Through the Fire (The Native American Warrior Series)

by Beth Trissel

  Rebecca was at his heels. “Oh God. Shoka—”

  The terror in her hoarse gulp told him he had trouble. Reaching back with his free hand, he found her arm. “Here.”

  “I can’t bear this darkness,” she choked out.

  He closed his fingers around her hand and drew her along. “Close your eyes. Pretend it is only night.”

  “It’s darker than any night I’ve ever known.”

  “I am with you,” he soothed.

  She clung to his hand and he guided her blindly around the passage. He turned sharply and they rounded the second corner into another unseen corridor. He bent his head beneath the diminishing ceiling, drawing her along behind him.

  His moccasins were noiseless over the gritty floor. Her soles dragged. Her panicked breaths created the only sounds, apart from the constant dripping of water.

  “Get down,” he said.

  He pulled his fingers from her clutching hand and crouched even lower to pass through a cramped opening. The damp walls crowded in on all sides and brushed his shoulders like a stony cocoon. He wished he wore his shirt, but he’d removed it before the battle.

  She sucked in and blew out, her breath warm on his back. “No. I hate tight places,” she whispered, barely suppressed hysteria in her gasp.

  Somehow he must prevent her from completely losing control. “You are nearer the opening now.”

  The oppressive space narrowed even further, forcing them onto their knees on the grit and wet stone. The dank smell of stone reminded him of an ancient tomb never exposed to light. He prayed his keen senses and the guide he followed would keep them from being buried alive.

  “Shoka, I can’t bear it!” she cried, clearly beyond caring if they were overheard by any possible pursuers.

  “Calm down, Rebecca.”

  She thrust wildly against the stone as if to fight her way through to the sunlight. “No! I’ve got to get out!”

  “Hear me. All will be well.”

  “God, no—We’re in hell.” She beat at the rough wall encasing them with her hands and shuddering sobs shook her.

  Shoka hated that he couldn’t relieve her smothering horror. “We are almost there,” he promised.

  She rocked back and forth. “You’re just saying that.”

  “No. Soon this will end.”

  “I shall be quite mad by then. Just as everyone has been declaring I am this whole horrible day.”

  “You will not go mad. I would turn and give you comfort if I could. Have courage.”

  “Do you think I possess an unlimited abundance of the bloody stuff? We’re going to die in this hole.”

  “We will not die,” he said, and crawled ahead through the tunnel. Perhaps if he kept talking and moving, she’d follow and they’d get through.

  He heard her tripping over her cloak and skirts as she crawled after him.

  “We will too die. Only it could take ages,” she panted, clutching his back. “Pass me your knife. I’ll kill myself.”

  She really must have gone a little crazy with fear. “Do you think I took you from death at Tonkawa’s hand to let you die by your own?”

  Her grasping fingers slipped away as he moved forward, leaving her no choice other than to keep up with him. Exasperation seemed to momentarily distract her from her terror.

  “It’s damn unfair making me go on in this hole.”

  “Is it better you die?”

  “Yes!” she insisted, and then in a smaller voice, “will it hurt much?”

  “To drive a knife into your heart?” If they hadn’t been in such nightmarish circumstances he might have laughed.

  She choked back tears. “I don’t know if I can.”

  “I would not choose this.”

  “No. You’re a bastard, trapping me in here.” She struggled after him. “How can you possibly find your way?”

  “I did not come for you alone. I follow another.”

  Mystification further distracted her. “Who?”

  “The wolf. When we fall behind, he waits.”

  “Gabe is ahead of us? I can scarcely believe it.”

  “Believe. Now and then, I feel his fur.”

  “Even with Gabe’s aid, you could still take a wrong turn,” she said with an upswell of terror in her voice.

  Shoka crept further down the now sloping grade and her almost imperceptible body heat vanished from his back. “I know. When I first came this way, I carried a torch.”

  She panted, battling her skirts and squirming behind him. “Why did you put it out?”

  “Catawba would follow. I waited to steal you away while all lay sleeping. But you must challenge Tonkawa.”

  “You mean if I hadn’t, we could have had a torch? I’d no idea you were there,” she groaned.

  “How could I signal you?”

  “I prayed you would come. But I didn’t see how you could prevail against so many.”

  “Nor I. I much admire the tongue-lashing you give Tonkawa,” Shoka admitted.

  “You did?” Her mood seemed to lighten for an instant.

  Shoka crawled on. “Yes. But it is well Skizenoh held you back. Tonkawa would kill you very fast. How did you think to win?”

  She scuttled after him. “Fury drove all thought from me. I felled the captain, though.”

  “No. I saw Bancroft in battle.”

  Her breath rasped as she tried to catch up to him. “Bancroft wasn’t down long, just enough for me to escape. I tripped him up and gave him a kick. You can guess where.”

  Shoka chuckled, a most unlikely sound in this grave-like underworld. “I would like to see you attack the captain.”

  “I would like to see anything.”

  He pushed lengths of hair back from his damp face. “Soon we will enter a larger cave.”

  “And then?”

  “The way to the outside is above a steep slope—what’s this?” Cold water rushed across his hands and a dim roar rumbled ahead. “There was no stream here before.”

  “There’s one now!”

  The swift water was already to his thighs and would quickly engulf them both. Wild with frustration that he couldn’t turn and grab her, he shouted, “Hold to my musket, Rebecca! We must escape this space!”

  By the tension on the gun, he sensed her grip the stock that jutted behind him. Battling the deluge, he towed her after him. The might of the water caught him and swirled them both through the stone-carved channel. The rock lashed his chest and shoulders. He feared what it was doing to her.

  She shrieked, “Shoka!”

  He felt her let go and tumble back. Unspeakable terror—he could see nothing, nor turn to seek her. A faint light shone just ahead.

  The current spewed him out of the tunnel and splashed him into the larger chamber flooding with muddy water. He dropped his weighty musket and struck back around. Gushing water splashed in his face. Spitting out the swill, he reached blindly for any part belonging to her. His fingers slid along the stone and the churning flow pushed him back.

  “Rebecca!” he shouted, fighting his way to the tunnel.

  “Help me!” she screamed.

  Heart-stopping relief—he snagged her skirts in his hand. Somehow she’d managed to hang onto a protrusion in the rock. He closed his fingers around her wrist and ripped her out from the blackness and into his arms.

  She clung to him and he clutched her. Her chest rose and fell against his, but this was no resting place. He struggled to keep his footing in the rising water. Gray light cloaked the chamber, not as large as the one the Catawba sheltered in. Soon, this would be another death trap.

  Above the rocky slope, he saw the faint opening where Gabe had first led him in. The white wolf swam toward their only hope of escape.

  Shoka tightened his hold on Rebecca and waded into brown water reaching his chest. The muddy deluge washed over much of her. At the far side of the seething flow, he spotted the wolf dragging himself out with his forepaws. He started up the rocky side. Just then the menacing brew whi
pped Shoka like an enraged grizzly and knocked him off balance.

  He lurched—the cave floor no longer beneath his moccasins. He went under. The foaming current tore her screaming from him.

  “Rebecca!” He swam toward her, but the overpowering cascade forced her back.

  She tumbled helplessly, fighting to get her head above the roiling water. Her skirts and shoes would drag her down. She was no match for this onslaught.

  He battled toward her, but the churning surge pulled her under. “No!” he shouted.

  Kicking furiously, he swam to the spot where he’d last seen her. He thrashed out his arms to grasp her. His eyes frantically searched the frothy brew.

  Fighting harder than he’d ever fought in his life, he withstood the current and dove down into the lashing murk. Without seeing, he grabbed out, catching her hair. Wrapping his fingers around the wet tangle, he plucked her from the liquid grave.

  Gasping for air, he heaved them both above the brown tide and caught her up. He held her to him. No man ever recovered a greater treasure. This greedy torrent wasn’t snatching her away again.

  She lay limp in his arms as he pummeled through the raging water and scrambled, sliding, up the slick stone. Ragged breaths tore from his burning chest. Finally, he pushed through the opening in the rock.

  The watery roar fell away below. Wind and rain struck his face. He’d made it out of the pit; though all the forces of hell had been unleashed against him.

  He staggered with her beneath sheltering hemlocks and sank onto the ground, gulping hard.

  She still lay unmoving.

  He pushed up on his elbow and bent over her. Mud streaked her white face and her skin had a bluish tinge. No breath escaped her pale lips. Fresh dread seized him. He must make her breathe.

  Cupping her cold cheeks in his hand, he crushed his lips to her chilled mouth and blew. Again and again he filled her lungs. “Breathe,” he pleaded against her mouth.

  She coughed slightly.

  Even the smallest response was infinitely dear to him. He pulled back, seeking any more movement.

  She coughed harder, but her eyes remained closed.

  He gripped her shoulders. “Rebecca. Look at me.”

  “No,” she whispered.

  He groaned with relief and pressed his lips ecstatically over her face. “If you refuse me, you still live.”

  “You saved me.”

  “I almost didn’t. So still and cold you were when I found you. I cannot live without you, Peshewa.”

  She nestled weakly against him, shivering in the wind. “I know, my love. Tonkawa also knows.”

  “We cannot remain here. This entrance is hidden but he may know it. My powder’s wet. I cannot fire the pistol,” Shoka said, pushing himself up with his legs. “I still have my knife and tomahawk.” He lifted her and stepped out from under the boughs into the force of the downpour. “The storm gives cover. Soon it will be dark.”

  The wolf waited a little way ahead, a ghostly white in the mist and rain. “Our friend will guide us. We will follow brother wolf.”

  ****

  The rain slowed to a cold drizzle as Shoka raced to put a greater distance between them and any Catawba who might be in pursuit. “Gabe leads in the direction of camp. But this trail is different from the one Tonkawa took today,” he told her.

  Rebecca was too miserable to grasp the significance of his observation. These frigid mountains seemed to have forgotten it was June. The sun-warmed temperatures fell sharply with the storm. She’d never been so chilled, to her very marrow. The dripping trees gave her no chance to dry off. Shoka tried to shield her from the bitter wind with his arms, but it did little good.

  “So cold, Shoka,” she said through chattering teeth.

  “I know.”

  She understood his reason for not seeking shelter now, but knowing the justification didn’t make her suffering any more easily borne. Too wracked by trembling to sleep, she nonetheless became less conscious of her surroundings.

  More and more, Tonkawa’s face dominated her inner vision, his eyes afire with vindictive promise. He seemed to hover over her as he had in the cave, capturing her thoughts as he had her body. She’d never escape his burning desire for revenge.

  His malignant presence grew within her, crowding out reality, then he drew his knife and poised the blade at her throat. Die, Peshewa.

  She cried out. “Stop!”

  “What?” Shoka’s voice came from somewhere overhead.

  She thrashed from side to side. “Get Tonkawa away! Don’t let him kill me!”

  Strong arms firmed up their grip on her. “I won’t. Why do you fear this now?”

  “Can’t you see him?”

  “No. Look.”

  She shook her head—she was looking.

  “Open your eyes,” Shoka persisted.

  She peered around in confusion. Glistening branches overhead and leaves drooping from the deluge—that was all, and the concern in Shoka’s face. It was he who held her.

  “Tonkawa is not here. You dream.”

  Reassured at last that the malignant specter was not at hand, she relaxed and let her drooping eyelids fall closed. No longer haunted by Tonkawa’s menace, she drifted away. Briefly, she wondered why the cold didn’t needle her as sharply as it had before, but sleep beckoned in a warm, soothing haze. She willingly surrendered.

  “Wake, Rebecca.”

  Shoka sounded even farther away this time. Speaking a single word was difficult. “Can’t,” she managed.

  “Do not sleep now.”

  Why? Sleep drew at her heavily, carrying her down as the raging current had. Unlike the water, though, this was bliss.

  Shoka shook her. “Wake.”

  She winced at his rude hands. Why was he tormenting her? Couldn’t he see she was safe? “Stop.”

  He shook her harder. “You must wake.”

  Ignoring his demands, she let herself sink back into that floating limbo—gasping as he slapped her cheek.

  Her eyes flew open. Tears streaked the clammy mist that moistened her stinging face. “You’re cruel!”

  “I will be crueler if you do not wake. You must warm. Walk, Rebecca.”

  “Walk?” She could barely stand.

  Shoka propped her on her feet, seemingly indifferent to her wobbly legs. She slumped against him and he closed strong arms around her.

  “The trail widens here. I will help you.”

  She walked, step by wretched step, weeping and stumbling but not falling in his sure hold. The wind lashed her wet hair and sent chilled fingers up under her sodden skirts. Trembling returned with a vengeance. She ached everywhere.

  “I hate you,” she ground out.

  “You have said this,” he replied calmly.

  “Please. Let me rest.”

  “Not yet.”

  She sagged in his grip. “I can’t go on. It’s too hard.”

  “You are Shawnee now. Shawnee women are strong.”

  Anger flared in her. “I’d like to see Akowa survive what I’ve endured today.”

  “This day is not yet finished.”

  “No. Damn it all. ’Tis endless.” But no Shawnee woman, or any other woman for that matter, would show Rebecca up. Marshaling reserves she didn’t know she had, she trudged alongside him, praying for an end to this relentless trial.

  “A cabin?” The unexpected log frame took shape in the vaporous dusk. No smoke drifted from its great stone chimney to attest to life within. It stood silent in the midst of the chestnuts and hemlocks as if waiting for them. Please, God, don’t let it be a dream. “Do you see it, Shoka?”

  “I see.”

  Gabe bounded up the rain-darkened steps to the front stoop and sat on his haunches before the door. Weeping with relief, Rebecca strained after him.

  Shoka held her back. “Wait. There may be danger.”

  She couldn’t fathom his hesitation. “Gabe led us here. Surely you won’t deny me sanctuary?”

  Still, he stood g
uardedly.

  “Shoka, I will drop down dead. You can’t push me beyond all endurance.”

  He yielded and helped her up the worn steps, one arm wrapped around her back and the other under her elbow. At last they’d reached shelter. Now their guide slipped away like the spirit he resembled.

  “Wait here.” The log wall shored her up while Shoka pushed open the door and peered inside, his demeanor wary, like one anticipating a trap. He stepped into the cabin and reappeared within seconds. “Empty. Come in.”

  She tottered into a windowless room, the darkness mitigated only by the scant light coming through the open door. Fragrant bunches of herbs hung from the rafters, suffusing the damp air with an inviting spiciness. Simple furnishings emerged in the gloom: a cupboard, table, chairs, and two beds built against opposite walls. One had a blanket, the other only ticking. A loom stood in one corner and crude steps led up to a loft above her.

  The massive stone hearth captured her attention. She collapsed onto a rustic chair before the black grate while Shoka knelt on the bearskin spread before what had once been the heart of this family’s home.

  “At last.” She felt as though she’d reached the Promised Land.”

  He pointed at the kindling stacked in the fireplace. “Settlers think to return.”

  Her hope plummeted. “Tonight?”

  “They will not come soon. We drove them from here.”

  She wondered who they were and whether they were alive. But as much as she pitied their plight, she couldn’t wish them back. “Can you light a fire?”

  He peeled bits of dry bark from the wood and made a small pile at the base of the kindling. Then he reached into the pouch at his waist and withdrew a small horn, the tip of a cow’s, perhaps, or a ram’s. He uncorked one end and removed a small oval piece of steel, hollow in the center, and a whitish piece of chipped flint. Bent close to the little heap of bark, he struck the quartz-like stone against the steel.

  Rebecca coveted each tiny spark, willing it to take hold. He slowly fed the baby blaze more bark and twigs and blew gently until orange flames leapt up. As the hearth crackled to life, she stared into the flames. This morning fire had meant her death. Now it promised life.