearing nothing but the necklace with the silver bird. When he took her hand, she pulled him down onto the sleeping mat.

  He slid an arm beneath her neck as she turned to face him. Her breasts were heavy against his hand. The long fall of her hair was cool and damp on the back of his arm. He could hardly breathe for the want.

  “I ache to feel you inside me,” she whispered, and rolled over onto her back, making room for him to come in, and so he did.

  She was wet and ready when Cayetano slid between her legs, then into her depths. There was no waiting, no foreplay, no need. Her arms were around his neck, and when he took her, a sigh of satisfaction slid up her throat and against his ear. He closed his eyes and began to move.

  Layla wrapped her legs around his waist as he took her right where she wanted to go. The lust between them was as hot as the love was deep. And so it went, body to body, heart to heart; giving into a primal urge as old as time.

  She was on top, rocking against him when the climax began to roll through her in a white-hot burst of heat, shattering thought, and what was left of her control.

  Cayetano felt her inner muscles suddenly clench. She was at her peak. With what was left of his control, he tightened his grip, pulled her down hard, and let go of his seed.

  She collapsed on top of him, spent and trembling in every muscle—a feeling of completion like no other.

  “You are my heart. You are my love,” she whispered.

  His eyes were closed so she could not see his tears.

  “I said that you would love me,” he whispered, and held her even closer.

  He felt her laughter, and although she made no sound, it filled his soul.

  ***

  Bazat waited for Naaki Chava’s harvest celebration to seek his revenge. When morning dawned, he left the City of the Sun with six men and the shaman who had come with the eclipse. No one cared that they were gone, and a good many hoped they did not return. They would rather be a city without a leader, than to endure another day of tyranny under the little man with the dark heart.

  For Bazat, the trek to Naaki Chava was oddly without incident, which left him with the belief that the Gods were watching over him, keeping the wild animals and big snakes from their path. They moved at a steady lope without talking, resting only when the shaman could
not keep up.

  Chak had seen into the wily chief’s heart and it had put a knot in his belly that wouldn’t go away. Bazat was using him as a means to an end. Once this day was over, Chak had no idea how his own fate would play out. Even though the death of Cayetano was something he’d wanted all his life, he had a bad feeling. But, he was on this path, and there was no stepping aside. So he trailed behind the warriors, at times struggling to keep up, knowing the only reason they hadn’t run off and left him was because he knew a back way into the palace without being seen.

  It was late afternoon by the time they reached the outskirts of the city. Chak led them into a secure hiding place behind the palace and pointed toward the back entrance.

  “They will be in their quarters now, preparing for the evening feast. We wait until after dark and then we go in. They will be full of food and drink. It will be the perfect time to strike.”

  Bazat heard and settled the men into place, waiting for the sun to go down and the moon to come up; the only witness to their treachery.

  ***

  The ceremony had come and gone without incident. The Shamans blessed the harvest, the offerings had been left on the temple steps, and the city was finally at rest.

  Layla put the boys to sleep herself, and once she was satisfied all was well, went back to their private quarters.

  Cayetano waited for her, hungry for a repeat of their earlier lovemaking. By the time they collapsed in a tangle of arms and legs, they were exhausted. He pulled a blanket up to their waists and moved her close against him before falling asleep.

  Aware that on this day several thousand years ago, she had been murdered, Layla had a difficult time falling asleep. She kept hearing noises and whispers, but they were only in her head. She couldn’t tell if it was remnants of an ancient memory, or simply a bad dream.

  ***

  The rooms were dark and she could hear screams coming from every direction. Someone was chasing her, but no matter how fast she ran, she couldn’t escape.

  Her baby was crying, run, Mother, run.

  And then a voice from the past!

  You will fight but you must not die.

  Windwalker? Is that you?

  ***

  She rolled out of Cayetano’s arms, waking him instantly, and in the moonlight, he saw tears on her face. He shook her awake.

  “Singing Bird! Open your eyes.”

  Layla gasped and sat up before she was fully awake.

  “What’s wrong?”

  He touched her face. “You cry.”

  She swiped the tears from her cheeks. “It was a dream.”

  “A sad dream?”

  She frowned, remembering all too vividly the voice that she’d heard.

  “I don’t know.”

  He, too, was all too aware of the significance of this day. His gut knotted.

  “Do you sense trouble?”

  “Maybe. I’m not sure. Would you go check on the boys?”

  He brushed a single tear from the side of her eye and pulled up her cover against the night chill.

  “Yes, anything to make these go away,” he said softly, then got up and donned his breechclout, palmed his knife, and walked out of their room.

  ***

  Bazat and his men were armed and already inside the palace, following Chak through shadowy corridors, moving soundlessly on bare feet past the servants rooms, past the kitchen where the scents of the food prepared earlier still lingered. Once they stopped abruptly, waiting in a back hallway for a pair of guards to pass by.

  It was all Chak could do to keep Bazat from attacking right then. The little man was crazed with bloodlust and ready to kill, no matter who crossed his path. As soon as the hall was empty, Chak motioned for them to follow.

  ***

  Even though Cayetano had gone to check on the boys, Layla’s uneasiness persisted. She got up, put on a robe that she often wore to the bath and went to the window overlooking the city. It was not for the first time since their arrival that she’d remembered other cities and the lights that burned in streets, and the businesses that stayed open all night. Remembering the way the shops would be decorated for different holidays, and how the seasons came and went, marking off their lives and the years. She remembered her grandfather’s face, and how his eyes would crinkle up so tightly when he laughed that they nearly went shut. Remembering the sounds of that life and the civilization that came with it and knowing it was forever gone was like a fist in her gut.

  When the air shifted behind her, she looked over her shoulder and suddenly shivered. The door was shut, but even though the sound was faint, she heard footsteps. She turned abruptly, facing the door. There were too many footsteps for it to be Cayetano. That was when the message hit her.

  You will fight, but you must not die.

  She grabbed her knife and slipped into the darkest shadows of the room, her heart pounding; her eyes wide and fixed upon the door.

  ***

  Cayetano moved with a long confident stride as he walked to the boys room. This was their stronghold—it was the safe place. Yet he wouldn’t discount Singing Bird’s dream. She was a woman of many faces, and had powers now she’d never had before.

  He reached their door and then slipped in. His plan was just to check on them without waking them, but the moment he crossed the threshold, Yuma sat up, clutching a knife.

  Cayetano knelt. “It’s me. I only came to see if you were well.”

  Yuma’s gaze was blank. He was still asleep.

  Cayetano started to wake him when Yuma jumped to his feet and pointed at the twins.

  “Bazat is in the palace!”

  The twins had heard Cayetano’s voice, and were waking up even as Yuma stood. The moment he did, their intuitions kicked in and they screamed in unison.

  “Bazat and his warriors are at Layla’s door!”

  A wave of horror went through Cayetano as he pointed at the twins. “Hide yourselves.”

  When he turned to run, Yuma was nowhere in sight. He bolted out of the room, screaming for the guards as he ran.

  ***

  Chak heard the shouts.

  “They know we’re here!” he hissed.

  Bazat pointed to his warriors. “We do not wait to fight. Attack those who follow!”

  His men ran toward the shouts as Chak bolted in the opposite direction. His intent was to get to the temple. The other Shamans here would hide him, and when Cayetano and his woman were dead, they would be in charge.

  Bazat burst into the room, expecting to see the chief and his woman in a state of sleep. Instead, the sleeping mats were empty. It was instinct that made him turn as she came at him from out of the dark. But Bazat was well-versed in the art of war. He feinted to the right and ducked under the blade just before she would have separated his head from his neck.

  Layla didn’t know who the little man was, but she felt the evil emanating. He was laughing, even as he came at her in a crouching leap.

  She spun away, but he caught her by the arm and slashed downward with the knife. Instead of hitting flesh, the blade caught on the chain of her necklace. The bird went flying, but her father’s necklace had saved her life.

  And that was when Layla’s fury kicked in.

  Bazat was enjoying the fight when she suddenly screamed, but it wasn’t in fear. It was nothing but pure rage, and it sent a chill up his spine. He’d never had a woman fight him like a warrior. It was time to finish this.

  He darted sideways, and when she moved to follow the motion, he took a quicker step back in the other direction and just like that, the tide had turned. Layla’s knife went flying, and she was on her back and fighting for her life.

  Fury lived in every facet of her being. She wouldn’t give—she wouldn’t roll over and die—not again. Not like this. She gripped his wrist with both hands, kicki
ng her legs, bucking her body beneath him in an effort to throw him off as she struggled to keep the knife from her chest.

  Her fight was eerily silent now. Nothing but the fierce grunts and short gasps for breath, as his greater weight and physical strength began to take its toll. Unless a miracle occurred, this was a battle she would lose.

  He was laughing as he finally broke her grip on the knife. He pinned her wrists over her head with one hand, and held the knife above her head with his other.

  “Scream now, Singing Bird! It is your night to die!”

  Layla caught a flash of movement over Bazat’s shoulders a split second before she heard the solid thud of what sounded like a fist to flesh. Then it seemed as time stood still.

  As she watched, he let out a tiny whine—like letting the air out of a balloon—then fell forward in a convulsive shudder, pinning her to the floor with his lifeless body.

  She was pushing and screaming, “get him off, get him off,” when Cayetano burst into the room, followed by guards carrying torches.

  The moment there was light in the room, she saw Yuma in a half-crouch beside her. His eyes were wild, his face splattered in blood, and she could tell from the angle of his body that he’d tried to throw himself between her and Bazat. Then she saw a knife, stuck to the hilt in the middle of Bazat’s back and shuddered.

  It was Yuma who had saved her life!

  Leave no one behind.

  Even as Cayetano was shouting her name and pulling the dead body away, she was reaching for Yuma’s hand. The moment that she was free, she sat up and pulled him into her lap.

  He was trembling, but his voice was as steady as her heartbeat.

  “He is dead, right?”

  “Yes, my little warrior, he is dead,” she whispered. “You saved my life.”

  He nodded. “And Tyhen. I protect her with my life. She belongs to me.”

  Layla looked up.

  Cayetano was stunned. This child had not only saved her, he’d also broken the curse. The man who had killed Singing Bird was dead, but not by his hand.