Gold! The secret mine suddenly made much more sense. The nullstone was simply an obstacle to something larger and more lucrative.
“I intend to be mining in those mountains for years to come, Agent Marcus, with wealth to spare. If I can just get the army to eradicate the little infestation problem without finding out about the gold. Can’t have the federal government laying claim to something that’s rightfully mine, now can I?”
Warner fished his pocket watch out of his waistcoat, checking the time. “Oh, would you look at that? I must be going. I wish you luck in your future endeavors, of course. As short as they’ll be.” With a cordial smile, he rose and walked to his transport, swinging into the saddle easily.
“Told them!” Caleb jerked against his bonds again, croaking as loudly as he could. “Told them about the mine!”
Warner laughed with genuine mirth. “No, you didn’t.”
Within moments, Warner and his men were out of sight, and shortly thereafter even the drumming of the hooves on the hard-packed soil faded from Caleb’s senses. He yanked and twisted at the ropes holding his wrists until they were rubbed raw and bleeding, and his head swam dizzily from the effort.
Gasping, he let his head fall back to the grass, fighting to hold on to consciousness, knowing that the next time he blacked out might very well be the last. Have to . . . think . . . After a few moments of rest, he tried flinging himself from side to side to dislodge the nullstone medal, but his arms were stretched too tightly and he had no wiggle room.
All right, take stock. As far as he knew, he had been without water for the better part of an entire day, presumably while baking in the summer heat. The sun, at least, was setting now, a minor blessing. Thunder still bounced within the confines of his head, and the burns on his back screamed every time he moved. His chest felt heavy, possibly due to cracked ribs, but craning his neck resulted in blinding flashes behind his eyes, so he couldn’t assess the damage there.
With the nullstone medallion lying on his chest, not only was he unable to touch his own power, but his connection to Ernst was severed, too. Did the little familiar realize? Was he frantically looking for Caleb even now? Maybe, if he was close enough to hear . . . “Ernst! Ernst, I’m over here!” It set him coughing again, and he couldn’t even curl up to relieve the strain on his ribs.
Some tiny biting insects, drawn by the scent of his blood, landed on his wrists and began feeding, their minor irritations only adding to his growing woes. Night was falling. How long before the bigger predators came? Coyotes, foxes, even a stray cougar come down out of the mountains for some prairie hunting.
Maybe that would be better, he thought. A quicker death surely than waiting for the sun to rise again, roasting him in his own juices.
Above him, the sky slowly faded from lavender into a serene blue and finally into the star-dotted black. The only hint of color rimmed the mountain peaks for a long time before that too succumbed to the night.
Crickets chirped softly in the tall grass around him, and there were rustlings of smaller animals going about their nightly business. To the north, he heard a high-pitched giggle, echoed shortly by four or five more. Coyotes. They’d be drawn to the scent of fresh meat, and at this point, that’s all Caleb was. How long before they grew brave enough to approach him?
He began counting the seconds between the calls that sounded like nothing so much as deranged laughter, trying to guess the distance and how much time he had left.
Some part of him thought perhaps he should be praying. Surely, of all times, this was one when God’s presence would be beneficial. But he couldn’t seem to find the words within his own head. He thought instead of his sister, married and happy in Pennsylvania. With ten years’ difference in their ages, they had never been close. Paulette had been married and gone almost before he could know her when he was a child. Would she grieve for him, the younger brother she’d barely known? Would her children hear tales of their uncle the Peacemaker, slain by Indians in the wild and brutal west? When had he even spoken to her last?
What of Graeme? Would he come himself when Caleb didn’t report in on schedule? Would he be the one to find what was left of his friend? Would there even be anything left, once the coyotes got done with him? His last conversation with Graeme hadn’t been the most cordial. Caleb had been angry and bitter, and Graeme had made a convenient target. He hoped Graeme knew that he hadn’t meant the things he’d said. It wasn’t Graeme’s fault Caleb had been exiled to the west. In fact, it was probably through Graeme’s influence that Caleb still had a position with the Peacemakers at all. Caleb was grateful, even if he hadn’t shown it. Surely his best friend knew him that well after all these years. Surely he knew.
When he dragged his thoughts back from their wanderings, the coyotes had fallen silent. Either they’d given up on their human-scented prey, or they were even now stalking closer. Or something even bigger scared them off.
It was no surprise to him when the narrow muzzle poked through the tall grass to his left, followed by copper-colored eyes and sharply pointed ears. The coyote, a big specimen, slunk forward one careful step at a time, its dark gray hackles raised in warning.
“Hah!” Caleb tried to yell to scare the thing off, and while it did flinch at the abrupt noise, it seemed to know that he was no threat. It found a comfortable spot and sat nearby, watching him. “Go on, you! Get out of here!”
The animal did not run, nor make any hostile moves. Instead, it simply sat in silence, staring at Caleb with those deep amber eyes, as if it could see right into his thoughts. It was eerie.
“Waiting for your kin to show up?” The animal tilted its head at the sound of his croaking voice, the tip of one ear drooping comically. “Polite of you to wait until everyone’s here to start eating.” The thing tipped its head the other way. “Start on the thighs. They’re nice and meaty. You might avoid the back, though. Seems to be a bit well-done back there.” That thought spurred Caleb into slightly manic giggles, and he began to worry that his mind might be a bit unhinged.
“You might want to eat me quickly, you know. If I’m mad, it may taint the meat. Wouldn’t want you getting all rabid or anything.” His entire body shook with helpless laughter, and no amount of pain could make it stop. Only when the coughing overruled the laughter was he forced to stop, and even then he was riddled with sporadic giggling.
Amidst his laughter, he heard the grasses rustling again, and he looked to his left fully expecting a family of coyotes waiting to sink their sharp teeth into his extremities. Instead, he was greeted with the head of the largest animal he had ever seen. As close as it was, he had difficulty taking it all in, but the pieces of the whole—the deep brown fur, almost like wool; the large sloping forehead, ending in wickedly curving black horns; the bottomless, soulful eyes that seemed to hold all of the world’s sorrows at once—added up to one thing.
A large buffalo stood over the bound Peacemaker, its warm musky breath stirring the hair on his head. The creature lowered its head to sniff at him, and Caleb held very still, suddenly beset with images of a large black hoof splitting his head like a ripe melon.
Apparently satisfied with what it had learned, the mammoth creature lumbered around the injured man to touch noses with the odd coyote. The two animals stood that way for a long moment, sharing some kind of secret communion.
Only when a stray night breeze passed through the tall grasses did Caleb realize that the buffalo had left no sign of its passing. Where it should have flattened the prairie grass, the stalks were straight and unbroken, swaying peacefully where they stood. And if he squinted, he realized he could see the grass through the behemoth’s body, as if it were no more tangible than smoke.
“God. I’m hallucinating.” In a small way, he was relieved. Perhaps he’d at least be insensible when the worst happened. Being eaten wouldn’t be that bad, so long as he wasn’t aware of it.
The buffal
o snorted, either at the man or the coyote, Caleb wasn’t sure. Without a second glance, it turned and lumbered back out into the plains, passing through the grass without disturbing a single blade. The coyote remained, and it yawned hugely, displaying its sharp white teeth.
“Sorry that I’m boring you. I’m being remiss in my duties as host.” Caleb laid his head back again, watching the stars dancing in the sky above him. It seemed they whirled much faster than he remembered, the spinning making him dizzy after a while. He closed his eyes, no longer caring if he ever opened them again.
Twice more, the grasses rustled to reveal yet another animal come to inspect the captured Peacemaker. A delicate doe nosed at his cheek, the hair on her muzzle tickling his ear until he laughed. And a prairie hen, all feathers and bluster, strutted and fussed around him, apparently oblivious to the vicious predator sitting not a few feet away.
One of them did not exist, Caleb decided. Either the coyote was not there, or Caleb himself was a figment of the imagination. And since the other animals all seemed to have some deep and interesting discussion with the canine observer, Caleb concluded that it must be him.
He had the disturbing thought that perhaps he was dead already. “If this is heaven, I’m mightily disappointed.” Though, perhaps it wasn’t heaven. Perhaps he hadn’t been nearly the good man that he’d thought. There were so many deaths on his head, but . . . that was war, wasn’t it? Would he be held to account for his past actions?
The mosquito bites on his wrists itched something fierce, and he next decided that he could not be dead, because allowing mosquito bites in hell was too cruel, even for Satan himself.
The coyote provided no information. It had been sitting for hours by now, perhaps simply waiting for Caleb to expire.
“Hey, since you’re just sitting there . . .” The animal looked over at him, giving the curious head tilt again. “I don’t suppose you could go get me some help, could you?” Again, the coyote tilted his head to the other side, as if considering it. “Please?”
The animal looked at him for a long time, and Caleb swore he could see the stars’ own light reflected in the amber eyes. Finally, it stood and trotted into the grass without so much as a sound.
“Well, I’ll be damned.” That brought another fit of manic chuckling, but he quickly got it under control.
The disadvantage, he quickly discovered, was that he was now alone. Even silent and odd, the coyote had at least been companionship.
With nothing else to distract him, he became aware of how much he hurt, still, and how very thirsty he was. His mouth tasted like copper where the blood from his cracked lips had trickled in, and it was a wonder he could talk around the great swollen piece of shoe leather that was his tongue. For a few seconds, he convinced himself he was about to choke on it, and he thrashed against his bonds again, the ropes cutting deeper into his wrists.
“Warner, you bastard! You could have at least shot me like a man!” The shout went unanswered, as he knew it would.
Or had it?
Somewhere at the edge of his hearing, he caught the faintest of notes, a voice humming in the distance. Though he could make out only every third or fourth note, when the wind favored him, he found himself humming along, filling in the missing parts from memory. He knew that tune, didn’t he? From where . . . ?
It gradually swelled to fill his head, blotting out all other sounds. The soft lullaby spoke of gentle hands, loving arms, warmth, and safety. And he’d heard it before, but he could not for the life of him remember when or where.
The first time his eyes drifted closed, he forced them back open with a start. He could not afford to sleep, not when waking again was so unlikely. But it happened a second and third time, the darkness lingering a bit longer each time before he remembered to resist. It would be so easy to sleep, to rest. The song said he would be safe, and he was so very, very tired.
With the woman’s voice humming softly in his ears, he finally let go and drifted to sleep.
Chapter 13
Cool water trickled over his lips, and delicate touches moved over his chest and arms while the soothing song went on. It took him some time to realize that he could open his eyes if he wanted, and when he did, he found himself staring up into dark eyes set in a lovely, honey-brown face.
The Indian woman, the one from the mountain and his dreams, smiled to see him awake, and she slipped her hand behind his head to support him while she trickled more water down his throat.
Caleb gulped it as fast as he could, though he was certain even an entire river would not have been enough. When he managed to choke himself, she laid his head back down with a chiding look.
“I . . .” He paused to cough. “Thank you.”
Smiling her approval, she gathered up some cloths and bowls and rose, walking gracefully across the floor.
Only then did Caleb realize that he was inside one of the large teepees, cheerfully lit by a crackling fire in the middle. The smoke rose in a column through the hole in the top, and beyond it he could see only darkness. It was still night, then, but the same night or another one?
An attempt to sit up revealed that he was still stretched and tied; the lodge had apparently been erected right over his place of confinement. The nullstone amulet still nestled in the center of his chest. Perhaps they didn’t trust him after all. “How long have I been here?”
The woman was busily working with some pungent smelling plants on her side of the fire and barely glanced over at his voice. His answer came instead from the other side.
“Time passes differently here, so that is hard to say.” From the shadows, the old shaman appeared, moving to take a seat next to the fire. It was unmistakably the same man from the Dog Soldier’s village. Physically, he looked no different from the last time Caleb had seen him, though his long white braids were wrapped in dark fur this time. His face was still deeply lined with years and responsibilities, and he still carried himself with the air of a man who expects his orders to be obeyed without question.
Something was different, though, something Caleb couldn’t quite put his finger on. The old man seemed . . . younger almost. Brighter. More alive. Even the decorations on his leathers seemed more vibrant, as if the beaded creatures were about to leap off and cavort around the fire. Everything in the teepee looked that way, he realized—too deep, too rich to be real. Too much.
The coyote familiar padded into view as well, lying down with its head on its paws and its eyes on the captive man, and Caleb abruptly realized that the shaman had spoken, and he had understood.
“You speak English now?”
The old man smiled, the creases in his face deepening. “There is only one language of the spirit, and all who are brothers may speak it in this place.”
Caleb glanced around. “What, in this teepee?”
“You are in the Place Between.”
“The place between what?”
“Between life and death. Between asleep and awake. Between one world and the next.” The white-haired man threw a handful of something on the flames, and aromatic smoke rolled out. Sage, Caleb thought. “Coyote spoke to me of your need, and your readiness to see this place.”
Caleb eyed the familiar beside the fire, but he couldn’t tell whether it was the same coyote that had watched over him on the prairie. One looked very much like another. “Am I . . . hallucinating still?”
The old man chuckled. “It is possible. That is one way of reaching this place.”
“Am I dying?” The woman returned to his side, and Caleb eyed her warily. She knelt, scooping a handful of a dark, wet substance from a bowl, and began smearing it on his burned forearms. The poultice was cool and sent tingles through his skin.
“I do not believe you are dying. Though you would have without our aid.” The old man produced a long pipe and began filling it with tobacco. Caleb could smell it even under the aroma of
the other herbs. “I am called Crying Elk. I am the medicine man of this band of the People. And you are a star soldier of the white man.”
“Star soldier?”
The old man tapped the place above his heart, and Caleb understood.
“My badge . . .” It was gone, he supposed, wherever Warner had discarded his shirt.
“You are not the same as the last star soldier who came to this land. He was a man like the dark one, the one who digs into the mountain’s heart and causes such pain. He was only interested in his personal gain.” Crying Elk smirked with dark humor. “We would not have aided him, no matter how he begged Coyote.”
That fit in line with everything Caleb had learned about his predecessor. “I feel like I should apologize for that.”
The old shaman snorted, smoke curling from his nostrils to join the haze. “Each man chooses to walk his own path. His choice was not yours, so why would you need to apologize for it?”
Caleb shrugged, only to be reminded of the bonds that tied him. The woman frowned at his fidgeting, reaching to smooth some of the sticky goop over his forehead as well. “What is . . . what is she doing?” Instinctively, he flinched away from her touch, and she grabbed his chin firmly, giving him a glare.
“She is a great healer of our people. The poultice will take the heat from your wounds, allow them to heal. The water will replenish you.”
“Why are you doing this for me?”
“I told you this already. Because you are not like the other star soldier. You spare lives when you could more easily take them, even among people not your own. You give food to the hungry and warning to those in danger.” The old man grinned in the firelight. “Though your spirit guide should more likely be praised for that.”
Spirit guide . . . Ernst! “Is Ernst all right? Where is he?”
“You cannot tell?” The shaman canted his head curiously. “Is he not a piece of your spirit?”
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