The Quick and the Fevered

by Long, Heather

  “This one shouldn’t expect the deer’s spirit to show, should he?” The awkward question and hint of dry teasing reminded her of home, of Minninnewah and his laconic wit.

  “Perhaps he is already here and wishes to hear you thank him again.”

  His snort covered a faint laugh and her smile grew. The man didn’t laugh much, not that she expected him to. Hunters and warriors shared one common thread, they looked forward, toward the next hunt or battle, and their narrow focus didn’t let them appreciate the present.

  When she added nothing more, he cleared his throat and placed his free hand over hers on the animal’s chest. “Thank you.”

  The simple, heartfelt response deserved reward, not scorn. “Well done.” At peace with the gift they’d received, she tugged her fingers from his. “This one will take the antlers to grind and I can do the skinning.” Unpleasant work to be sure, but an offer she could make. If she went to work, she could finish by the time morning truly arrived. Once the morning star took to the skies, she could continue her pursuit.

  “I can do it.” Jimmy caught her arm before she could step away then lowered his voice to a bare whisper. “Stay close to this one, Blue. Something is moving in the night.”

  Her head snapped up, but she returned to his side and stopped focusing on the animal or the warmth she felt from him. Instead, she listened to the night. Beyond the crackle of the flames from the fire or the soft sound of the boy’s snores—further still—a hushed sound. Booted feet.

  “Boots,” she said in soft undertone.

  “I see them.”

  What? Onsi frowned. Without the moon, the world was cast in shadows and stars. She could barely see him at all, and he stood close enough to hold her. How could he see anything at all? No time to worry over a matter he couldn’t explain, she closed her eyes and knelt, retrieving her knife from the strap on her ankle. Barefoot, she curled her toes into the dirt and listened.

  The soft shushing of boot steps came from the south, angling along the river. Whomever approached used the water to disguise their arrival. Jimmy released her. She heard the slide of leather.

  He had his pistols.

  Vibrations in the earth warned her of further danger. “More.” She barely mouthed the word, but this close, Jimmy couldn’t miss it. His teeth clicked together. Angling her position, she turned to look at the fire and the boy still sleeping, blissfully unaware of the impending danger.

  “Go to Shane.” Jimmy pressed a hand to her lower back and gave her a light push. “Wake him.” Then he vanished, bleeding away into the darkness. Blade in hand, she retraced the path he’d led her on, avoiding missteps to make it to the fire. The thunder of hooves woke the horses, and they raised their heads.

  Still running, she leapt the fire and struck the man lunging out of the darkness. Her blade went into his heart. He collapsed and softened her landing. Jerking the blade free, she jerked at the sound of gunshots. One.

  Two.

  Three.

  Shane rose from his blankets, and she motioned with her hand for him to go low again. Though they didn’t share any common language, he obeyed. Wariness replaced the sleep in his eyes, and Onsi studied the night. The thud of hooves against the earth grew louder. She could hear them, but where were they?

  Another shot.

  Whispering a small prayer to keep Jimmy safe, she spun and faced the man charging her. Like her, he wielded a knife, but his was much larger. She avoided the first blow and the second, dancing around the fire. Twice her size, he also had a longer reach. She dodged under his arm and sliced the inside of his forearm.

  He roared and dropped his blade. Then Shane was in front of her and he took the mountain-sized man’s blow. The world blew up in heat and flame. Where the boy had been, she swore a bear stood, and his blow sent the larger man back. The double-image of the bear rising up out of Shane startled her and hard arms closed around her, jerking her from her feet.

  Onsi slammed her head backward. The blow sent stars skittering across her vision, but the satisfying crunch of bone when she broke her assailant’s nose pleased her. The brutal grip released, and she pulled free. Whirling, she danced with the blade the way she’d been trained.

  One slice across his belly and the second to the man’s throat—he collapsed. The night around her lit up and scorched her vision as though white-hot daylight pierced the veil of night.

  Behind her, a neck snapped. Still blinking away the burn to her vision, she confronted the approach of a new stranger. His hands sizzled and lightning cascaded from palm to palm. The sheer force of power and blast of heat radiating from him told her three things. He was cursed by the spirit fever, she was his target, and she was about to join her people.

  The encampment had been burned, yet no trace of fire touched the surrounding land. A man with lightning dancing in his fingers explained the oddity. He gave her a smile then flung his hand forward. The lightning streaked out, but instead of pain exploding against her flesh, Shane lunged between her and streak. It slammed into the boy and blew him to the side. Skin smoking, he hit the earth.

  Jarred from her stupor, Onsi raised her hands, palms toward the assailant. She cut herself when she’d cut her attacker and her blood trickled down her arms. The man said something, but she ignored words she didn’t understand. The lightning sizzled to life. As it cut through the night, it promised her death.

  She refused the invitation. The boy still lived, but if she fell, so would he. No others under her protection would die. Kindling her blood, she concentrated on the spirits swirling around the man. The lightning bolted to the earth, trapped in the shell of the person facing her. To face the cursed meant to lose, they turned them away from the tribes for a reason. The spirits could drive a person mad and were not meant to be housed within humans.

  To separate the man from the spirit was a near-insurmountable task. She could not hurt the man, but she could summon the spirit. “Great Spirit, hear my prayer. Of fire sky’s gift and morning rain, take this spirit into to you again.” Her words meant less than her intent. The lightning burned the air around her, flashing to a blinding strobe, but she felt the spirit and, aching, she pushed open the door she’d barricaded. The world around her surged with the force of coyote, Corn Woman, brother wolf and the great eagle. Her scream expanded, and the spirit struck the man, talons extended. As she lifted away, she tore the power from him.

  The lightning streamed upward and the man jerked. Darkness plunged in again, blinding her dazzled eyes further. The power loss wasn’t permanent. No matter the force used to remove the spirits, they would return to the person they’d melded with. Neither human nor spirit any longer, but one being fused together. She had only once chance to end him. If she could kill his human form then…

  A gunshot cracked the silence and blood spurted. The last traces of his life glimmered then evaporated. Lighting struck the downed body and he went incandescent. The stink of burning flesh filled the air as spirit consumed flesh.

  A boot step on earth and she whirled, blade at the ready, but Jimmy appeared in the low light of the fire. He swept her from head to toe with a glance then went to Shane. Her heart thudded in her throat. The front of the boy’s chest was completely blackened, his shirt burnt away.

  “Shane.” The order in Jimmy’s voice demanded a response, but the boy didn’t stir. Sparing a glance around at the still burning man and the other two dead men, she knelt next to the younger man.

  Hell rose in Jimmy’s eyes when he looked at her. “You helped the horse, can you help him?”

  A dozen whispers filled her ears. Advice mingled with warnings, but Shane’s spirit still rested within his body, tethered to life by fine filaments. She replaced Jimmy’s hands with her own on the boy’s chest, careful to use her uninjured hand. His heartbeat remained strong and the image of the bear still overrode the human boy. Perhaps the bear was his totem animal. If so, she needed the spirits, not her blood. They could be persuaded…perhaps. The door already gaped open t
o them, so she reached within and without, calling them. Coyote paced forward, but said nothing. Corn Woman drew back and looked to the east. The wolf paced them restlessly. The eagle took wing and flew away.

  They weren’t helping—no, they waited. Waiting for her to ask.

  The boy’s life hung in the balance. Though they’d failed her people, they seemed willing to help him. “Hear the plea of the young Great Bear. He carries your mark and needs your strength. Will you help him?”

  Nothing happened, then his heart begun to beat with greater strength. The bear image overlaying the boy opened its eyes and stared at her steadily. No, he didn’t heed her request. He’d already been with the boy.

  “The one called Shane will live. His totem protects him.”

  A harsh exhale, then Jimmy reached for her and ran his hands down her arms. “You’re bleeding.”

  “Cuts, nothing more.” She twisted away, not wanting him to touch her blood. A crackle of awareness broke within and she frowned. Blood smeared his hand and he made a low, chiding sound as he caught her arm again.

  “There were seven. They’re all down. Let me tend your wound.”

  “The one called Jimmy needs to wash his hands.” A vain hope, perhaps, but she did not want him bound to her. She was of the Blood and he deserved a choice. Pushing away the odd thoughts, she extracted herself from his grip. “This one can care for her own injuries.”

  Only once she made it around the fire, did she study him. “Is Jimmy unhurt?”

  “Yeah,” he grunted, and half-lifted, half-dragged Shane to his bedroll. “I’m fine and I’m going to check your hands.” He stalked her around the fire, determination etched into his every feature.

  Catching her wrists again, he drew her to the fire and inspected the slices. Three clean ones, all shallow and stinging. When he used cold water to wash them, she said nothing and concentrated on dampening the power in her blood. Strong emotion could kindle it whether she willed it or not.

  When he finished, he took the time to add more wood to the fire. “I need to bury these bodies, then we’re talking about what you did, Blue.”

  “Jimmy…”

  He held up his hand, and she understood the request. “This one would not ask, but the boy was hurt. The men came for you and one of them was Fevered. I need to know what we’re up against.”

  His knowledge of the Fever worried her.

  “This one does not know them or why they hunt me.”

  “But they were with the men who cut down your people.” It wasn’t a question.

  She nodded. Though she’d tracked them for three days, she didn’t know all their faces nor had she seen the lightning spirit’s gift before their attack tonight.

  “Think about your answer.” Jimmy studied the man she’d stabbed then looked at her. “Decide to trust me. I need to know.”

  Did he even realize he spoke in his white man’s language and she understood him? Her blood already activated, and she didn’t want it to. No, I want to understand him, so I can. “I will help you with the bodies.”

  “No.” He shook his head. “Take care of him. Take care of you. Think about your answers.” He bent and retrieved a body, then hefted it over his shoulder. A minute later, he’d vanished in the darkness and the spirits crowded close to her.

  Trust him, little sister. We will need him.

  Another reason to get as far from him as she could. If the spirits needed him, it couldn’t end well. Onsi didn’t leave, though. She bound up her cuts then returned to Shane’s side. Leaving the boy with her marked a show of trust. More, the boy became injured while protecting her.

  For good or for ill, she would abandon neither man.

  Trust him… Onsi turned her back on coyote and tried to push the door within closed, but it jammed partially open. No amount of force slammed it shut. In the darkness, Jimmy began to dig, and she knew exactly where he worked.

  Her blood flared when she looked in the right direction.

  Dawn needed to hurry before the night locked them together forever.

  Jimmy

  Sweat slicked his shoulders and back despite the cold, grey morning air and the promise of rain. Seven more graves—he’d never fancied himself a gravedigger, but he’d dug over a dozen graves in the last five days. If his suspicions proved correct, he’d be digging far more than these. After setting the shovel aside, he lifted the water skin and poured it over his head. Despite the temperature, heat rolled off of him in waves.

  Frustration with his stymied hunt, fury at the attackers who’d lost their lives trying to kill Blue, and worry for Shane’s health kept him on edge. He’d dragged all the bodies from the campsite then rounded up their horses, stripped them for gear, and turned the majority of them free—after Blue checked them for injury. If his agitation worried her, she didn’t show it. During his time spent on the bodies and horses, she’d been busy as well.

  Each time he checked the campsite, he found her working on a new task including cleaning Shane’s wounds, building the fire, skinning the deer and setting the meat to cook. She handled the animal with an expertise he envied momentarily. If she were anything like Quanto or Wyatt—nothing would go to waste.

  The sun should be nearing the apex of the morning sky, yet he couldn’t see it behind the thick overhang of grey clouds. A hint of snow touched the air and Jimmy frowned at the turn in the weather. If serious storms struck before he returned to where he broke from the doppelganger’s trail, he might lose it all together.

  Failure is not an option, his eldest brother Wyatt instructed him once. When you accept you are not allowed to fail, then you look for alternatives. You, Jimmy, more than anyone else, know the value of looking.

  Letting the problem of losing the doppelganger’s trail slip to the back of his mind, he contemplated the more present problem of Blue. The gear revealed less about the men. They’d rode for some time, and one set of packs contained maps. Specific areas near rivers had been marked, but without a point of reference, Jimmy couldn’t say what the rivers were or where.

  Likely Blue’s people lived at one of those spots. Like the first two he’d taken down, the bags contained nothing to identify them. The horses were curiously free of markings and the leatherwork on the saddles was crude and also unstamped or etched. As if whomever sent these men didn’t want them recognized if they weren’t successful.

  The thought beckoned a whole other type of trouble and tickled the back of his mind. Something about this whole situation carried a note of familiarity. They’d seen their share of invaders on the mountain over the years. Riders who seemed to come out of nowhere, pushing further and further toward the plateau where the family made their home. None of the would-be assailants ever achieved their lofty goals.

  Wyatt ensured their failures.

  Jimmy knew what a hunt looked like, what it felt like, and these men hunted something. They’d all streamed toward the encampment and the fire. They’d come near dawn, when logic dictated even the toughest soul would be nearly asleep, weary from the night and the cold. Jimmy might even have snatched a nap if Blue hadn’t fought sleep as tenaciously as he.

  Years ago, when he and his brothers procured gold from several towns, they’d targeted the federal gold funds in Dorado. They’d taken quite a haul and, if Rudy hadn’t left Scarlett behind, they might have gotten away with it. Men from the town came after him and his brothers, and nothing they’d done dislodged one set of pursuers.

  Kid.

  Pausing, he turned to scan the area and then checked on Blue and Shane. Shane still slept in his bedroll and Blue tackled another task in the camp. The concentration on her face beckoned him to make her smile, but he ignored the nascent feeling of responsibility for the woman. She was safe for the time being as was Shane.

  They couldn’t stay in this spot. If Blue’s pursuers had anyone like Kid amongst them, they’d be after them again—perhaps in greater numbers. The lightning Fevered could have made things a lot worse if Blue hadn’t pulled som
e trick on him. Jimmy’s blood cooled at the memory of the man staring at Blue, arcs of lightning shooting from his fingers toward the sky. Without his rifle, he’d been too far to make the right shot so he’d run. He’d seen Shane go down and watched the man’s attempt to kill her.

  His heart seemed to stutter in his chest as he closed the necessary distance. At the bare minimum, he’d taken the shot. Whatever Blue did gave him the time to get to her, to save them, but if he’d been a few feet further or if she hadn’t acted…

  They’d both be dead and he’d have buried Blue and Shane alongside all these men.

  Sobered, he gathered together the items he’d elected to add to their supplies. Only a few tools, the maps, and one set of saddlebags. He’d buried the rest. The muscles along his back and shoulders burned from the labor, but the work also helped him take the edge off his temper. He preferred cold fury to the pure rage he’d experienced seeing Blue and Shane in the line of fire. Who the hell were these people?

  After loading his horse, Jimmy mounted him and headed toward the encampment. The river was deep, but his horse easily forded the chilly waters. The cold soaked his denim, but he welcomed the coolness next to his overheated skin. His earlier edginess combined with unleashing his gift time and time again saturated him with fever. The sweat dripping from his brow was a good sign. He found the control he needed to question Blue.

  His gut twisted—question Blue. Instinct told him to trust her, but how much of the compulsion came from good sense and how much from seeing her lithe, muscular form when she’d stripped away the doeskin dress to lead the horse into the water? Absolutely unabashed by her lack of clothing, she’d moved with confidence and purpose. No heat scorched her cheeks at having an audience, and Jimmy reminded Shane to look away as well as himself.