Savage Illusions

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by Cassie Edwards


  Nervously run­ning his long, le­an fin­gers thro­ugh his ha­ir, Spot­ted Eag­le ga­zed down at Jole­na. "You tur­ned from me ear­li­er when I was re­ady to re­ve­al all truths to you," he sa­id. "Now you are ple­ading with me for the­se an­s­wers? Why is that?"

  "It is only be­ca­use I co­uld not un­der­s­tand why you didn't tell me the mo­ment you dis­co­ve­red who my true pa­rents we­re," Jole­na res­pon­ded. "I… tho­ught you we­re pla­ying so­me sort of ga­me with me. Now I can tell it is mo­re than that. Un­til now, so­met­hing has kept you from re­ve­aling the truth to me. What has chan­ged yo­ur mind?"

  "The com­mit­ment that is bu­il­ding bet­we­en us," Spot­ted Eag­le sa­id, re­ac­hing for her hands and hol­ding them lo­vingly with his. "The­re sho­uld be no sec­rets bet­we­en a man and wo­man who are con­tem­p­la­ting mar­ri­age."

  "Are we?" Jole­na sa­id, her vo­ice soft. "Are we truly con­tem­p­la­ting mar­ri­age?"

  "It is my de­ep de­si­re to ha­ve you as my nit-o-ke­manmy wi­fe," Spot­ted Eag­le sa­id, dra­wing her in­to his em­b­ra­ce. "Let me ca­re for you. Let us sha­re in ever­y­t­hing we do, and it is my so­lemn pro­mi­se to you that the­re will be no mo­re sec­rets bet­we­en us." "The­re is only one mo­re thing in li­fe that I want as badly as I want to marry you," Jole­na sa­id, swal­lo­wing hard as she le­aned back eno­ugh to be ab­le to lo­ok in­to his dark eyes. "Spot­ted Eag­le, you men­ti­oned my pa­rents' na­mes. You ha­ve known them. I know my mot­her is de­ad. But what of my true fat­her?"

  "Your true fat­her, Brown Elk, is well and so­on I will ta­ke you to him," Spot­ted Eag­le sa­id. "I will do it to­mor­row at the early sun's ri­sing, if you so wish."

  Jolena eased from his arms and be­gan a slow pa­cing, her eyes tro­ub­led. She was eager to see her true fat­her and fe­el the em­b­ra­ce of her true pe­op­le, yet… yet she had anot­her fat­her, one with whom her li­fe had be­en sha­red!

  Already she had cho­sen, by ac­cep­ting Spot­ted Eag­le's pro­po­sal of mar­ri­age, not to li­ve with him an­y­mo­re.

  How wo­uld be un­der­s­tand any of this, es­pe­ci­al­ly that she wo­uld for­get her lo­yal­ti­es to him af­ter he had gi­ven her ever­y­t­hing in li­fe that was go­od?

  She stop­ped and tur­ned to­ward Spot­ted Eag­le, kno­wing what she must do, even tho­ugh de­la­ying me­eting with her true fat­her was eating away at her. "No," she sa­id, her vo­ice al­most fa­iling her be­ca­use her emo­ti­ons we­re run­ning so sharply thro­ugh her. "I must con­ti­nue se­ar­c­hing for the elu­si­ve, ra­re but­terfly. On­ce I find it and can send it back to my fat­her in Sa­int Lo­u­is with Kirk, along with the ot­her spe­ci­mens that I ha­ve ca­ught for my fat­her's col­lec­ti­on, then I will fe­el that I ha­ve in part re­pa­id my whi­te fat­her for be­ing so go­od to me."

  She pa­used and her eyes be­amed up in­to Spot­ted Eag­le's. "Then I will fe­el free to go to my true fat­her and re­ve­al my iden­tity to him," she mur­mu­red. "It will be a day of mi­rac­les, Spot­ted Eag­le, that af­ter all the­se ye­ars, I will fi­nal­ly be ab­le to em­b­ra­ce my true fat­her and my true pe­op­le."

  Then she be­ca­me so­lemn aga­in. "You ha­ve not yet told me how you knew who I was," she sa­id softly. "Do­es so­me­one el­se know? Did they po­int me out to you, sa­ying that I was the da­ug­h­ter of Brown Elk?"

  Then her eyes wi­de­ned and she spo­ke aga­in be­fo­re Spot­ted Eag­le had the chan­ce to an­s­wer. "Am I Blac­k­fo­ot li­ke you?" she as­ked, her vo­ice an­xi­o­us.

  "Very much so," Spot­ted Eag­le sa­id, dra­wing her clo­se and hug­ging her tightly.

  "That is won­der­ful," Jole­na sig­hed, clin­ging to him. "Now, dar­ling, tell me how you knew who I was?"

  She co­uld fe­el Spot­ted Eag­le stif­fen so­mew­hat and co­uld fe­el the sud­den ham­me­ring of his he­art aga­inst her che­ek.

  She now fe­ared the an­s­wer, mo­re than wan­ting to he­ar it!

  "How?" Spot­ted Eag­le eased her from his arms and to­ok her hands, le­ading her down on­to the sof­t­ness of a la­yer of moss that li­ned the ri­ver­bank. "As I sa­id, the­re will be no mo­re sec­rets bet­we­en us. I will tell you ever­y­t­hing." He be­gan his ta­le, be­gin­ning when he was ni­ne and his in­fa­tu­ati­on for an ol­der wo­man had be­gun. Ex­cept for ha­ving sha­red this with Two Rid­ges, he had kept his sec­ret hid­den wit­hin the depths of his he­art. He told Jole­na of his fe­elings for Swe­et Do­ve and how he had felt when word had be­en re­ce­ived of her de­ath and that her child had be­en ta­ken from her by an un­k­nown per­son.

  He told Jole­na abo­ut ha­ving go­ne to his fa­vo­ri­te pri­va­te spot whe­re he had pra­yed to fi­res of the sun for Swe­et Do­ve's child, pra­ying that tho­se who to­ok the child wo­uld gi­ve her much lo­ve.

  He told Jole­na how long he had mo­ur­ned the loss of Swe­et Do­ve, how in the past he had ex­pe­ri­en­ced a stran­ge sort of sin­king fe­eling when he saw her in his mind's eye, so be­a­uti­ful and ali­ve, so swe­et.

  "You no lon­ger get that sin­king fe­eling when you think of my mot­her?" Jole­na as­ked softly. "Why, Spot­ted Eag­le?"

  Spotted Eag­le lo­oked away from her, then ga­zed in­to her eyes aga­in. "Why?" he re­pe­ated, pla­cing a gen­t­le hand on her che­ek. "Be­ca­use of you. When you en­te­red my li­fe, many things chan­ged for me."

  "Oh, I see, II to­ok the pla­ce of my mot­her in yo­ur he­art," Jole­na sa­id, blin­king her eyes up at him.

  "More than that," Spot­ted Eag­le sa­id, his eyes aga­in shif­ting away from her.

  "Oh, Lord," Jole­na sa­id softly, her vo­ice drawn. "Now I think I know why you knew who I was. When you lo­ok at me, you see my mot­her! That's it, isn't it, Spot­ted Eag­le? In yo­ur eyes and he­art I am my mot­her!"

  "That is not so," Spot­ted Eag­le sa­id qu­ickly as he tur­ned aro­und to fa­ce her. "My fe­elings for you are dif­fe­rent in every way. My fe­elings for yo­ur mot­her we­re tho­se of an ado­les­cent. It was me­rely an in­fa­tu­ati­on. My fe­elings for you are tho­se of a man, true and de­ep."

  "But you can't help se­e­ing my mot­her when you lo­ok at me," Jole­na sa­id, her vo­ice bre­aking. "I want to be lo­ved for myself, not be­ca­use I am the mir­ror ima­ge of so­me­one el­se."

  "It is true that at first, when I lo­oked at you, my fe­elings we­re the sa­me as that yo­ung boy who­se he­art ac­hed for an ol­der wo­man," Spot­ted Eag­le tri­ed to ex­p­la­in. "But as I grew to know you, so­me­one dif­fe­rent from yo­ur mot­her in so many ways, it was you who mo­ved me in­to a man's fe­elings. Yo­ur mot­her is now a ple­asant me­mory. You are he­re, qu­ite re­al, and won­der­ful."

  "When we ha­ve be­en ma­king lo­ve, ha­ve you ever wis­hed it we­re my mot­her in­s­te­ad of me?" Jole­na co­uld not re­sist as­king. "Ha­ve you ever pre­ten­ded I was she?"

  Spotted Eag­le's jaw tig­h­te­ned and his eyes fla­red with a sud­den an­ger. "I ha­ve not lo­ved a me­mory whi­le I held you in my arms," he sa­id ter­sely. "Ne­ver will I. I lo­ve you. Fo­re­ver and ever, I shall lo­ve only you."

  "It wo­uld bre­ak my he­art if it we­re ot­her­wi­se," Jole­na sa­id, flin­ging her­self in­to his arms. As she la­id her che­ek aga­inst his po­wer­ful chest, she be­gan her own con­fes­si­ons. "Dar­ling, I knew you be­fo­re we met, al­so."

  "And how is that pos­sib­le?" he as­ked, stro­king her thick, long ha­ir.

  "I do not un­der­s­tand how that co­uld be pos­sib­le," she mur­mu­red. "But it is true that when I saw you I was stun­ned be­ca­use I had se­en yo­ur fa­ce be­fo­re­in dre­ams."

  He pla­ced his fin­gers to her sho­ul­ders and eased her back from him so that the­ir eyes met and held. "You say you dre­amed of me?" he sa­id won­de­ringly. "You sa
w my exact fa­ci­al fe­atu­res in yo­ur dre­ams?"

  "Yes, many ti­mes," she mur­mu­red. "And yet I still do not see how that can be so."

  Spotted Eag­le smi­led softly down at her. "The­re are ways," he sa­id, nod­ding. "You are Blac­k­fo­ot. Many things are fo­re­told in the dre­ams of the Blac­k­fo­ot!"

  "Truly?" she as­ked, her eyes wi­de. "Ple­ase tell me how. I ha­ve had many dre­ams, fo­re­tel­ling many things. So­me­ti­mes it has frig­h­te­ned me to ha­ve such… such abi­li­ti­es."

  "You sho­uld not be frig­h­te­ned by a gift that has be­en han­ded down from ge­ne­ra­ti­on to ge­ne­ra­ti­on of Blac­k­fo­ot," he sa­id, dra­wing her in­to his em­b­ra­ce on­ce aga­in. He held her clo­se, bre­at­hing in the swe­et frag­ran­ce of her ha­ir as he pla­ced his che­ek aga­inst it. "Our pe­op­le, the Blac­k­fo­ot, are firm be­li­evers in dre­ams. The­se, it is sa­id, are sent by the Sun to enab­le us to lo­ok ahe­ad, to tell what is go­ing to hap­pen. A dre­am, es­pe­ci­al­ly if it is a strong onet­hat is, if the dre­am is very cle­ar and vi­vi­dis al­most al­ways obe­yed."

  He pa­used, then con­ti­nu­ed, "An ani­mal or obj­ect which ap­pe­ars to a boy or man who is trying to dre­am for po­wer is, it has be­en sa­id, re­gar­ded the­re­af­ter as his sec­ret hel­per, his me­di­ci­ne, and is usu­al­ly cal­led his vi­si­on dre­am Nits-o-kan."

  "I ha­ve obe­yed the com­mands of my mid­night dre­am," Jole­na sa­id, clin­ging to him. "I ha­ve fol­lo­wed its bid­ding and ha­ve fo­und you, my dar­ling."

  Then a si­lent pa­nic se­ized her, re­cal­ling the dre­am in which Spot­ted Eag­le di­ed, fe­aring that it might co­me true al­so. She le­aned in­to his arms and held him much mo­re tightly, wan­ting ne­ver to let him go.

  The night was wrap­ped in sha­dows, with shreds of mist clin­ging to the tre­es over­he­ad, as Jole­na and Spot­ted Eag­le be­gan wal­king back to­ward the­ir cam­p­si­te. Spot­ted Eag­le stop­ped when the mo­on­light re­ve­aled so­met­hing that lay in the­ir path. Jole­na fol­lo­wed Spot­ted Eag­le's eyes to a fe­at­her that had su­rely fal­len from the wing of an eag­le. It was per­haps the lar­gest one that she had ever se­en, and its co­lors we­re a be­a­uti­ful soft gray, to­uc­hed by stre­aks of whi­te.

  Spotted Eag­le stop­ped and pic­ked up the fe­at­her, then han­ded it to Jole­na. "Ha­ve I told you be­fo­re that the wing of a bird is a symbol of tho­ughts that fly very high?" he sa­id softly.

  "Whether or not you ha­ve, I co­uld he­ar it over and over aga­in," Jole­na sa­id softly. "That's a be­a­uti­ful sa­ying." She held the fe­at­her to her he­art and wal­ked le­isu­rely along with Spot­ted Eag­le aga­in, the cam­p­fi­re thro­wing its gol­den light thro­ugh a bre­ak in the tre­es a short dis­tan­ce away.

  Jolena le­aned clo­ser to Spot­ted Eag­le, not wan­ting the­se spe­ci­al mo­ments to end.

  Chapter Seventeen

  The next day, the wa­gons con­ti­nu­ed on­ward. Jole­na was fil­led with an an­ti­ci­pa­ti­on she had ne­ver known be­fo­re.

  And why sho­uldn't she be fe­eling this way? she ar­gu­ed to her­self. She was per­haps only days away from me­eting her true fat­her.

  Oh, but how sim­p­le it wo­uld be to aban­don this ex­pe­di­ti­on and hurry on­ward with the rest of her li­fe in­s­te­ad of wa­iting un­til she com­p­le­ted her mis­si­on for her ailing whi­te fat­her.

  It was hard to sit on the wa­gon be­si­de Kirk as tho­ugh not­hing had hap­pe­ned, whi­le at the sa­me mo­ment her he­art was be­ating out each and every mi­nu­te of the day, brin­ging her clo­ser to that ti­me when she wo­uld say an aw­k­ward fa­re­well to him.

  He wo­uld not le­ave her all that easily, she knew. He wo­uld try to fill her mind with do­ubts abo­ut the li­fe that lay ahe­ad of her in an In­di­an vil­la­ge.

  And she knew that most of his ar­gu­ments wo­uld be va­lid ones. In her li­fe­ti­me, she had known only lu­xu­ri­es. She knew that li­ving in a te­pee had to be far from lu­xu­ri­o­us and com­for­tab­le.

  Being with Spot­ted Eag­le wo­uld ma­ke up for ever­y­t­hing el­se, but she dre­aded trying to con­vin­ce her brot­her of this. Of­ten he was even mo­re stub­born than she…

  ''You're mo­re qu­i­et than usu­al," Kirk sa­id, al­lo­wing the re­ins to go so­mew­hat slack in his hands as he ga­ve Jole­na a stu­di­o­us sta­re. "Why is that? What's on yo­ur mind?"

  His lips cur­ved in­to an angry po­ut when she smi­led we­akly at him, of­fe­ring him no ex­p­la­na­ti­on. "How fo­olish of me to ha­ve as­ked," he sa­id he­atedly. "I al­re­ady know the an­s­wer, don't I?"

  He tur­ned his ga­ze ahe­ad, fo­cu­sing on the stra­ight back of Spot­ted Eag­le as he ro­de his mag­ni­fi­cent stal­li­on only a few fe­et ahe­ad of the wa­gon, then tur­ned angry eyes at his sis­ter aga­in.

  " He's the ca­use of yo­ur stran­ge be­ha­vi­or," he sa­id in a low hiss. "You've al­lo­wed yo­ur­self to fall in lo­ve with him, ha­ven't you?"

  "Kirk, I don't think you want to con­ti­nue with this de­ba­te," Jole­na fi­nal­ly sa­id, her vo­ice stra­ined. "Just con­cen­t­ra­te on get­ting the wa­gon thro­ugh the fo­rest. I'd li­ke to find that elu­si­ve but­terfly to­day so that I" She ca­ught her­self be­fo­re sa­ying what her he­art was fe­eling.

  "So that you can what?" Kirk sa­id, for­king an eyeb­row.

  Jolena flip­ped her ha­ir back from her sho­ul­ders. "Kirk, stop prod­ding me with qu­es­ti­ons," she sa­id, gi­ving him an an­no­yed sta­re. "You may ca­use us not to see the two spe­ci­al but­ter­f­li­es we se­ek."

  "Two spe­ci­al but­ter­f­li­es?" Kirk sa­id, on­ce aga­in lo­oking stra­ight ahe­ad. He flic­ked the re­ins, snap­ping them along the backs of the two mu­les at­tac­hed to his wa­gon. "Now you are lo­oking es­pe­ci­al­ly for two, not just the eup­ha­ed­ra?"

  "I am in­t­ri­gu­ed by the nympha­lid, as well," Jole­na sa­id, scof­fing now at Spot­ted Eag­le's war­nings that the nympha­lid was bad luck.

  It was true that she had fal­len over the cliff whi­le cha­sing the but­terfly. But to ac­tu­al­ly be­li­eve that it had te­ased her over the cliff pur­po­sely had to be ri­di­cu­lo­us.

  She wan­ted the nympha­lid now mo­re than ever.

  While her fat­her ad­mi­red it, Kirk co­uld be tel­ling him the spe­ci­al story abo­ut it…

  Yet, on se­cond tho­ught, she do­ub­ted that her brot­her wo­uld tell her fat­her abo­ut the in­ci­dent. Kirk had not at­tem­p­ted to sa­ve her. He wo­uld not want to gi­ve the cre­dit to Spot­ted Eag­le, who wo­uld by that ti­me ha­ve be­co­me Kirk's ar­c­he­nemy for ha­ving sto­len Jole­na away from him and his fat­her.

  "I think it's best that you con­cen­t­ra­te on so­met­hing be­si­des that damn nympha­lid," Kirk grum- bled. "I'll ne­ver for­get that it is the ca­use for yo­ur ha­ving fal­len over the cliff."

  He cast her a she­epish lo­ok. "I sho­uld've tri­ed to sa­ve you," he sa­id, his vo­ice drawn. "But my fe­et wo­uld not carry me to the ed­ge of the cliff. And my he­art was be­ating so hard, I felt dizzy. I… su­rely wo­uld ha­ve fal­len over the si­de al­so, had I le­aned even that one inch over it. And you know my fe­ar of he­ights, sis."

  Jolena he­si­ta­ted a mo­ment, fe­eling that no ex­cu­se wo­uld ever ma­ke up for his not ha­ving at­tem­p­ted to sa­ve her.

  Yet she was not one to hold a grud­ge.

  She pat­ted Kirk's knee. "Yes, I know," she mur­mu­red. "Let's not spe­ak of it an­y­mo­re. I'm ali­ve. That is all that sho­uld mat­ter."

  Kirk swal­lo­wed hard, nod­ded, then si­len­ce fell bet­we­en him and Jole­na as the wa­gon lum­be­red on be­ne­ath the tre­es.

  Although the sun was ne­arly at its mid-po­int in the sky, the­re was a de­cep­ti­ve sil�
�very light in the air. The sun­s­hi­ne we­aved thro­ugh the thick fo­li­age over­he­ad, mel­ting in­to the gray, ste­aming mist that ga­ve body to sha­dow and ma­de phan­toms of so­lid obj­ects.

  As the fo­rest was left be­hind and the wa­gons and the­ir two Blac­k­fo­ot gu­ides on hor­se­back mo­ved out in­to open land, the mist be­gan cle­aring. Jole­na ca­ught glim­p­ses of the blue sky over­he­ad.

  Jolena sig­hed, enj­oying the chan­ges aro­und her. The val­ley in which she was now tra­ve­ling was ref­res­hed from the last night's he­avy dew, the grass glis­te­ning as if in the first flush of spring. The air se­emed was­hed cle­an and spar­k­ling cle­ar with crystal­li­ne shar­p­ness. Birds so­ared over­he­ad, gi­ving off the­ir stran­ge calls, the­ir wings cas­ting sha­dows ac­ross the land be­ne­ath them.

 

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