by Zoë Archer
“And when given the chance, the slimmest chance, to learn more about yourself, what can you do, but seize that chance. Yet, the path is treacherous and unfamiliar. On your own, you have no possibility or hope. There is only one person who can walk at your side. One person to guide you. The only person who sees you,” he said, turning to Astrid, expression warming, turning thoughtful, “without judgment, only what is in your heart. And even seeing the darkness inside your heart, she accepts you and makes you feel, for the first time, truly whole. The emptiness is gone, because of her. No one has ever given you that gift before.”
Astrid felt her eyes begin to burn, so she blinked them quickly.
He swung back to the chief, who was now sitting back on his haunches, ears turning to follow each of Nathan’s words. “Until one week ago, I lived as a man. In one night, in a few moments of fury and life and death, I learned that I was an Earth Spirit. The change, when it came, shocked me and made me the chosen prey of terrible, ruthless men. This woman”—he gestured toward Astrid—“gave me shelter when there was nowhere to turn. She knew I must find my people. She gave up everything—her home, her peace, almost her life—to help me. She knew the risks, and she took them. She has fought for me. She has given me myself. I will not repay her goodness through blood. I will battle any of you, all of you, to keep her safe.
“But that will not be necessary.” He stopped in front of the chief, a yard between them. At any moment, the wolf could lunge for him, disembowel him, yet he showed no fear. His shoulders were straight, his chin high, and Astrid understood how he had become the sole Native attorney in perhaps all of British Columbia, if not Canada.
“It isn’t necessary,” Nathan said, “because the Earth Spirits know what it means to be different, they know what it means to be fearful and feared, and so they know what it means to be merciful. If I have broken any sacred commandments to find my people, it was not done so out of disrespect, but out of a need to know, at last, who I am. That is not a crime that warrants death. It means life. Finally, life.”
For some time, no one spoke. No one moved. Nathan and the wolf stared at each other, unblinking. Astrid felt her heart attempt to slam its way out of her chest. She did not know whether what Nathan had said was mere oratory, but it shook her, touched her profoundly. She had not felt so much in many, many years.
But would this be the last emotion she felt? She watched the chief, willing herself to be utterly still.
With a shimmer, the chief changed into human form. He stood upright and studied Nathan for many long moments. Then he reached out a hand and clasped Nathan by his shoulder.
“You are welcome here, Lost Brother. You and your mate.”
Nathan gripped the chief’s shoulder in greeting with his own strong hand. He glanced back at Astrid with a smile that pierced her like fire while the words he had spoken filled her. She thought she might drown, then, drown in the flood of her undammed heart.
The chief was called Iron Wolf, and he waved both Astrid and Nathan into his tepee. A woman, Iron Wolf’s wife, handed Nathan a breechcloth, which he donned, and for that, Astrid felt gratitude. She was no prude, but she could not look at Nathan’s supple, sleek body without recalling that, earlier that same day, they had tangled together in ferocious sex. He had been inside of her. And she had wanted him there. Just to think of it brought heat to her face, her body.
And what he had said to the tribe…He demolished her defenses at every turn. Trust and acceptance. That she could be all that to him, had given him so profound a gift and returned it in kind, reduced her battlements to tottering walls, liable to fall with the slightest breeze.
As Astrid sat down opposite him inside Iron Wolf’s tepee, she watched the firelight sculpt Nathan into planes of bronze and gold, and saw, as the light gleamed in his dark eyes, the fierce intelligence and passion within him. She noticed, too, in signs so subtle as to be almost undetectable, the searching in his gaze as he looked at Iron Wolf and some other shape-changing members of the tribe.
He’s looking for himself in them. The first time he’d been among his own kind.
In the quiet, as a pipe was prepared, Astrid turned to him. She asked softly in English, “Did you mean what you said?”
He knew she meant his speech to the tribe. She was trans-fixed by the black depths of his eyes as he looked at her, nothing hidden. “Yes.”
Silken ties wound between them, invisible but strong, threading through every part of her. She wanted to cling to them, pulling him to her. She wanted to run.
She could do neither. Nathan, Iron Wolf, and three other warriors shared a pipe, and she must stay. The chief asked Nathan to recount his tale—his birth, his parents’ tribe, his life among the white men in Victoria.
“And you live as they do?” Iron Wolf asked, incredulous. “In their wooden lodges? You speak their tongue and never follow the hunt, never release your wolf? How do you keep from ripping everyone to pieces?”
“It’s a struggle,” Nathan admitted. “But what do you know of my mother’s grandmother? I was told she was once one of your tribe, and went west to marry. Her name was, I think…Little Creek Woman.”
Iron Wolf frowned in thought, yet, as he did this, a thready voice came from the darker recesses of the tepee. A tiny, withered man ambled out of the shadows, draped in many blankets and robes, and as wrinkled as a knuckle.
“I remember her,” the old man said. “I was a cub, barely weaned, when she left. Said she wanted to see the big water to the west.”
Nathan sat up straighter, alert and intent. “Was she a wolf, too? Or a bear or hawk?”
The old man settled in front of the fire, his bones creaking like wood. “None. She could not change her form.”
“Many of the tribe cannot,” Iron Wolf said.
“How is it that I can change?” Nathan asked.
The chief made a small shrug. “No one knows where the Gift will show. Some women have only human babies, and others have only litters. A woman may also have a human child and an Earth Spirit child.”
“Like Swift Cloud Woman and her brother,” the old man said. The other warriors shifted uncomfortably.
“Quiet, He Watches Stars,” the chief snapped. “Her name is not spoken.”
Astrid and Nathan glanced at each other. What Astrid knew of the woman was vague, but she seemed to be perceived as a threat by other Natives. Thank God she and Nathan had not tried to find her.
“Do some of the Earth Spirits show their powers later in life?” Astrid asked.
“No,” said Iron Wolf. “All are born in their animal forms. Even hawks begin as eggs. Were you truly human at your birth?” he asked Nathan.
Nathan frowned. “My mother didn’t say otherwise. I never knew I could change, not on purpose and not accidentally.”
“Strange,” murmured the chief. “I’ve never heard of one who is an Earth Spirit changing so late in their seasons. I cannot say why you are different from us.”
Astrid’s gaze flicked to He Watches Stars. The old man looked as if he wanted to speak, then held himself back. But she glanced at Nathan and forgot the old man.
Raw disappointment flickered across Nathan’s face. He had wanted more answers, a stronger sense of belonging, but it evaded him. Astrid struggled to keep from reaching out and taking his hand to offer him comfort and support, knowing that most Native warriors would look poorly on the gesture. They would not tolerate anything that seemed to indicate softness or weakness. In that, they weren’t dissimilar from the majority of British men.
Watching Nathan sit among his fellow Earth Spirits, Astrid’s mind turned toward her former comrades, the Blades of the Rose. Though their members came from around the globe, most were British, yet they were far different from most Britons. True, male Blades did not sit around over pots of tea and iced petits fours discussing their feelings, but they held and prized an innate compassion that made them excellent protectors of the world’s magic. Michael had been an outstanding addition to t
heir ranks. And, in truth, so had she.
How were they now, her old friends? Names and faces flashed through her memory, especially that charming scoundrel Bennett Day, and her closest friend, Catullus Graves. Urbane, clever Catullus, with his cunning inventions and dry humor. She missed him. Missed him terribly. And he had been more than patient with her, continuing to send her letters long after she had stopped answering his.
She loved her mother and father, but the Blades, with their purpose and determination in the face of incredible odds, they had been her family. With them, she had been her most authentic self.
In the years since she left the Blades, what dangers had they faced? How many of their numbers had fallen in the course of their never-ending battle? Perhaps the Heirs of Albion had finally eradicated the Blades. It had been some time since she’d heard from Catullus. He, and all the other Blades, might be dead. The thought was so painful, she could not bear to approach it.
But she could fight the Heirs now. She realized with a small, internal start that, ever since Nathan came into her life, since learning of his need, she’d been behaving as though she still was a Blade. And now she sat, surrounded by another culture, learning pieces of their mysteries. Just as she had done as a Blade.
Being a Blade was part of her. Like her muscles and nerves and breath. Inseparable.
“There are cruel, greedy men coming,” she said to Iron Wolf, urgent. “They learned Nathan is an Earth Spirit, and tried to capture him. They pursue him even now. They will come here and enslave all the Earth Spirits.”
But the chief chuckled, and the gathered warriors shared in his laughter. “Let them come. If they can make the crossing, they will face us. We have no fear of men or their guns.”
“These men wield dark medicine, not just guns,” Nathan said grimly.
Yet this amused Iron Wolf even more. “Even when I was a cub, another tribe tried to make war against us using medicine. They sought to make us their animal slaves, too. But they failed, just as all who try to bind us will fail.”
“What makes you so certain?” Nathan asked.
“Three totems,” cried He Watches Stars. “Each within the land. Each for each. Each to protect.”
“I don’t understand,” Astrid said, frowning.
“Long ago,” Iron Wolf said, “totems were created to ensure no Earth Spirit had too much power. One totem for each animal. Hawk, Bear, and Wolf. Whoever is in possession of the totem has command over the Earth Spirits.”
“A safeguard,” Nathan said.
Iron Wolf nodded. “These totems are hidden. No one can find them. Not even an Earth Spirit. It is enough to know they exist. This way, no Earth Spirit gains too much power and no one can truly hold dominion over an Earth Spirit. Everything keeps its balance. We are safe.”
In English, Astrid muttered, “Sources.” Nathan raised a questioning brow, and she said, low, “The totems are Sources. Surely they are what the Heirs seek.”
Nathan, grim, nodded in understanding. “Then this tribe is in danger.”
“More than anyone can understand.” Astrid turned to the chief and said in Nakota, insistent, “I know the men who are coming. I have faced them many times. Five years ago, they killed my husband.” Though it pained her to speak of Michael’s death, it no longer devastated her as it once had. A bittersweet understanding. But she could not think on it now. Her mission was taking shape in front of her. “They are ruthless and unwavering. Nothing is safe from these men. Not even the Earth Spirits and their totems. They will not stop until they have the Earth Spirits under their control.”
“And why would they want us?”
A terrible idea, so terrible as to be true, came to Astrid. “Captive breeding.”
Iron Wolf, and all the men in the tepee, even Nathan, stared at her.
It all made sense to Astrid now. “When these men have the totems, they will control the Earth Spirits. They will force you into captive breeding and create their own army of shape changers.” The notion was so disgusting, Astrid almost gagged, but she forced herself to keep talking. “They will turn the Earth Spirits into farm animals whose sole purpose is to churn out young. Young that could be molded into unstoppable warriors. It’s the totems that they want. And then the Earth Spirits, and their power, will be theirs.”
Nathan cursed in English, looking as though he, too, wanted to be sick.
“Do they have so many enemies, these men?” asked one of the warriors.
“Everyone who is not of their country is their enemy. They want the world to belong to them.”
“Have you a name, Little Sister?” Iron Wolf asked.
She blinked, uncertain. “The Stoney call me Hunter Shadow Woman.”
The chief seemed pleased by this name. He gave her an indulgent look. “Hunter Shadow Woman, your concern is appreciated by our tribe. But it is unnecessary. Whoever these men are, whatever dark medicine they bring, my people can defeat them. We always do.”
“There is a first time for everything,” Nathan pointed out.
Iron Wolf frowned. He did not like being contradicted in front of his warriors. “Enough. If these foolish men do come, we will vanquish them.”
Astrid fought to tame her frustration. The chief wasn’t listening to her or Nathan at all. Iron Wolf underestimated the Heirs, which always proved fatal. But there seemed to be no way of warning him. The Heirs wanted the totems. But Iron Wolf would not recognize the threat.
“Now,” Iron Wolf said, “we will welcome our Lost Brother into our tribe. He is restored to his rightful place. A fine blessing.”
The warriors and He Watches Stars all seconded the chief’s words, and Iron Wolf’s wife, who had been silently sitting nearby, quickly left the tepee. Astrid heard the woman shout to the assembled group outside the tent that there would be a celebration that night. The tribe, eager for amusement, readily agreed and hurried off to make preparations.
Astrid stared at Nathan, and he stared back. They had been drawing closer together, but now she felt the gulf between them widen. He was to be enfolded into the tribe, made one of them. The tribe’s place was his place.
But the Heirs were coming for the totems, the Sources, and the Earth Spirits refused to acknowledge their threat.
A fearful ache wrapped around her chest, only partly due to the approaching danger.
Drumbeats and voices filled the night. Men circled bonfires, carrying small drums, rattles, and bells. Women sat at the edges, singing. Even in celebration, a plaintive tone permeated the song, as though sorrow drifted just beneath the surface of joy, ready to emerge from one breath to the next.
Astrid, seated alone, took those melancholy songs into herself. She watched the shadows cast by the dancers flicker across the nearby trees, the boundary between light and darkness, society and wilderness. One on the outside. The other within.
Nathan moved through the crowd. He still wore the breechcloth, but had also been given a loose, open hide shirt, handsomely decorated with beads. He looked more like the Earth Spirits now, save for his short hair, and, after the initial suspicion, was now happily welcomed into the tribe. People kept stopping him, talking to him, smiling. Several young women, at least ten years younger than Astrid, followed Nathan with their eyes, pleased by what they saw.
As was she. Pleased, but wary. He was a striking man, even amid many handsome men. Something burned within him to give Nathan a dark radiance, an energy, a strength. He would be a fine addition to the tribe.
Astrid forced her gaze away. Instead, she watched the dancers, their sinuous forms as they circled the fire. Some had changed into their animal forms so that, interspersed throughout the crowd, bears nodded with the music, wolves yipped and leapt into the air, and a few daring hawks flew back and forth over the fire.
From her coat, she took out her Compass and opened its lid. Firelight gleamed over its glass face, so it was a thing of brass and flame in her hands. It had guided her once before. It would do so again.
She
remembered the dream, calling her home. Back to the Blades. So strange that she should recall the dream so vividly, even much later, when most of her dreams evaporated like mist upon waking. Now it resonated as she prepared to take up the work she had cast away.
Her attention went back to Nathan as one of the warriors attempted to draw him into the dance. Nathan shook his head, holding up his hands, but smiling good-naturedly. The warrior laughed, then resumed his dance. Then more people surrounded Nathan, full of talk and big gestures. They called him Lost Brother Wolf, all aware that he was no longer lost, but found.
She got to her feet and started walking toward Iron Wolf’s tepee. No one noticed her. Their attentions were all focused on Nathan and their own need for revelry. Life in the mountains was hard; they wanted release.
The celebration would likely go late. She would have enough time to catch a few hours of sleep. Deep weariness assailed her. Such a day. It was a wonder she hadn’t collapsed into boneless exhaustion.
She moved into the darkness, alien and apart. These were not her people. This was not her home. That dream. It resounded again.
Someone took her arm and she spun about, pulling away. Nathan stood close. The firelight behind him outlined him in gold but left his face shadowed.
“I didn’t hear you coming,” she said.
“Drums,” he answered. “Where are you going?”
She raised her brows at his abrupt change of topic. He never wasted time with niceties.
“It has been a most taxing day,” she replied. “I’m going to bed.” She turned to head toward the tent, but Nathan, silent and quick, blocked her path.
“I’ll join you.” Now the firelight was on his face, and she saw the heated promise in his words. Her heart hitched, and warmth gathered between her legs. Her body and heart now knew what they could feel with him, demanding more. She could not allow that.
“You will be missed,” she pointed out instead. “This celebration is for you, to welcome you back.”
