The Quick and the Fevered

by Long, Heather

  The sun warmed her face and she closed her eyes. No animals remained in the camp, the horses all scattered. After walking for nearly a day, she hadn’t seen tracks from the camp’s attackers or from the missing horses. Did she dare go south, as the old Shaman asked, or should she turn her back on him as well?

  A tear slipped down her cheek, and she swiped it away. Opening her eyes, she frowned. The sun was gone. The moon hung fat and heavy in the sky. The moon was dark in her reality, it would not be fat or full for several nights. Her hand was translucent and she scowled. Behind her a fire crackled. Jerking to her feet, she whirled to find the old shaman tended the flames, the marks of time leaving his face wrinkled and his eyes sunken.

  The deep well of sorrow in his expression pricked her temper, and she blew out a breath. “Will you not leave me to my mourning, Wise Father?”

  “Would that I could, Little Eagle, but the days grow shorter and your list of allies thin. You are needed in the south and will be protected.”

  Folding her arms, she studied the man as he added another log to the fire. Even in the dreaming, the heat reached out to stroke her. It wrapped around her and chased away the chill, as though the flames themselves sought to embrace her. Beyond the flickering shadows, spirits moved, as much a part of the fabric of the dream as of life.

  Not deigning to acknowledge them, she kept her focus on the older shaman. “Did you know?”

  “That they would come to your people to take you?” He did not mince his words nor soften the blow he delivered. Whoever slaughtered her people did so to get her. Why? “Yes, I suspected as much. They have hunted many of the shamans, down to the last of the Blood. You are becoming a rare and endangered species, Little Eagle.”

  Her heart went to pieces again. “Who are they?”

  “Dangerous men.” As if those words explained everything, he simply continued. “One man in particular, though, will not be satisfied until he is certain all of the Blood are destroyed. That you live will be irksome to him.”

  Somehow she could not find it within her to care for the butcher’s satisfaction. “Is he hunting others of the People?”

  A breeze stirred the sparks in the flame and carried them into the dark sky. The shaman rose with a kind of stumbling strength. Dressed in buckskins with no adornments, he looked every inch the ancient and wise elder, one who should be treasured and protected. The stories he likely knew, the tales he could tell…yet all she wanted was for him to answer her questions then leave her alone.

  “Yes. If he is, we need to warn them.” It would take days—even weeks—to track all of them. Over the last decade, winter encampments shifted in location. Often, they moved out of desire to avoid the white man, forever claiming more and more land as though entitled to own the earth itself.

  “Warning you did not engage your action.”

  She deserved his rebuke. Onsi turned away from the shaman and his fire to gaze across the distant night. “I cannot stay here, Wise Father.”

  “No, you must go south…”

  “Why? There are no People there. Most are moving west or further north where they will perish with the brutal cold. I must find…”

  “You. Must. Go. South.” He stood before her, and she stared into his wizened eyes. Fierce light kindled within them. “You are needed and, more importantly, you will be safe.”

  “From the one who butchered my people?” Where she found the strength to defy him further, she did not know. She was a shaman, a wise woman, gifted with the voices of the spirit and power—she was not a child. “Why is this so important to you? What is it I possess that you wish to control?”

  He sighed. “Little Eagle, you are stubborn and strong. These traits do you credit, but they may yet cause you to fail.”

  “Then it is my choice to fall.” Did he not understand? Her people were gone. She’d already failed, what was left for her? “If you cannot answer my questions then, please, leave me be.”

  “You are not the first to bury their tribe, family, or people, Little Eagle. If you continue to struggle against this fate, you will not be the last.”

  “The fate of others is not my responsibility.” How dare he put this task to her? The spirits shifted and pressed in, their presence multiplying in the shadows. Turning slowly, she swept her gaze across them. “You think you will control my fate? That you shall decide what I become, how I will live? My fate belonged to my people. And you took me from them when they needed me most.”

  “Your fate is not theirs, Little Eagle.” The weight of his weathered hands came down upon her shoulders. The world wrenched sideways. Once more, she stood in the encampment the spirits had shown her. All around, her people—no not hers, the others of their time—went about their lives. Hunting, weaving, and chattering away at the fires while her grief left her mute. She would never again hear the songs of history sung about the fire as they shared their tales for another generation.

  Minninnewah would never again bring her a fresh rabbit to entice her to a meal then consult with her on where they should travel next. The little ones wouldn’t run and play, laughing and squealing through the camp. An entire generation, silenced forever.

  She didn’t want to see what the old Shaman weaved for her. Wrenching away from him, she pushed out with her will. He might control the dreaming, he might even have the ear of the spirits, but she was shaman, medicine woman, born of the Blood. She would not be controlled. Then she stood next to the rock where she’d taken her ease. In the west, the sun continued its descent. The spirits scattered away from her wrath, leaving their whispers to eddy in the air.

  Panting, she swung around in a circle. The last wisps of the spirits fled and she stood alone. “You think you can control my fate?” she told them all. “You should not have betrayed my people.”

  Corn Woman. Coyote. Wolf Brother. Bear. Owl. They turned on her. She would turn on them. The ability to hear did not mean she must listen. If she closed them from her heart, she had the power to strike them mute. “I choose my fate. I choose my people.”

  No more running. Whoever slaughtered her kin still lived. Onsi drew a knife out from her sheath. With one slice, she cut her palm then curled her fingers into a fist to squeeze the blood from the wound. The sting brought with it startling clarity of purpose.

  “I will hunt them. Only when the last of them are dead will I return to my people. They will not be forgotten. I swear it.” The world around her rippled.

  She’d sworn an oath. The spirits heard her and they cried out, but Onsi closed her heart. The old shaman had been right about one thing. She was of The Blood. Within her was the power of all her people.

  “I will kill them, Minninnewah. This I promise you.” The warrior would never have asked her to kill, but he was no longer with her to ask her anything. As medicine woman and shaman, it was her task to tend to the soul of her people, to keep them alive and healthy. Oh, what she would give to have her friend at her side, even if only to hear him chastise her temper…But, no. She would never hear his voice again.

  The last bond barricaded her heart, and the whispers ceased. If she could not have her people, she did not want the spirits or the shaman.

  Jimmy, Three Days past the Red River

  Riding hard was the only way to follow the trail Quanto set for him. Despite his resistance to his father’s requests, the dreamwalker had been persistent. Two nights before, he won his persuasive argument and Jimmy altered their course.

  “You are tracking a man’s shadow, chasing him across the country based on the marks he leaves in his wake. Marks you can see, but you can’t predict.” The accusation stung, and Jimmy stared across the fire at his father. “You live with purpose. You have decided your purpose in this my son, to protect your brothers and your sister and the families they are building. You will sacrifice yourself to make them safe. It is admirable and honorable…and utterly unnecessary. There is another way.”

  “You keep saying so, Father. Forgive me for mentioning it, but you
are on the mountain. You cannot extend your protection to the ranch. We made a choice when we left, when we followed Scarlett to her new home. We knew we risked exposure.”

  Therein lay the rub, the one part of the conversation he and his siblings never discussed. All their lives, Quanto and Wyatt taught them to be cautious, to be wary. Most of all, to be secret. Leaving the mountain, they risked everything and they’d paid a heavy toll, as had the town of Dorado.

  Jimmy sighed and rose to his feet. He glanced at Shane. The boy’s light snores rippled the dreaming around him. Though he continued to sleep and Quanto would keep him in slumber, it was Quanto who pulled him into the dreaming where the boy would be safe.

  “We have enemies we never knew existed.” He slanted a look at his father. “But I suspect you and Wyatt know who MacPherson is.”

  Though his face did not change, Quanto’s eyes grew sad. The old Indian had long before mastered the ability to appear enigmatic. “Jimmy, if you do not save the eagle, all of your sacrifices will be for nothing.”

  Ice chilled in his veins and the air around the fire turned cool. For the barest moment, he wasn’t standing in the camp he and Shane set up, but in their cabin on the mountain before the large glass window overlooking the lake. Snow dusted the ground, and he could almost taste it in the air. The room was dark, save for the fire reflected in the background. Overhead, the stars glittered, but the light shining in the barn, at Wyatt’s forge, drew his gaze.

  Their eldest brother must be hard at work for it to burn so bright. Between one blink and the next, he returned to the fire with Shane, then whisked away to the ranch. Cody and Mariska laughed while they followed children toward the town of Haven. A pregnant Jo waited with Micah alongside Scarlett and Sam. The scene shifted to the main house, where Kid and his new wife, Evelyn, sat down to dinner with Jason and Olivia. Their father was nowhere in evidence. It was good to see Jason and Kid forging a friendship to support the strain in their long-damaged bond.

  Another blink, and he saw Buck and Delilah on the porch of their cabin, seemingly lost in each other. Then the scene jerked to Noah in Dorado proper, his gaze firm on Lena while she dined in one of the town’s new restaurants. She wasn’t alone, as a young man sat opposite her. Jimmy didn’t know the man, but he could read his brother, Noah’s, face.

  He wasn’t happy, but he was alive. They were all alive. Alive and well.

  “Yes, they build strong lives with strong ties to one another and to the towns you have fostered. Fevered and normal living side-by-side. It’s a dream, Jimmy, a wonderful dream. One I wish to see continue for my children and theirs.”

  “What about Ike and Rudy?” Like Wyatt, they’d declined to move to Dorado. “How are they?” The scene dissolved, but they returned to the encampment. Jimmy frowned. “Father?”

  “They have chosen a different path.” It wasn’t an answer.

  Stripping off his hat, Jimmy thrust a hand through his hair. “Are they still alive?” His younger brothers were as different as the rest, but Ike’s soul was gentle—sometimes too gentle for the rest of the world. And Rudy, he’d never had much sense, though he possessed a good heart.

  “Yes.” Quanto sighed. “Do not concern yourself with them. You may yet meet them again should the path turn. I need you to go north and some to the west, to the place where the hills meet the prairie. The eagle will be there in two days’ time. You must be there when the eagle arrives.” The sky around them illuminated and a painted image appeared. A brief glimpse of the land, but he’d recognize it if needs be.

  “Why?” At one point in his life, Jimmy wouldn’t have questioned Quanto. He’d have simply obeyed. “Two days, north and west… I’ll lose Ryan’s trail. The doppelganger will escape, and he’s going to MacPherson. He’ll tell him about the others on the ranch, which puts everyone in danger. How can one bird help us?”

  “Faith, Jimmy. Trust me.” Quanto placed a hand on his shoulder. “You do not believe, as Buck does, in the lessons taught by the sky and the land, nor in the power of the pack as Cody does, or even in the gift of life as Scarlett and Noah do. You believe in very little.”

  “I believe in my family.” Why have this conversation again? “I believe in the Morning Star. That the sun will rise and we will greet the day. What else do I need to believe in?”

  “Someday, Jimmy, you must confront the void in your heart, but for today, believe me when I say the eagle is where you must fly. Protect the eagle at all costs.”

  “You don’t know what you’re asking of me.” If he lost the doppelganger, he ran the risk of never finding him again. Of not tracking him back to MacPherson. He had one chance to end the threat to his family.

  “I do know, my son.” The weight of his father’s hand imprinted on his soul. On the one hand, he wanted to say yes, to agree. On the other, he wanted to deny his request.

  “Why? Can you tell me at least that much? Why is this eagle so important?”

  “Because I asked you to do this.” Quanto relented. “Because the eagle is the end and the beginning of everything. Without the eagle, I fear for my children. I fear for you. You need the eagle, and the eagle will need you.”

  The dream ended then, and Jimmy woke to a quiet camp and a heavy heart. Furious, he stood and roused Shane. The sooner they found the damned bird, the better. Two days of hard riding, of trusting the inner voice to ride north then west, and he could see the hills in the distance the same view as the brief glimpse from Quanto. He held up his hand and slowed his horse.

  Shane reined in his animal and drew alongside him. Jimmy scanned the hills, the tingling in his eyes telling him his power brought them into sharper focus. Nothing moved ahead of them, save for the breeze rustling the yellowed grass. The hills hid the far side from him, but they would cross them and dip down to where they greeted the prairie.

  “We stop here,” he said. The horses were soaked with sweat. Despite the cooler temperatures, Jimmy couldn’t say he or Shane were much better off. They’d pushed, sleeping in the saddle and only halting when the horses needed to rest. Dismounting, he loosened the saddle and stripped his horse. Across from him, Shane worked with identical single-minded purpose.

  They dropped the tack, using sackcloth to dry the horses and rub them down before releasing them. Too tired to do more than walk to the water and drink, the horses didn’t even eat much before they dozed.

  “Firewood.” Jimmy pointed at Shane. “Then deal with the tack.” He pulled out his rifle. “I’m going for a walk to find game.” Also, he wanted to get the lay of the land. Quanto put him there for a reason, and he’d come, but Jimmy needed to know what to expect. For once, Shane didn’t have any questions, so he left the kid to work and headed toward the hills.

  The area rolled, littered with copses of trees. The wide open land afforded Jimmy a clear view of the area. Moving steadily, he worked his legs to free up the stiffness from riding. He could go for days in a saddle, had done so on many occasions. Every step loosened his muscles. The weight of the rifle was both a comfort and a burden.

  Nothing moved around him.

  The lack of population bothered him less than the lack of animals. It was autumn, so the farther north they’d traveled, the greater the kiss of the oncoming winter. Where was the game? Why weren’t they rustling about, preparing for the long cold? Pausing, he glanced at their makeshift camp. Shane cleared an area and already gathered some firewood. The boy probably had knocked a tree down.

  The thought earned a smile from Jimmy, but unease continued to pit his stomach. No animals. No people. He canted his head and scanned the skies. In the distance, he could see a bird; however only as a speck at the edge of his range. The motion of the wings seemed suspended as though the bird glided, then with a pump of its wings it went higher. Eagles flew high.

  Quanto’s warning crashed into him.

  You have to protect the eagle. If that speck were the eagle, it was too far away for Jimmy to do anything. Shifting his grip on the rifle, he jogged for
ward through the grass. It came up to his thighs in places, a golden yellow like summer wheat. His path took him up the hill. When he reached the first crest, he checked the eagle’s progress.

  It drew closer, becoming more distinct as was the span of the wings themselves—easily six-feet across. Magnificent didn’t come close to describing the beauty in the bird’s flight. If it continued to fly the pattern it followed, it would be overhead soon.

  The eagle will be there in two days’ time. You must be there when the eagle arrives. His father’s warning echoed within him. Glancing back once, he checked on Shane. He hadn’t discussed Quanto’s request with the boy beyond explaining they needed to make a detour. Every step off the path of following the doppelganger cut into Jimmy, but Quanto didn’t make requests lightly, nor did he send his children on fool’s errands.

  Picking up his pace, he angled to intersect the eagle’s flight. Though it remained some miles away, the creature’s speed drew it closer. Dividing his attention between the bird and the landscape, he watched for any hints of movement. He was almost to the second hill. His lungs burned from the exertion, and his leg muscles protested the abuse. Not slowing, Jimmy crested the rise.

  On the other side, he saw a pair of men rode toward him. The thick grass muffled the thunder of the horses’ hooves, but not the degree of disturbance to the grass itself. Pulling up short, he split his attention between the riders and the eagle. The majestic bird was nearly atop the riders and one of them pulled out a rifle.

  Jimmy didn’t hesitate. He hefted his rifle, braced it to his shoulder, sighted and fired. The bullet struck the man in the chest, and he flew off his horse. The other man jerked around then pulled a gun of his own. The eagle descended, talons extended as though to strike as the man lifted his pistol. In a second, the eagle would be within range if it didn’t halt its dive.

  You have to protect the eagle.