“I will not lose you,” he argued, the hoarseness in his voice rent at Onsi’s soul.
“My beloved Morning Star.” She touched his cheek with trembling hands. “As long as my sons live, I will be with you. Let me save them, I beg of you.”
He bowed his head while a thousand years of tradition weighed upon him. The law of the spirits was clear. In matters of life and death, they offered the final word, not the shaman. Shamans could ask for guidance, for care, and for the gift of life, but they could not bestow it even while it existed within them.
Onsi rubbed at the spot between her breasts. The heat within lived there, the ancient secret of life itself. So many believed it lay within the soul or the blood, but it went deeper, to the heart which bound soul and blood together. The secret passed from shaman to shaman, the gift of true life—for without a heart, what was life?
“Please,” the shaman whispered, his language as familiar to Onsi as if she spoke it herself. “Hear my prayers. Come to their aide. Save my family. As I have honored you all my life, so too honor them. They are our strength and our future, these beautiful boys. You spared them once, spirits of my ancestors and of earth and of sky. I beg you to spare them again.”
The spirits halted, as though all held their breath, but not one answered. Not one moved. The babies cried out, their pain so visceral, Onsi longed to reach out to try and ease their suffering. Bound by the press of the spirits shackling her to the horrible vision, she could do nothing but bear silent witness.
“Alicia,” the shaman said after a prolonged silence. “What do you need me to do?”
The woman sagged and her shoulders shook. More tears slid down her face as she held up the grass she’d been weaving. “We must make these into dolls then dress them in the clothing of the babies. We can do to the dolls what we dare not do to our sons. We can purge from them this illness then use our magic to keep their spark within them.”
A fresh wave of pity welled within Onsi. A shaman’s duty to his tribe and to the spirits was sacrosanct, but so was a father’s duty to his family. How dare they force him to make a choice between the two? With nimble fingers, he shaped the doll while his wife finished the second. The redness on her skin gave way to new blisters, but she barely slowed her actions for the discomfort she must feel.
When they’d completed the dolls, they stripped away the clothing on the babies and dressed the grass figures in them. Taking a sharpened bone blade, he snipped away some hair from each child and added it to the dolls. Before his wife could protest, he sliced through her braid and cut his own hair.
“Morning Star,” she admonished him, but he held up his hand.
“I would have my wife with me. I will join my fate to yours, to my family. You will not go into the long dark alone.”
Onsi pressed her hand to her mouth. The declaration cleaved him to his wife. From the spirit plane, she could see his shadow enfolding the woman’s until they united as one.
“What do we do next?”
The woman—Alicia, he’d called her—licked her chapped lips before she answered in a surprisingly strong voice. “Call your spirits and I shall call mine. My blood, your blood, our blood…”
He nodded as he covered her hands on the dolls they’d created. Together, they began to pray, their chanting almost lyrical and hypnotic. All around Onsi, the spirits began to sway. The snake hissed. The coyote growled. The wolf bared his teeth. A schism split down the middle as some spirits fought while others leaned closer. From the opposite side of the tent, an unfamiliar presence rose.
Glitter and darkness spun together with the hint of wings, yet still more spirits crowded into the teepee. Though neither the Shaman nor his wife spoke the same language, they filled in the spaces of each other’s pauses in a perfect linguistic dance until the world stopped.
All the air evacuated. The screams of the babies silenced. The air around the shaman turned a deep shade of silvery green—the colors of the moon and the verdant gift of summer. The air around his woman turned a deep shade of blue and molten red—the blessing of the sky and the red rush of life. Scalding heat, piercing music, and the rustle of feathers rushed into them before the dolls exploded into sparkling dust.
When the dazzling effect passed, Onsi gazed at the perfectly healthy babies, their red blistered skin gone as if it had never been. From the children, she turned her attention to the wife and the shaman. They clung to one another. Her wounds were gone, but where her hand touched his chest, a blood red print appeared.
Moments later, a fresh scream tore holes in the serenity. Onsi turned toward the sound, but instead of the wall of the teepee, she saw only the entrance to her cave barely illuminated by the faint promise of dawn. Sweat poured off her body, and she swayed. The spirits bled away from her, leaving only corn woman’s sorrowful gaze before she, too, was gone.
The fire burned in faint embers, leaving the cave in nearly pure darkness. The unexpected vision still held her mind captive, and she would need time to sort out its meaning. Closing her eyes, she took a deep breath then froze.
Blood.
The breeze carried the scent of hot blood and the scream which rent through her vision echoed in her mind. Stumbling to her feet, she used a hand on the cave wall to lead herself to the exit. Beyond the entrance, the water lapped at the shore, pulsing and undulating with life as it continue marking its path.
Outside, she heard nothing move, yet the scent of blood and smoke clung to the air like a sick miasma. Stomach churning, she turned toward the encampment. No matter the hour, a fire should burn somewhere, yet nothing moved save for the breeze stirring the sickness in the air.
Stumbling, she climbed the sandy path then ran toward her people. Why couldn’t she hear them? What throat made the scream? The moon long since set, leaving the night perfectly black and untouched. Even the glitter of stars above was not enough to light her way.
The closer to the encampment she drew, the heavier the scent of blood and, beneath it, death. Pain pierced her soul. Coyote appeared in front of her, then Brother Wolf. Finally the Fox and the Bear emerged from the night. They blocked her and she halted, obeying the words they didn’t speak, but which her soul understood.
Dropping to her knees, she waited for the first blaze of the sun in the east. The rousing of the light came slowly, too slowly, before it peeled back the blanket of the night. She didn’t want lay her gaze upon the horror her soul had already realized.
Bodies lay strewn across the breadth and width of the encampment. The teepees had been transformed into burnt out husks. The horses were nowhere in sight, run off or perhaps killed in the slaughter.
Warriors. Split open and trampled into the mud made from their own lives dripping into the earth. She barely recognized Minninnewah beneath the matting of blood.
Women. A new mother, child still at her breast, discarded and bloody. Beyond her, an old woman lay crumpled, a storyteller renowned for her weaving.
Children. Bold young boys and beautiful young girls, some cleaved in two, some left shattered and broken.
The old. The young.
None had been spared.
A keening sound came from the back of her throat. The spirits rushed her, buffeting her on all sides once more, but she ignored them all. Throwing her head back, she screamed.
Shane, Across the Red River
“I don’t understand,” he said for what felt like the hundredth time since he’d joined Jimmy on their adventure. “They lied to you. They tried to hold us hostage. Yet you just rode away and left them without a word.” The side of his head still ached from the blow from the rifle, but the injury was all in his mind. No matter how much he searched, he couldn’t find a sign of the wound on his skull.
“They’re Fevered,” Jimmy said, as though the word explained everything.
What the hell did it mean, exactly? He and Sage were Fevered. Jimmy was Fevered. The word didn’t define them, just described what they could do. Yet Jimmy said it with reverence, as th
ough he meant something far different. “She tried to make you do something you didn’t want to do.”
“I am aware,” the older man said with a nod. “I was there.” They’d rode almost directly north, toward the Red River. The Turrens told them a couple of points where they could ford the river, where the horses would have to swim, but not how long before they would be back on river bottom. “She didn’t hurt us, Shane. You have to weigh actions against intentions and results.”
“You said, if they attack your family…”
“They didn’t attack my family,” Jimmy said, then cast a sideways glance at him. “Unless your head is hurting more than you let on.”
Mr. Turren’s striking him with the gun? Shane shrugged. The blow surprised him, but it hadn’t hurt. His power expanded through him, and he’d snapped the scatter gun in half. He could have done the same to the man… As if the thought were all he needed, the fight went out of him. Without a doubt, Shane could have hurt the couple. “No.”
Bile burned in the back of his throat. The penchant for violence made him ill. His father thrived on a steady diet of what he could hurt—Shane, his mother, animals. Shane refused to be like him.
“All right, then.” Jimmy let his horse lag a few steps until they rode abreast. “They’re Fevered, or at least Mrs. Turren is, and her husband only tried to protect her.”
“So, if it’s all right for them to lie and interfere because they’re Fevered, why are we hunting the doppelganger?” The question burned in his gut. The man—Ryan—was also Fevered.
“Because he did attack our family.” The question didn’t seem to disturb the sharpshooter because his tone remained even. Did Jimmy ever get angry? “He shot Sam. He joined the gang who kidnapped and tortured Jason. He helped those same people infect Dorado with the Fever.”
The quiet rebuke shunted Shane’s irritation away entirely. He’d lost a lot of friends to the fever; lost his Ma and Pa, too. He didn’t miss his father, not one little bit, but he missed his ma—missed being able to save her from the grief of his Pa, or the chance of her seeing a better life without Pa.
“Shane,” Jimmy said, nudging his hat back from his eyes. “Enemies are all around us. There are people like the colonel, who use for us skills. People like MacPherson, who would twist us or kill us if we don’t follow them. Then there are others. They’d hunt us down and kill us because they’re afraid of what we can do. So our allies, our friends, and our family? We’re the ones who have to take care of them. Other Fevered aren’t as lucky as me. Quanto found me; he found my brothers and my sister. He took us in, gave us a home, a family and a purpose. When we meet another Fevered, they get the benefit of doubt…”
“But if they hurt others or try to hurt us?” He thought he knew the answer, but asked to be sure.
“Then it is up to us to stop them. One mad Fevered can bring hell down on all of us.” The older man sighed then adjusted the brim of his hat lower. The cooler air made the sun pleasant, but bright. Each day followed the pattern of the previous. They continued north, following whatever path only Jimmy could see. If not for the increasing distance between Shane and the ranch, he would enjoy the excursion.
“Can I ask you a question?”
A half-laugh tumbled out of Jimmy.
“Why was that funny?”
“It just was. What’s the question?” Gaze firm on the horizon, he tapped his heels to the horse and they picked up their pace.
Maybe asking wasn’t the best idea. Shane reconsidered the shifting unease gnawing the inside of his belly. The unsettled feeling wavered inside of him. Sweat slicked the back of his hand and his heart pounded so hard, he thought it wanted to escape his chest. Perhaps it would be better if he didn’t give the unexplainable emotion a voice. Teetering on the indecision, he shied away from asking about the ranch and about… “It’s nothing. Do you think we’re still on the trail?”
“Yes and no.” Jimmy’s reply only confused him more.
“How can we be on the trail and not on the trail at the same time?”
“Because Quanto asked me for a favor.”
What? He blinked. “What? How?”
“He can dreamwalk.” The casual acceptance in the explanation still startled Shane. “Like Buck. Well, better than Buck. Probably the best. He asked me to change my plans last night. He understands the importance of the doppelganger not getting to MacPherson, but insists there is a greater task we have to complete first.”
Trying to wrap his mind around the concept and failing, Shane frowned. “What is dreamwalking?”
Twisting in the saddle, Jimmy squinted at him. “You don’t know everyone’s gifts?”
He knew his. He knew some of the other kids’…like Sage. Her gift enhanced everyone else’s, which made her dangerous to be around. The enforced isolation gave her time to master her talent, but he missed her company. Fortunately for him, she liked to sneak out and see him, too. “Cody and Mariska are wolves.” He knew their ability. They were married or mated, maybe both. “Miss Delilah can sing.” Shane scratched at his chin. The growth of stubble along his jaw and cheeks grew fiercer each day. He used to get away with shaving just once a week, but he thought those days might be behind him. “Miss Scarlett, she can set things on fire.” That about summed up what he knew then he snapped his fingers. “Miss Jo can talk to the animals.”
He didn’t think the older Kane brothers possessed powers, but the younger brothers did. Kid did something with emotions, making him probably the easiest of the Kanes to talk with.
“Huh,” Jimmy grunted. “I thought you’d know more about what we do.”
“Because you’re all open and eager to discuss your abilities with us?” As soon as the words passed his lips, Shane wanted to draw them back. He didn’t mean to overstep and his jaw clenched, every muscle in his body tensing in anticipation of reprisal.
Eyebrows raised, Jimmy’s deeper laugh released the noose of tension on Shane’s throat. “Fair point. All right, catch up, and I’ll tell you who can do what. It’s good to know.”
“Can you start with dreamwalking?”
Another grin while Jimmy scanned the area. He always did, his gaze searching everything ahead of them and then behind. Probably it’d be impossible to sneak up on him.
“Dreamwalking,” he said, pulling a leg from his stirrup and hooking it over the saddle horn. The trick worked to stretch out legs during a long ride. Shane hadn’t quite mastered the looseness the other man demonstrated in the saddle.
But he would.
“…involves Quanto being able to enter your dreams. He can change them or simply observe. If he’s in the mood, he can talk to you. Buck can do most of the same, but I don’t know if he can change them as well as Quanto can.”
“Change them? Talk to you? Like an actual conversation, even though he’s not there and you’re miles away?”
“Yes.”
Take over his dreams? Change them? Communicate via them? All of those facts qualified as terrifying in Shane’s book. He rubbed a hand against his chest. “Would you know he was there? In your dreams?”
“Only if he wants you to know.” With a sidelong look, Jimmy gave him a faint smile. “It’s unnerving, but if you ever meet an old Shaman in your dreams, know you can trust him.”
“Easy for you to say.” Shane didn’t want to meet anyone in his dreams. Hell, he didn’t want anyone to see what he dreamt about. The night before, he’d thought about Sage…what if the old man saw those images?
“It’s a good way for us to keep in touch, and he could also help train us in our dreams. Buck may do the same with the others as they get older. You can make mistakes in dreams without terrible consequences.” Though he sounded light, something darker deepened Jimmy’s tone.
“Did he train you in your dreams?”
“Some.” Jimmy’s jaw tightened for a brief instant then relaxed. “It was easier for me to learn in the dreaming because when I shot people in real life, they died.” The brim of his hat
shaded his eyes, but Shane could almost feel the weight of their regard. “You haven’t killed or had to kill yet. I hope you never have to.”
“What’s it like?” Dread tangled with eagerness in his gut, and Shane frowned. He didn’t want to kill anyone. Well, not exactly. He’d wanted to kill his father on any number of occasions. Since he couldn’t kill a dead man, he had no one left he wanted to kill.
“It’s lonely.” Jimmy tapped his heels to the horse’s side again and broke into a canter. Apparently the subject was closed. Then his last words drifted back. “And final.”
Chapter 4
Once, Two days later, miles south of the winter encampment
Onsi paused at the rise in the crest and studied the landscape sprawling ahead of her. With the spirits huddled near, she’d seen to the final rest of her people. The long day after the bloody dawn would haunt her for the rest of her days. May she never forget a single face or name… She’d committed them all to her memory as she checked each body with the desperate hope someone survived. The damage, coupled with the bodies, left her grieving heart with too many questions.
How had they been taken so totally by surprise? Who killed them? The spirits trapped her in the cave; of that she had no doubt. The realization became crystal clear when the sun swooped low in the sky. They brushed her arms, patted her hair, and all the while, they urged her back to the cave. She’d ignored them, working tirelessly to tend each body. When she began the fire to consume their ashes, it lit up the sky.
A part of her soul, the rational part not trapped in the agony of loss, argued whoever slaughtered her people might very well see those flames. The rest of her hoped they did. Living when everyone else perished shackled her heart and pressed pain into every part of her being as though dull knives carved away her flesh.
But no one came. She danced, sang, and prayed for her people as the flames carried their ashes up to the stars. The spirits came to join her, but she turned away from them, too angry with their actions—their choice to spare her when they could have warned her of the danger to the others.
The Quick and the Fevered Page 5
