by Karen Kay
Their sweet harmony could tame the wrath of a god…or separate them forever.
The Lost Clan, Book 4
Black Lion was sent into the real world to break the curse that dooms his clan to a half life in the mists. Yet no matter how many times he has shown an enemy mercy, the Thunderer’s spell remains intact.
In his beseeching prayers, he hears a song that leads him to join Buffalo Bill’s Wild West Show on its travels to London. There he encounters the daughter of two opera singers—the most beautiful woman he’s ever seen. A woman already engaged to another man.
Months later, Suzette Joselyn travels to America, a woman changed. Friendless, abandoned by her former fiancé—and pregnant—she finds it impossible to refuse the gentle Lakota Sioux’s proposal to save her child from being born a bastard. Even if it means flashing a pistol to force a reluctant parson to marry them.
Yet her brave new husband is consumed with a mission that may force him to choose between his people and the woman he loves. For the Thunderer is waiting, watching for the perfect time to work his evil deed.
This book has been previously published.
Warning: Sensual sex that may want you to make a little sweet music with the one you love. Happily ever after could ensue. Don’t say we didn’t warn you.
The Last Warrior
Karen Kay
Dedication
This book is dedicated with love to my very dear friend, Sue Swift Friedman.
To my wonderful agent, Roberta Brown.
To Caroline Veach. Thank you for your care and your help with the music, and for introducing me to the magic of André Rieu.
To friend and fan Velma Boren. Thank you for your years of support.
And to my husband, Paul Bailey, whom I love with all my heart.
Prologue
In a time long ago, a Northwest Indian tribe betrayed the god of thunder. When the men of the tribe sought to kill more game than was needed, the children of the Thunder god thought to intercede on the animals’ behalf. Because the tribe’s greed had turned to lust, the men—who were cheered on by the women—killed the Thunderer’s children, every one.
In retaliation, the Thunderer sought to destroy every member of the clan, all bands. It would have been accomplished, too, if not for the Creator, who intervened.
“Nay, these people shall not die,” the Creator decreed. Instead He sent the people into the mist. There, they would live a half existence, neither alive nor dead.
But once a generation, each tribal band would be charged with the responsibility to summon a boy to become their champion. Armed only with the knowledge that he must show kindness to an enemy, this boy would become real and go out into the world, entrusted with the duty to break the spell.
In 1875, there is but one tribal band left imprisoned in the mist. Black Lion, a lad of twelve, has been chosen by the medicine man, White Claw, to represent this last band, the Black Fire band.
Venturing forth into the world, Black Lion has grown to full manhood within the Hunkpapa band of the Lakota Sioux. Many times he has confronted the enemy, and in each instance, he has shown kindness and understanding. Yet the spell remains intact. Because of this, Black Lion has become desperate.
Meanwhile, the Thunderer’s heart has become harsher, blacker. In his possession now are four stone nuggets, each containing the image of one of his children. However owning these stones has not healed the Thunderer’s thirst for revenge. In fact, it is the opposite. Because of the images in the stones, he can see his children, but never can he be with them.
Thus, he has sworn eternal revenge, making it his task to prevent this last of the tribes from ever going free. To this end, the Thunderer follows Black Lion, not intruding on him, at least not yet, but always is the Thunderer awaiting the right time and the right place to work his evil deed.
Chapter One
Aboriginal people in the United States have been closely involved with circuses, staged buffalo hunts, Wild West performances, and other forms of public entertainment for more than 150 years. As early as 1843, PT Barnum included Native dancers as part of his “Grand Buffalo Hunt.”
Morgan Baillargeon & Leslie Tepper
Legends of our Times: Native Cowboy Life
The Hunkpapa Reservation
South Dakota
Autumn, 1890
“You must go in my place.” Two Bears clutched at Black Lion’s hand. Two Bears lay on the floor atop a bed of soft buffalo robes. His one-room shack was shabby, dark and decorated with scarce furniture. In a corner of the room, Two Bears’s wife, Rabbit Leggings, lingered. But she made no attempt at conversation. Perhaps she was too worried.
Black Lion squatted next to Two Bears. He held a cloth to wipe the sweat from Two Bears’s face. Said Black Lion, “Ho, I cannot go. Though I would do most anything for you, in this, I must stand firm. Surely you realize this.”
Two Bears groaned.
“Wait and see,” continued Black Lion. “You will get well. You will be able to travel with the Long-haired Show Man.”
“Hiya! No! My brother, the white man’s disease has me in its grip—it eats at me. I need rest if I am to recover. And if I go, I fear I will not get well, for I have heard rumors that the ride across the great water is treacherous.”
Black Lion hesitated for a long moment. At last, choosing his words with care, he voiced, “My brother, can you not ask me for some other favor? I will give you most anything else, if it is within my power to command it. But I cannot travel with the Long-haired Show Man in your place. Though you are my kola, my brother, you know I come from another tribe and that I am sworn with a trust to help my people. If I go to this England, a land that is far from here, it would be as to give up all hope for what I must accomplish. And if I fail in my task, as others before me have done, forever will I have to live with the knowledge that I let my people down in their time of need.”
Two Bears shut his eyes, pressing his lips together. He drew in a shaky breath. “Waste. I understand. You are right. It is not my place to ask you to do this.”
Black Lion remained silent.
“But,” said Two Bears, “you would only be gone for one full journey of the sun, for this is what it says in my contract with the Long-haired Show Man. Only a year in this village called England. When you return here, I would probably be well enough to finish the rest of my contract without your aid. You then could go your own way and would still have time to end the curse that plagues you. Perhaps I might even be able to aid you in doing so once I have recovered.”
Black Lion swallowed hard, his throat constricted with anguish. In the distance, Two Bears’s wife dropped a pot over the fire, the flames rising to sizzle around its bottom. Though she never intervened in their conversation, Black Lion was more than aware that she, too, pinned her hopes on Black Lion taking her husband’s place.
Black Lion said, “Tell the Long-haired Show Man you cannot go.”
“It is impossible.”
“It is not impossible,” countered Black Lion. “He is still in our camp. Simply tell him of your problem and promise to become a part of the show in the next full season.”
“Hiya, you don’t understand. The Long-haired Show Man has already paid me a portion of the money I will make, for I have needed to buy things before I go. He and I made a pact, one he calls an advance on my work.”
“Then give the money back to him.”
Two Bears looked sheepish. “I have already spent it on food and farming tools for my family.”
Black Lion gritted his teeth.
“I have no way to pay him back that money,” Two Bears add
ed.
“Tula, it would never work,” Black Lion said in defense, as though he knew he was trapped. “Except for our hair and eye color, we look nothing alike. The Long-haired Show Man will surely see the difference between the two of us.”
“He will not make the connection. I have heard him say that all Indians look alike. He will not presume to know the difference.”
“But there are other Hunkpapas going with the show. They know you; they know me. They will tell him of the deception, for they cannot lie.”
“But as long as the Long-haired Show Man does not ask them if you are who you say you are, no one need lie, not even you.”
Black Lion exhaled an extremely deep, drawn-out sigh.
Said Two Bears, “Think on it, my kola. Think on it.”
Black Lion hesitated. Inwardly, he wanted nothing to do with it. If he left here, it would, indeed, place him at a disadvantage. But Black Lion also knew that if Two Bears were in his place, his kola would do this for him, and more. Was that not the very meaning of a man’s kola? Was it not a friendship that placed honor to each other above all things, including one’s life, one’s vow to another?
At last, Black Lion nodded. “I have no need to think on it further. Of course I will do as you ask. You are right, I will have two years left when the show is ended, and were our places reversed, I know that you would do this for me. Therefore, I will do it.”
Two Bears breathed out slowly, and across the room could be heard a feminine sigh of relief. Two Bears bobbed his head. “I ask much of you, my brother. This I will admit. Know that if I were not so ill, I would never presume to impinge on you, on our vow of friendship. But I promise you that when you return, I will help you in your quest in any way I can.” As though the mere speaking of these words taxed him, Two Bears lay back upon his bed of soft and warm buffalo robes, pulling a white man’s trade blanket up around his neck. “But have you considered that perhaps what you seek may not be in this country? The white man is a cunning enemy, to be sure, and he lives in many different places. Perhaps what you hope to find is not here. Maybe this is the best chance you could ever have.”
Black Lion inclined his head. “Sece, perhaps. It could be.” Although personally, he didn’t think it was so. “Come, my friend, you need your rest. And I think your wife, Rabbit Leggings, is happy about our talk. But she is also waiting to serve you dinner.”
“Stay and partake your meal with us,” said Two Bears. “It would honor me if you would do so.”
In the not-so-long-ago past, Black Lion would have accepted the invitation without hesitation. But not now. Food was too scarce here on the rez. He shook his head. “I thank you for asking, but I must decline. If I am to leave with the Long-haired Show Man, I must find a spot where I might seek out the Great Spirit, for I would not go on this journey without His guidance.”
Two Bears jerked his chin to the left in a typical Lakota gesture. “Hau, yes. Go. Seek your vision as the old ones used to do before the white man came and forbade us to speak to the Creator as our fathers thought was right.”
Black Lion frowned. What his friend said was true. No longer could their people worship the Creator as they had always done. Indeed, so many things had changed since the people had been forced onto these small reservations that the Lakota were almost a different people.
Black Lion said, “This is good advice. But I fear that the Indian agent will never let me leave the reservation to seek this vision.”
“Then perhaps you could slip away undetected for a day or two without the Indian agent being the wiser. Certainly, our old scouts would have been able to do so. Seek out their advice.”
“Hau, hau. You give me good counsel. This I will do.”
“Waste. Good. It is good.” Two Bears lay back, inhaling an unsteady breath.
“And now I will leave you, kola. I will let you rest. I only ask that once I go with this Long-haired Show Man, you will promise me that if it is in your power to do so, you will be well when I return.”
“I will give it all my best attention.” He grinned slightly.
“Then I can ask no more than that from you.”
The two men clutched arms, and with a slight nod, Black Lion came up to his feet. Without another word, he let himself out of Two Bears’s shabby cabin.
Naked, Black Lion sat in a circle of the smoking, fragrant herbs, those of sage and sweet grass. As the Lost Clan’s medicine man, White Claw, had directed so long ago, Black Lion had cleansed his body in the herbs’ sacred smoke. Alert, Black Lion watched the morning sun rise into the eastern sky, and even though his spirits were low, he rejoiced in the new day set out before him.
On his knees, and from his position atop a lonely butte, he raised his arms to the heavens. Lifting his voice so that the Great Spirit heard it, he sang:
“Wakantanka, Great Spirit, I come to you to ask advice. What must I do to end this curse for my people?
Wakantanka, I leave this country to go with the Long-haired Show Man across the great water, for I am honor bound to defend my friend.
Wakantanka, help me. I do not know what I am doing wrong. Have I not shown my enemy mercy; have I not bestowed kindness? Why does the curse still remain?
Wakantanka, I go because I must help my friend. I only ask that you understand.
Wakantanka, I will return when the show is ended for this season, and when I come back, I promise I will not rest until I discover how to end this enchantment that binds my people.
Wakantanka, to show you that my heart is in the right place, I offer you not only my flesh, I proffer you the best possessions I have. My robe, given to me by my Lakota grandfather, is now yours. My arrows, bestowed upon me by my father who is still imprisoned in the mist, I give to you.”
Black Lion placed the robe and the arrows on the ground before him. Then, as he had been guided to do by his elder, White Claw, he cut off sections of his flesh on both of his arms, offering the gift to He who stands above all others. Returning to his knees, there amidst the aromatic herbs, he continued:
“Wakantanka, hear my plea. If you accept these gifts, I would ask your guidance.
Wakantanka, I have said it. My prayer is done.”
Black Lion sat back on his heels. Fanning the gentle smoke onto his body, he closed his eyes and inhaled deeply. That was when he heard it.
A song. A beautiful yet strange song wafted to him on the wind. It was unlike any other melody he had ever heard. It was also sung in a language he did not understand. The structure of its refrains was different than those he was accustomed to, and he wondered at it, for it had a strong beat, and then two small ones; then again, a strong beat, and then two small ones, over and over. Gradually, he began to hum along with the strain, finding it pleasing, soothing.
But who was singing this melody to him? He glanced to his right, to his left, behind him, all around him. There was no bird here, no other person to be found on this butte, which itself was stuck out in the middle of the prairie. Then came the words:
“Human!”
Who was talking to him?
“Human, hear me,” said a voice. Looking in the direction from which the words came, Black Lion recognized his namesake, the mountain lion, or perhaps more correctly, lioness.
“You must seek this song, and the singer of it. Look for it in a place far from here. Seek it wherever you may go. It is a white man’s song, it is true, but its heart is Indian and will always be so. Once you find this most sacred melody and the person who owns it, you must sing it with a brave heart, and not one word must be missing from its verse. If you do this, you will pierce the Thunderer’s heart. The melody will heal his anger as well as his need for revenge, and he will cease to be your enemy. When this happens, your people will be freed from their entrapment. I will sing the song one more time. Listen well, for when that moment comes, remember that not one word must be misplace
d.”
Black Lion nodded. “I am listening. Will you chant it more than once so that I may learn it well?”
But the lioness didn’t answer. Instead, she sang the song one more time, and Black Lion, attending to it well, memorized every word.
From high up in a cloud, the Thunderer watched the mountain lioness and this last champion. He grumbled, and the skies echoed the sound. So, thought he, this last champion means to find a song. Did the mountain lioness possess some magic that was unknown to him, a god?
A song? To heal his heart?
The very notion was impossible. Glancing toward the golden effigies of his four children, the Thunderer knew true rage, for while his children were caught in stone, in image only, most of the clan now roamed free upon the earth.
“Never will my heart heal,” he exclaimed, and thunder tossed through the heavens. “Never! Only when my children are free will I ever think to forgive. So sing all you desire, you, who are the last champion. It will do you little good. In sooth, it will do you no good. None!”
He laughed, the sound of it echoing down to the mountaintop below.
Black Lion, hearing it, felt his spirits sink.
Chapter Two
London
Summer, 1892
The sun was high, the day was sultry, warm and muggy, and despite the fact the exhibition’s seating provided a canvas roof for protection, nineteen-year-old Suzette Joselyn was hot. Daintily, she pressed a handkerchief to her forehead.
What, she wondered, had possessed her to accompany her grandmother, Irena, to this rather crude display of American culture? Even though people from all over London had flocked here—especially after the Prince of Wales’s endorsement of the show—it still seemed to her that the show would be crude indeed.
Irritated, Suzette thought of the old saying about a cat and its dire curiosity. Perhaps next time she would heed the cliché’s warning before agreeing to one of Irena’s schemes.
