“My médico, Sargento Salvador, says we have fifteen men who are down. We need to get a helicopter in here, but we are too far into the jungle for them to land. One of the other officers is taking all the injured and sick back to the edge of the swamp. From there, they will march to the river, where the helicopters will fly in and take them to the nearest hospital, which is located in Manaus.”
“A lot of technical problems,” Roan agreed somberly. He reached down and removed his tin cup, which had coffee in it that had been warming over the last of the coals of their morning campfire. He offered some to Julian, who shook his head.
“Does Inca know any quick way out of this swamp? Is there any way we can get out of it now?”
Roan shrugged and sipped his coffee. “She said there is none. That was the problem. Once you committed to this route, there was no way out except back or straight ahead.”
“Damn,” Julian rasped. “Very well. I am lead point with my squad today. We will be working with you and Inca.” He smiled a little, his eyes dark with worry. “I’m afraid we’ll lose many more men today to this heat. There’s no cloud cover….”
“Just keep them drinking a lot of water, with frequent rests,” Roan advised solemnly.
“My father wants out of the swamp. He’s pushing the men beyond their physical limits. I can try, but he’s in command….”
Roan nodded grimly. “Then we will just have to do the best we can to get through this.”
Inca moved silently. It was dusk and she was watching the weary soldiers of the company erect their tents and reluctantly dig in for the coming night. Perspiration covered her. It had been a hot, humid, brutal day. She saw Colonel Marcellino in the distance. He was shouting at Julian, who stood stiffly at attention. Her heart broke for the young officer. She liked Julian. Why did his father have to treat him so cruelly? Did he not realize how fragile life was? They could all die in a minute in this deadly swamp.
She felt Roan coming, and leaned against a tree trunk and waited for him. The day had been hard on everyone. Even he, with his athleticism and strength, looked fatigued tonight. She nodded to him as he saw her. When he gave her a tired smile in return, her heart opened. Crossing her arms, she leaned languidly against the tree. Roan halted about a foot away from her, his hands coming to rest on his hips.
“They look pretty exhausted,” he muttered.
“They are. How many men went down today?”
“Twenty more to various things—malaria, dysentery and heat exhaustion.”
“Humph.” Brows knitting, Inca watched as Julian was dismissed. He disappeared quickly between the tents that were being raised. “The colonel is an old man and a fool. He will lose as many tomorrow, before we get out of this place.”
Scratching his head, Roan studied her in the soft dusk light. She had discarded her bandoliers and her rifle back at their recently made camp. Tendrils of hair stuck to her temples, and her long, thick braid was badly frayed by the high humidity. The soft pout of her lips, her half-closed eyes, made Roan want her as he’d never wanted another woman. He hoped she wasn’t reading his mind. Inca had told him she rarely read other people’s thoughts because it took much energy and focus. Most people’s thoughts were garbage anyway, she told him wryly. Roan sighed. Well, Inca was tired, there was no doubt. There were faint shadows beneath her large eyes. The heat had been brutal even on her, and she lived here year-round.
There was a sudden scream, and then a hail of gunfire within the camp. A number of men were running around, screaming, yelling and brandishing their weapons. More shots were fired.
Inca stood up, suddenly on guard. “What…?”
Roan moved protectively close, his hand on her shoulder, his eyes narrowed. The company of men looked like a disturbed beehive. There were more screams. More shouts. More gunfire. “I don’t know….”
Keying her hearing, Inca heard someone shout, “Médico! Médico!”
“Someone is hurt,” Inca said, her voice rising with concern. “Who, I do not know. There are no drug runners around, so what is going on?”
Before Roan could speak, he saw one of the point soldiers they’d worked with today, Ramone, come racing toward them. The point patrol always knew where they had their camp for the night. The look of terror etched on his young face made Roan grip Inca a little more securely. “Let’s see what’s going on.”
Inca agreed. She liked the touch of his hand on her shoulder. He stood like a protective guard, his body close and warm, and she hungrily absorbed his nearness.
Both of them stepped out into the path of the running, panting soldier. He cried out their names.
“Inca! We need you! Tenente Marcellino! A bushmaster snake bit him! Hurry! He will die!”
Stunned, Inca tore from beneath Roan’s hand. She knew she wasn’t supposed to enter the colonel’s camp. She was unarmed, and risking her own life because the colonel was capable of killing her.
“Inca!” Too late. Roan cursed. He saw her sprint down the trail, heading directly for where the men were running around and shouting. Damn. Roan gripped the soldier by the arm. “Let’s go. Show me where he’s lying.” Roan was a paramedic, but he didn’t have antivenin in his medical pack. He wasn’t even sure there was antivenin for the poison of a bushmaster. As he ran with Ramone, who was stumbling badly, he mentally went over the procedure for snakebite. This particular snake was deadly, he knew. No one survived a bite. No one. He saw Inca disappear between two tents. Digging in his toes, Roan plunged past the faltering and gasping soldier.
Julian Marcellino was lying on the ground near his tent, next to the brackish water of the swamp, and gripping his thigh. Blood oozed from between his white fingers. No more than three feet away lay a dead bushmaster snake that he’d killed with his pistol. Julian’s eyes were glazing over as Inca leaned over him. The médico, Sargento Salvador, had tears in his eyes as he knelt on the other side of the semiconscious officer.
“I can’t save him!” Salvador cried as Inca dropped to her knees opposite him.
“Be quiet!” Inca snarled. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Roan running up to her at the same time Jaime Marcellino did. “Move away!” she shouted. “Give me room. Be quiet! All of you!”
The men quickly hushed and made a wide semicircle around Julian. All eyes riveted upon Inca, who studied the two fang punctures as she gently removed Julian’s hand from his thigh.
“Uhh,” Julian gasped. His eyes rolled in his head. He saw darkness approaching. Inca was watching him intently through her slitted gaze. Her mouth was compressed. “I—I’m going to die….” he told her in a rasping tone.
“Julian,” Inca growled, “be still! Close your eyes. Whatever you do, do not cross the Threshold! Do you understand me? It is important not to walk across it.”
“Stop!” Jaime screamed as he ran toward them. “Do not touch my son!” He saw Inca place one hand over Julian’s heart and the other on the top of his head. His son lay prostrate and unmoving. His flesh, once golden, was now leached out like the color of bones found in the high desert of Peru.
Roan jerked the colonel’s arm back as he reached out to haul Inca away from where she knelt over Julian.
“No, Colonel! Let Inca try and help him,” Roan ordered tightly.
Glaring, the colonel fought to free himself from Roan’s grip. “Let me go, damn you! She’ll murder him, too! She’s a murderer!” His voice carried in the sudden eerie calm of the camp as the men stood watching the exchange.
Breathing hard, Roan pulled the pistol from his holster and pressed the barrel against the colonel’s sweaty temple. “Damn you, stand still or I’ll take you down here and now. Inca isn’t going to kill Julian. If anything, she’s the only thing standing between him and death right now. Let her try and heal him!”
Jaime felt the cold metal pressed against his temple. He saw Storm Walker’s eyes narrow with deadly earnestness. Yes, this man would shoot him. Sobbing, he looked down at Julian, who was unconscious now, his m
outh slack, his eyes rolled back in his head.
Roan looked around. “No one move!” he roared. “Let Inca do her work.”
Taking a deep, steadying breath, Inca leaned close to Julian. With one hand on his heart, the other on top of his head, she silently asked her guardian to come over her. She felt the incredible power of her guide as he did so. The moment he was in place, much like a glove fitting over a hand, she could see through his eyes. A powerful, whirling motion took place, and she felt herself being sucked down counterclockwise into a vortex of energy. In seconds, she stood in the tunnel of light. They were at the Threshold. Breathing hard and trying to hold her focus and not allow outside sounds to disrupt her necessary concentration, Inca saw Julian standing nearby. Two light beings, his guardians, were on the other side of the Threshold. Moving to them directly, she asked, “May I bring him back?”
Under Jaguar Clan laws, if the light beings said no, then she must allow his spirit to cross over, and he would die, physically. Inca had only once in her life made the mistake of disobeying that directive when she’d brought Michael Houston back from this place. He should have died. But she’d decided to take things into her own hands. And because she was young and only partly trained, she had died physically doing it. Only Grandmother Alaria’s power and persuasion had brought her back to life that fateful day so long ago.
Inca waited patiently. She saw the light beings convene. Julian was looking at them. She saw the yearning on his face to walk across that golden area that served as the border between the dimensions.
“If you decide to bring him back to your world,” one of the light beings warned, “you may die in the process. He is full of poison. You must run it quickly through your own body, or you will die. Do you understand?”
Inca nodded. “Yes, I do.” In her business as a healer, she had to take on the symptoms, in this case, the deadly snake venom, and run it through her own body in order to get rid of it. She would certainly perish if not for the power of her jaguar guardian, who would assist her with his energy in the process, draining it back into Mother Earth, who could absorb it. If it was done fast enough, she might survive.
“Then ask him to return. His tasks are not yet complete.”
Inca held out her hand to Julian. “Come, Julian. I will bring you home. You have work to do, my young friend.”
“I don’t want to return.”
Inca saw the tears in the young officer’s eyes. “I know,” she quavered unsteadily. “It is because of your father.”
“He doesn’t love me!” Julian cried out, the tears splattering down his face. “I am so distraught. I drew the snake to me, to bite me. I can’t stand the pain any longer!”
Inca knew that when things in life were very tough on a person, they sometimes drew an accident to them in order to break the pattern, the energy block they were wrestling with. By creating an accident, the gridlock was released and the person was allowed to work, in a new way, on the problem they’d chosen to learn from and work through. “I understand,” she told Julian in a soothing voice. Stretching out her fingertips, Inca moved slowly toward him. “Come, Julian, take my hand. I will bring you back. Your father loves you.”
“No, he doesn’t!” Julian sobbed. He turned toward the light beings on the other side. “I want to go. I want to cross. He’s never loved me! He only loved Rafael. I tried so hard, Inca…so hard to have him love me. To say he loved me, or to show me he cares just a fraction of how he cared for Rafael. But he treats me as if I’m not there. That is why I want to leave.”
Inca took another, deliberate step forward. “You cannot. You must come back with me, Julian. Now.” Once he touched her outstretched fingers, he had committed to coming back. Julian didn’t know that, but Inca did. It was a cosmic law. Halfheartedly, he took her hand.
“I don’t know…” he sobbed.
“I do.” And Inca forced the darkness she saw inhabiting his body to funnel up through her hand and into her body. She was literally willing the snake venom into herself. Instantly, she groaned. She felt the deadly power of the poison. Losing sight of Julian, of the light, Inca felt as if someone had smashed into her chest with a huge fist. Gasping, she tightened her grip around Julian’s hand. She knew if she lost him at this critical phase, that his spirit would wander the earth plane forever without a physical body. Hold on!
Roan heard Inca groan. She sagged against Julian, her head resting on his chest, her eyes tightly shut. Her mouth was contorted in a soundless cry. Worriedly, he sensed something was wrong. Marcellino moved, and Roan tightened his grip on the officer’s arm. “Stay right where you are,” he snarled, the pistol still cocked at his temple.
“My son!” Jaime suddenly cried, hope in his voice. He reached out toward Julian. “Look! Look! My God! Color is returning to his face! It is a miracle!”
Roan shot a glance toward Julian. Yes, it was true. Color was flooding back into Julian’s once pasty face. The men whispered. They collectively made a sound of awe as Julian’s lashes fluttered and he opened his eyes slightly.
But something else was wrong. Terribly wrong. Inca was limp against Julian. Her skin tone went from gold to an alarming white, pasty color. Roan felt a tremendous shift in energy—a wrenching sensation that was almost palpable, as if a lightning bolt had struck them. The soldiers blanched and reacted to the mighty wave of invisible energy.
As Julian weakly lifted his arm, opened up his mouth and croaked, “Father…” Inca moaned and fell unconscious to the ground beside him.
Roan released the colonel. Jamming the pistol into the holster, he went to Inca’s side. She lay with one arm above her head, the other beside her still body. Was she breathing? Anxiously, he dropped to his knees, all of his paramedic abilities coming to the forefront.
“Salvador! Get me a stethoscope! A blood pressure cuff!”
The médico leaped to his feet.
Jaime fell to Julian’s side, crying out his name over and over again. He gripped his son by the shoulders and shook him gently.
“Julian! Julian? Are you all right? My son, speak to me! Oh, please, speak to me!” And he pulled him up and into his arms.
A sob tore from Jaime as he crushed his son against him. He looked down to see that Julian’s color was almost normal. His lashes fluttered. When he opened his eyes again, Jaime saw that they were clear once more.
“Father?”
Jaime reacted as if struck by a thunderclap. A sob tore from him and he clasped his son tightly to him. “Thank God, you are alive. I could not bear losing you, too.”
Roan cursed under his breath. He took Inca’s blood pressure. It was dumping. She was dying. Heart pounding with anxiety, he threw the blood pressure cuff down and held her limp, clammy wrist. He could barely discern a pulse.
The men crowded closer, in awe. In terror. They all watched without a sound.
“Inca, don’t die on me, dammit!” Roan rasped as he slid his arm beneath her neck. He understood what she had done: used her own body to run the venom through. That was the nature of healing. Could she get rid of it soon enough? Could her jaguar spirit guide help her do it? Roan wasn’t sure, and he felt his heart bursting with anguish so devastating that all he could do was take her in his arms and hold her.
As he pressed her limp body against his, and held her tightly, he blocked out Jaime’s sobs and Julian’s stammered words. He blocked out everything. Intuitively, Roan knew that if he held Inca, if he willed his life energy, his heart, his love, into her, that it would help her survive this terrible tragedy. He’d seen his mother do this countless times—gather the one who was ill into her arms. She had told him what she was doing, and he now utilized that knowledge.
The instant Roan pressed her hard against him, her heart against his heart, his world shattered. It took every ounce of strength he’d ever had to withstand the energy exploding violently through him. Eyes closed, his brow against her cheek, he felt her limpness, felt her life slipping away.
No! It can’t
happen! Breathing hard, Roan tried to take deep, steadying breaths of air into his lungs as he held her. Behind his eyes, he saw murky, turgid green and yellow colors. Out of the murkiness came his cougar. He’d seen her many times before in his dreams and in the vision quest he took yearly upon his mother’s reservation. The cougar ran toward him full tilt in huge striding leaps. Roan didn’t understand what she was doing. He thought she would slam into him. Instead, as she took a mighty leap directly at him, he felt her warm, powerful body hit and absorb into his. The effect was so surprising that Roan felt himself tremble violently from it.
The yellowish-green colors began to fade. He felt the cougar in him, around him, covering him. It was the oddest sensation he’d ever experienced. He felt the cougar’s incredible endurance and energy. It was as if fifty thousand volts of electricity were coursing through him, vibrating him and flowing out of him and into Inca. Dizzy, Roan felt himself sit down unceremoniously on the damp ground with Inca in his arms. He heard the concerned murmurs of soldier’s voices. But his concentration, his focus, belonged inside his head, inside this inner world where the drama between life and death was taking place.
Instinctively, Roan held Inca with all his strength. He saw and felt the cougar’s energy moving vibrantly into Inca. He saw the gold color, rich and clean, moving like an energy transfusion into her body. The murky colors disappeared and in their place came darkness. But it wasn’t a frightening darkness, rather, one of warmth and nurturance. Roan knew only to hold Inca. That in holding her, he was somehow helping her to live, not die.
When Inca moaned softly, Roan felt himself torn out of the drama of the inner worlds. His eyes flew open. Anxiously, he looked down at the woman in his arms. Her flesh had returning color. And when her lashes fluttered weakly to reveal drowsy willow-green eyes, his heart soared with the knowledge that she was not going to die. Hot tears funneled through him and he rapidly blinked them away.
He felt Salvador’s hand on his shoulder. “How can we help?” he asked.
Slightly weakened, Roan roused himself and looked up. “Just let me sit here with her. She’s going to be okay….” he rasped to the soldiers who stood near, their faces filled with genuine concern.
Morgan's Mercenaries: Heart Of The Warrior Page 15
