The noise, when it came, was barely more than an impression of sound, something felt through the bones as it bounced from a distant source. Once Caleb caught it, he could focus on it more, and it grew clearer to him. It was the distinct sound of metal on stone.
“How far ahead?” he asked Ernst in a whisper.
The jackalope’s whiskers quivered as it scented the air. “Another hundred yards upward. Douse the light.”
Caleb cut all power to his staff, leaving them in darkness. “If I break my neck, I’m blaming you.”
“Hush. Follow.”
For a six-foot-tall man, following a barely two-foot-tall creature through thick underbrush was easier said than done. And doing it quietly was virtually impossible. After the hundredth time Ernst had shushed him, Caleb was ready to skin the creature and make gloves. His face was bleeding where branches had scratched him, there was God only knew what crawling in his short hair, and he’d barked his knees against more trees than he could count.
He was so intent on keeping himself in one piece, he nearly stepped on Ernst when the small animal froze, ears quivering at full height. “Hsst! Get down!”
Cautiously, Caleb lowered himself to the ground, peering over the edge of a small ridge to see what had attracted his familiar’s attention. A warm orange glow emanated from the hillside ahead of them, too steady to be an open flame, but the wrong color to be from any arcane source. The incessant pinging noise was louder here, and as his eyes adjusted to the new light, he could see why.
Lanterns adorned the trees, hung on posts, anywhere they could give off a bit more illumination. The brightest light seemed to come from within a cave, barely a jagged crack in the mountain’s face, and there men were bustling to and fro, some of them pushing heavy carts, others with picks and shovels over their shoulders.
At the edges of the lanterns’ light, other men stood guard, armed with rifles and handguns, their eyes scanning the dark forest all around them.
“Are they looking for us or just looking in general?” Caleb whispered.
Ernst shook his head, his antlers rustling the bushes. “I don’t think they heard us. I think they’re just on watch.”
“What the hell are they doing?” Caleb silently cursed having left his binoculars with the transport.
“Obviously, they’re mining.” Even in the dark, Caleb could see Ernst’s disdainful look.
“In the dark. In Indian territory.” Caleb looked for a clear path that might take him closer, but found none. There was a trail carved through the brush, no doubt put there by the miners and their guards, but it was completely open to view from the mine, and there was no way Caleb would avoid being seen.
“Maybe they’re shy.”
“Can you get closer without being seen?” Caleb shielded his eyes a bit in an attempt to see if he recognized anyone at the site.
“Not a chance. Can’t you feel that? The place reeks of nullstone.”
Once it was pointed out to him, Caleb could indeed smell it on the air. Though it shared no other properties with the harmless substance, nullstone always smelled like sodium bicarbonate. Reflexively, Caleb snorted softly, trying to clear the scent from his nose. “Why would they risk working around so much nullstone? They have to be totally cut off from their powers by now.”
Ernst edged forward, nose twitching. “They’re scoured. Or barren. Every one of them. Not the guards, they still glow, but see how they’re staying away from the mine?”
It was true. The armed men kept a careful distance from the mine and the miners alike, lest the nullstone sap them of any ability they might possess. Caleb counted six guards, and at least that many miners. There was no telling how many were still within the mine. Here, then, were Warner’s barren employees. “Wait. . . . Is that Schmidt?”
Despite the bandana covering the lower half of his face, there was no mistaking the cold-eyed gunman. The slender man stood in the shadow of a large tree, separate from the other guards, and he was still enough that only the gleam of light off his rifle betrayed his position. In spite of himself, Caleb held his breath for a few heartbeats, expecting to see the sniper shoulder his weapon and take aim at him at any given moment.
His attention apparently focused on the mouth of the mine, Schmidt never moved.
“Why in the world are they digging up nullstone?” Caleb muttered to himself.
Before Ernst could offer up any more theories, the earth beneath them gave a great heave, almost like the mountain itself had taken a deep breath. The shaking followed immediately after, and Caleb could only duck his head, protecting it from the falling branches and twigs that rained down on him. The quake was hard enough to rattle his teeth in his head, and he got the impression that the mountain was trying to shudder them right off its skin, like the unwanted parasites they were.
Rocks large enough to crack a skull bounded down the mountainside, narrowly missing Caleb and his familiar, but still peppering them with pebbles hard enough to bruise. The smell of nullstone grew stronger, and Caleb did his best to cover his mouth and nose with his shirt. Ernst burrowed against his side, taking shelter from the largest of the debris.
At the mine, the men were shouting, their voices raised in fear. When Caleb could lift his head again, he saw them scrambling from the hole in the earth, coated top to bottom in white dust. One of the carts had overturned, spilling its load of chalky white stone into the clearing, and the guards shifted anxiously into the trees, avoiding the weakening effect. One of the lanterns had overturned, and several men beat at the flames frantically until they were smothered.
A tall figure appeared at the mouth of the cave, staggering out ahead of several of the workers. Clearly a woman, judging by her dress, but ghostly because of the nullstone powder that covered her from head to toe. Only then did Schmidt move, snatching her by one arm. He dragged her away from the mine entrance, flinging her to the ground negligently once they were clear of the nulling cloud. She lay there for a long moment gasping for air.
“Mary Catherine. I knew it.” Despite the nullstone dust that made her appear an apparition of her true self, there was no mistaking the tall Indian woman. Caleb’s moment of triumph was short-lived, however. Schmidt pulled the bandana from his face and aimed a kick at the downed woman, who curled up to avoid the blow.
“I not do! I not do!” The woman sobbed, protecting her head with her arms. “Please do not!” Schmidt kicked her again with no expression at all. Her pleas received no response. When he drew back to kick her again, she made a gesture with one hand, and a tiny dust devil rose beneath the raised foot, white with whirling nullstone dust and peppered with pine needles and fallen leaves. Unbalanced, Schmidt landed on his rump, and the dust devil broke apart, drifting to the earth.
Caleb blinked in amazement, certain that his eyes had played a bizarre trick on him. The woman, covered in nullstone dust to the point of being ghost white, had conjured the very wind to do her bidding. It wasn’t possible. There was no one in the world with enough power to overcome that much nullstone.
The gunman sat for a moment merely looking at the Indian woman with his emotionless eyes, then rose to his feet and dusted off his clothing. The next kick was to her head, and she slumped to the ground.
Caleb took a better grip on his staff, preparing to rise. He couldn’t sit and watch a woman be beaten.
“Are you insane?” Ernst poked him with his antlers, hard. “You can’t fight all of them, even if most of them are scoured.”
“Schmidt has to be breathing in that dust. There’s no way he’s at his full ability. If I can take him out . . .”
“And do what? Kill him? Kill all of them? You’re a Peacemaker, Caleb. You don’t kill.” Ernst put a paw on the staff, and it might as well have been made of solid granite. Caleb couldn’t have picked it up if he’d wanted to. “Wait, and watch. There has to be a better chance than this.”
/> Curse the little creature, but he was right. There was no way to intervene without it ending in bloodshed.
Schmidt left off abusing the Indian woman, gesturing for one of the others to help her up. They dragged her to her feet, depositing her on a fallen tree at the edge of the light, where she wobbled drunkenly. Two guards moved to stand over her.
One of the nullstone-coated miners approached Schmidt, careful to keep a safe distance. “The left tunnel is collapsed. It’s going to take at least two days to dig out to where we were. We may have lost that vein.”
They were carrying men out of the mine now, the red blood of the wounded standing out vibrantly against white skin, even in the dim lantern light. Most were walking under their own power, but two were not moving at all and never would again. Even at his distance, Caleb could see that their skulls were crushed. The mountain had taken its due.
“I don’t understand, Ernst. Why would they risk all this to mine nullstone? It’s not that valuable.”
“I’m more concerned with what they’re doing with it once they get it out of the earth. If they’re taking it back to the ranch, that might be where the children are being exposed.”
Ernst was almost certainly right. Caleb felt it in his gut. “Then he has to know what he’s doing to them.” It couldn’t be a mistake. What kind of monster was Warner?
“Hsst! Look out!” Ernst ducked deeper into the bushes, and Caleb froze as the miners and their guards made their way down the rough path. They pushed the cart of nullstone ahead of them, struggling to keep it upright on the rocky trail, and four carried the bodies of their fallen companions. At the end of the procession, Schmidt herded a groggy Mary Catherine along, keeping a tight grip on her arm.
The Peacemaker remained still long after the sounds of the miners’ passage had faded into the distance. Only when a bird in the tree above him sent out a questioning chirp and some of the night insects began to buzz around his ears did he remember to breathe normally.
“They must have haulers down the mountain to get the stone out. But I still can’t fathom why. And Mary Catherine . . . How did she do that trick with the dust devil, all covered in nullstone like that? I wouldn’t be able to find my head with both hands, covered in that much stone.”
“Caleb?”
Ignoring Ernst, Caleb gathered his staff up. “I think I need to look around up there a bit more.”
“Um, Caleb?”
“Don’t worry, you don’t have to come, and I won’t go in the tunnels.” He clambered to his feet, shaking leaf litter from his clothing. “I just need to see what is so important about this mine.”
“I don’t think they’re going to let you.”
“You don’t think who’s going to let me?” He looked down at Ernst, only to find the animal staring down the hill behind them.
“You might want to put the staff down.”
Slowly, Caleb turned.
How they had approached so near without even Ernst hearing them, Caleb would never know. But the seven Indian braves were almost within spitting distance, each of them with a drawn bow trained on Caleb.
None of them said a word, but Caleb gave a small nod and bent ever so slowly to lay his staff next to his feet. It didn’t cripple him, by any means, but it was at least a visible indication that he didn’t intend to fight. He raised his empty hands, just in case they didn’t understand.
“What do they want?” he asked quietly.
Ernst shook his head. “I don’t know. And I can’t translate again, not so soon.”
“This creates a problem, Ernst.”
“I’m aware of this, Caleb.”
The men in the trees looked young and strong. Not one arrow wavered from fatigue, and their eyes never left the Peacemaker. Most of them had paint on their cheekbones and feathers tied into their dark hair.
Caleb knew he could get a shield up without the aid of his staff, but it would last only until his air ran out and he fell unconscious. Not a pleasant thought, under the circumstances.
The silence dragged out for an excruciatingly long moment. Finally, the one in the center lowered his bow and snapped something at Caleb in their language.
“I don’t speak Cheyenne. Do you speak English?”
The tall Indian only barked the same phrase at him, obviously a command, and the two men closest to him approached Caleb warily.
“Ernst, stay close. This may get a bit messy.” Caleb took a deep breath, drawing power inward, feeling it pool in the center of his chest. From that store, he could accomplish almost anything. Without his staff, it could only be destructive.
Suddenly, someone laughed. It was an eerie sound, high-pitched and frantic, off to Caleb’s left. The braves paused in their advance, glancing back toward their leader.
A furry head pushed through the bushes at the leader’s side, and a large coyote trotted into view. It yipped once, looking up at the leader, and the man frowned darkly. The coyote yipped again, and there was no mistaking the note of command in the animal’s tone.
“Ernst, is that . . . ?”
“I’m . . . I’m not sure.” The jackalope huddled closer to Caleb’s boot, eyeing the large predator. “I’ve never seen a familiar like that before.”
Whatever the creature wanted, it was not to the liking of the band of warriors. They grumbled among themselves until the coyote nipped at the leader’s hand, growling softly. Finally, the men acquiesced.
The leader pointed at Caleb and snarled a short command. One of them reached out to grab Caleb by the shirt, giving him a slight shove, and another collected the staff.
“Where are we going, Ernst?” Caleb stumbled over the rocky terrain as the braves closed in around him, taking him down the mountain.
“Wherever they want us to, Caleb.”
And they were marched into the sultry night.
Chapter 9
It was easy to guess at the amount of time they’d been walking. Caleb placed that at nearly an hour. It was next to impossible to guess the distance.
The first time he noticed the anomaly, he thought his eyes were merely playing tricks on him in the darkness. They were walking along a narrow path bordered by low bushes—buckbrush, he thought. He raised his hand to wipe a spiderweb from his face, and when his vision was clear again, the path had changed, becoming rockier and almost fenced in by small saplings of various types. He got only a moment to glance behind before his captors shoved him onward, but the hardy little buckbrush plants were nowhere to be seen.
By the third such strange shift in scenery, Caleb realized that it was being done deliberately, and through no power he himself possessed. “Ernst, what are they doing to us?”
“I’m . . . not sure.” The valiant little jackalope was hard-pressed to keep up on his short legs, and the Indians didn’t seem inclined to wait for him. Caleb scooped him up without breaking stride, holding him in the crook of one arm. “It’s not an illusion. We’re actually crossing great distance with each leap. I just . . . can’t tell how it’s done.”
The brave beside Caleb jabbed him in the ribs hard, a reminder to stay quiet. The Peacemaker gritted his teeth and said nothing more, but he watched for the abrupt shifts in scenery. Notably, they always took place shortly after the coyote familiar disappeared on the trail ahead of them, almost as if the animal were leaping ahead to make sure they reached the right destination at each shift.
Caleb kept a wary eye on the other familiar every time it appeared again. While they weren’t precisely rare, neither were they common, and Caleb had never encountered one that belonged to an Indian. In fact, he’d encountered none at all since leaving the East behind him, save for Graeme’s Tan in Kansas City. His friend’s familiar had always just been a quiet presence in the background, the tawny spotted cat as silent as his partner was loud.
Familiars should never be mistaken for docile pets or
companions, though. During the war, Caleb had seen the familiars of two powerful generals meet on the battlefield, and that combat alone had nearly leveled five acres. It was never wise to underestimate the magical creatures.
It was clear, however, that the coyote did not belong to any of the men there. And since they seemed inclined to follow orders from the furry predator, it was likely that it belonged to someone important. Someone the braves were not willing to disobey, no matter how they disliked what they’d been commanded to do.
Ernst wanted nothing to do with the big coyote; that was certain. Though Caleb would have loved to know more about what made the strange familiar different, his captors started grumbling and poking him with sharp objects when he tried to speak, and he was finally forced to fall silent. The questioning would wait until later.
The last abrupt jump in terrain was the most obvious, because they went from dark forest to a brightly lit clearing, with campfires dotting the night as far as the eye could see. Truly impressive dwellings, the teepees towered overhead, and almost a hundred people came pouring out of the lodges to see what their warriors had returned with.
Men and women of every shape and size watched Caleb and his familiar with dark eyes, some hostile, some merely curious. There were no children present, he realized, and the lack stood out starkly in his mind, once noticed. Many of the people called to the men escorting him, obviously family glad to see the hunters returned.
And they said the Dog Soldiers had been broken. Caleb wondered what the military strategists back east would say if they knew of this village and just how many Cheyenne warriors still remained.
He was pushed and prodded toward a large fire at the center of the village, where it seemed people had assembled to wait for his arrival. The coyote was seated at the feet of the most ancient man Caleb had ever seen, whose black hair had gone pure white and was plaited neatly. The lines of many cares and worries were etched deeply into his worn face, but there was no mistaking the keen glint in his eyes, though, or the proud bearing of his shoulders as he stood stick-straight. His garments were thickly ornamented with quills and feathers and beads, and elaborate scenes were worked into the leather with dyes. This was a personage to be reckoned with.
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