by Jeanne Rose
He wanted to leave this canyon now, just as soon as they found and robbed the legendary tesoreria. And because he could not stomach more of such terrible murders, he somehow had to set his captives free. Especially Louisa Janks...whether or not she wanted him. He'd never meant to put her in such danger.
Needing to talk to his sister, he pulled himself up on the low bed and glanced about the room.
"Xosi?"
The blankets on her narrow bed were rumpled, proving she had slept there at some time during the night. Dishes lay on the table.
"Xosi!"
Shouting only made his head pound. He ran his hands over his face, feeling beard stubble. His Indian heritage made it unnecessary for him to shave every day but it had been some time since he had shaved at all. Perhaps cleaning himself up would make him feel better.
A sliver of mirror hung on one wall and Tezco dug a razor out of the saddle bag he had set at the foot of his bed. Looking for a vessel to fill with water, he picked up a cup and glanced at the mirror in passing.
Only to stiffen.
The same fierce face he had seen in his dream gazed back at him. Handsome but ruthless beneath its headdress of gold and feathers. Red-eyed. Ancient. Evil.
"Demon!"
Tezco threw the razor, then the cup, shattering the mirror into a hundred pieces. He backed away, nearly jumping out of his skin when someone suddenly appeared in the doorway.
Xosi. Her golden hazel eyes were wide. "Tezco! What is the matter? I could hear your shouts across the canyon."
"A demon wishes to possess me," he babbled. "The mirror. You saw it, too."
"My little mirror? I admit it may be touched by brujeria." Looking concerned, she came and laid her hand on his shoulder, attempted to soothe him. "But there is no demon --"
She didn't understand. "I tell you there is a demon and he is in every mirror!" He brushed her hand away, pointed at the silvery shards on the floor. "He is in every dream. He wants my soul, Xosi!"
"Dreams?" She looked startled.
He told her of the visions that had been haunting him since they'd broken into the kiva in New Mexico Territory. Told her about the plumed serpent, the feast of blood.
Fear glistened in Xosi's eyes. "All this talk of Aztecs. The captives. Sacrifices. That is what has brought the dreams about. We must remember our purpose, and that a dream is only a dream."
But Tezco remained uncertain.
"You may be assured I am right, brother." She led him to the bench by the table. "Sit down, rest. I will get you something to eat."
"I am not hungry."
"Then I will make you some tea. That will soothe you." She started to clear the clutter of pottery on the table, frowned at a shallow bowl of congealed, bloody meat. "What is this?"
Tezco raised his head, knew exactly what the bowl contained the very moment she asked the question. Knew the taste of the raw organ – the heart Beaufort Montgomery had ripped out of a living man the day before.
Xosi also knew then and dropped the bowl, her face suffused with horror. Blood splattered with a spray of broken pottery. Tezco's gut convulsed and he leaned forward to vomit. He could not stop until his stomach emptied. When he was able to get to his feet, his sister slung an arm about him and helped him stumble out of the house.
"We must leave this place, Xosi," he said with fervid passion, "as soon as possible."
"But the tesoreria, the gold –"
He no longer cared about tainted treasure. "Riches are not as important as our souls. You will lose me if we stay. I will lose myself."
IMAGINING THE ROOM around her shook, Louisa awoke. The room stilled but a warm heaviness enveloped her. She forced her eyes open. Sam. He was mumbling in his sleep and sweat stood out on his brow. He must have been thrashing...
"Sam?" When he didn't respond, she gently touched his cheek. "Sam, wake up."
Finally, his eyes opened, startled.
She caressed his cheek again, tracing the scar with a gentle finger. "I'm here, Sam. I don't know what you were dreaming about but we're not in danger, at least not at this moment." Though God only knew what the day would bring.
His face was drawn, his expression haunted the way it had been in New Mexico. "I was reliving old battles." He raised his head to look about.
They had the simple house to themselves, though the vile bearded man had assigned them servants. Last night two women had offered them food and bowed low before gliding away. A curtain of heavy cloth hanging in the doorway afforded the house its privacy.
Not that Louisa and Sam had done more than take a few bites before falling into an exhausted sleep fully dressed.
"Are you hungry? I'm sure one of the women will bring us something." She had already noticed one of them pull aside the curtain to peek through the doorway.
"I'll take anything that's edible. We need to keep up our strength."
Some time later, wolfing down the tortillas and eggs the servants had brought, they stared out of the building's one open-air window. The residents of the barranca were busy, tending fields, erecting more houses, baking, weaving. Cattle and goats grazed here and there. And, except for El Tigre, who was staked out near the house, all the horses were being kept in a big ramada at one end of the canyon.
The scene looked peaceful. Only the sinister loom of the ancient tiered pyramid suggested anything awry. Louisa's blood ran cold remembering what had taken place there yesterday.
"Who are these people?" mused Sam, no doubt also thinking of Roberto's sacrifice. "Are they trying to recreate some ancient city? Regenerate the Aztec culture?"
And were Tezco and his band part of it? Louisa wondered. Though Tezco bore the same serpent brand as the men in the valley, his bandits hadn't participated in any strange rituals on the journey into Mexico.
When some familiar figures appeared at the bottom of the slope, she leaned forward. Monte, Jake and Shorty were obviously looking for her and Sam. She waved.
"Thank God you're still alive and well," Louisa said as they came inside.
"So far." Jake's mustache bristled. "But we ain't gonna live long if yesterday is a sample of what we can expect."
"You can expect it. Maybe worse," Monte said grimly.
"They're going to sacrifice everyone, aren't they?" Louisa asked. Even her. Despite the strangely respectful treatment she'd received yesterday, she'd felt doom deep down in her gut. So much for ensuring everyone's safety.
"I know the white man with the beard, knew him years and years ago," Monte said. "He wants to bring back the dark spirits. He thinks he's Quetzalcoatl, the plumed serpent."
"Who is this man?" she asked.
"It's a long story." Monte sat down on the bench, leaned on the table. "Captain Beaufort Montgomery of the Confederate Army was a wealthy scholar from New Orleans. He was studying the Mexica, the Aztecs, long before the war began. He made trips to Mexico, brought back some codices -- Aztec writing -- with secret information. Supposedly, he figured out the location of the wheel of life and death. It was said to be made of pure gold, to have belonged to Quetzalcoatl himself and had been broken apart when the Spanish came. If it gets put back together and bathed in sacrificial blood, the old gods will return."
"Where did you hear about all this?" Sam asked. The most educated of anyone there, he was probably also the most skeptical.
"From books and papers," Monte said. "When I got back from the war, I asked my grandfather to teach me to read. Had to find out everything I could, even took a trip to New Orleans." He paused. "I served under Montgomery, saw him cut a heart out right on the battlefield. Never forgot it, any more than any of us can forget about Roberto."
Louisa swallowed the lump in her throat.
"It's the dark spirits," pronounced Monte.
She raised her brows. "Evil spirits, you mean?"
"If death is evil...and I think it is if you worship it long and hard enough, serve it, place it above everything else." Monte told her, "That's what my people believe. My Comanche h
alf. The people here – Aztecs, Mayans – served evil spirits time out of mind. Fed them lives and blood through centuries of war. The Aztecs were very strong, traveled as far north as the Rocky Mountains to take captives."
"You're talking like these spirits and wheels and bunk is real," remarked Shorty. The quiet grizzled little man rarely said two words.
Monte nodded. "There are things that exist beyond the white man's reality. And I can say that, having lived both kinds of lives, being both white and Indian."
When he gazed at Louisa, she wanted to shiver. She hadn't lived as an Indian, but she'd heard of unusual things. "Some friends of mine were tracked by a skinwalker, a woman who walked as a wolf. I never saw it with my own eyes but I believe Chaco and Frances told the truth."
Monte continued to stare at her, his eyes very deep and black. "You're Indian, aren't you?"
"Also half Comanche." She thought his expression changed almost imperceptively.
"One of the southern bands? The Penateka? The Tenawa?"
"I know very little about Comanches," she said quickly. "My Anglo mother raised me. She only told me my father's name and that he treated her well."
Jake cut in. "So these death spirits is supposed to come back, eh? Soon as they bathe a gold wheel with our blood?"
"The wheel must be blessed with the most courageous heart. The rest of us will be side offerings. Maybe they'll flay our skins and wear them for awhile, practice a little cannibalism."
Both Jake and Shorty looked sick.
Sam moved closer to Louisa. "What did you say about the most courageous heart? Does that mean --"
"Courage is as valued by evil as by good." Monte sounded carefully indirect.
But Louisa knew better. And so did Sam, who grasped her hand, held it tightly.
"Well, I'll tell you one thing," said Jake. "I ain't gonna get split open without fightin' back. I'm getting me a gun some way or the other -- take a few of 'em with me."
"We need more than guns. We need a plan," Sam said. "Tactics."
Louisa's eye was drawn to a slight movement at the curtained doorway. A hand drew the material aside, revealing Tezco's face. His eyes seemed to burn and she felt a thrill of fear. How much had he heard?
"Uh, let's talk about more pleasant things, shall we?" she suggested. "We might as well try to rest while we can."
The group got the hint, she thought, everyone immediately silencing. Sam stared at the door...where Tezco let the curtain fall back into place. Had he come to drag her away? Well, she wasn't going, she thought, clasping Sam's hand for all she was worth.
He lowered his voice. "Take a look outside. See if anyone's still out there."
Shorty shuffled over to the window. "A coupla guards, right outside the door. They's close enough to eavesdrop if they're of a mind to."
"Not that we have any big plans to hide," said Monte.
"Not yet," Louisa added.
"Still, might as well continue this conversation when we have more privacy." Monte got up and headed for the door, halfway there turning and looking at Louisa. "I want to talk some more about Comanches with you."
As the other captives left, Louisa gazed out the window at the guards, wondering if the men were going to make a move, haul someone else off to be sacrificed. She sighed with relief when Monte and the two cowboys passed by unmolested.
She turned to Sam and sank into his arms, praying he could drive everything else but their love from her mind.
SAM’S THOUGHTS WERE heavy, his mind bogged down by war, death, destruction, Indians. The night before, he'd relived battles in his sleep, re-envisioned that last time he and his men had been ambushed by the Apache.
Both physically and spiritually fatigued, distracted by the thought of coming up with a plan of escape, he wasn't certain he could offer Louisa the comfort she sought. But he kissed her anyway, closing his eyes, caressing the silkiness of her skin and hair. Making little murmuring sounds, she moved her lips over his, explored his mouth with her eager tongue. His arousal grew when she undulated her hips against him. But before he could cup a breast or back her toward the bed, she suddenly drew away.
Her face was stormy. "What's the matter? Don't you want me anymore?"
"Of course I want you," he said, wondering how she could even question his love for her.
"Well, you don't act like it. You're not even breathing hard."
"It's difficult switching from death to life so fast, Louisa." And while he was feeling so sick inside. "Life is what making love is all about. Maybe we should wait for a little while --"
"Wait? We could die tonight...this very day!"
"I know. Any minute, any hour. I got used to living knowing that in the Army." He reached for her.
But she stepped back. "The Army? That's all you can think about. And your duty."
For some reason the very word always made her see red. "I didn't mention duty."
Her dark eyes flashed. "Maybe you're upset because you failed your duty this time, Mr. Soldier. You didn't manage to rescue me, did you?"
True, if rather cruel of her to point out. And he was reminded that he hadn't really saved her from that lynching party six years ago, unless one counted accidentally getting her lost in the mountains as a strategy.
He hardened his jaw. "We aren't dead yet."
"Meaning you're so busy thinking about how to get out of this canyon that you can't lose yourself in a kiss?"
"You have to admit the possibility of escape is important." He tried to touch her again, only to have her jerk away.
"Don't! And after you finally told me you loved me."
Behind the angry expression, he thought he caught a flash of sadness so bleak, he couldn't stand it. "I do love you. With all my heart."
"Ha! Don't say that again unless you're prepared to prove it!" And with that, she turned on her heel and strode for the doorway, whipping aside the curtain.
"Louisa." Thinking she shouldn't be wandering around on her own, he strode after her. "Louisa!"
She surely heard him calling, but she didn't even turn to look. Back ramrod straight, she headed down the slope on which the house sat and off toward a rough path leading past some lean-tos. Angry himself, Sam thought about chasing after her, then decided she would only fight him and attract attention. Though as prisoners slated for sacrifice, they could hardly get into any more trouble than they already were.
Which is why he should be completely honest with her.
He'd told Louisa about some of his experiences in the Apache Wars. But he'd left out the worst part.
If there were dark war gods, death spirits that fed on savage battle fury, on bloodlust that knew no boundaries on age or sex or whether an opponent was armed or not, he'd personally visited their altar.
AS SOON AS SHE GOT her emotions under control, Louisa decided to pay Monte Ryerson a visit. Talking about Comanches should help her forget her disappointment with Sam. Maybe she'd been unreasonable expecting him to lose himself in passion, yet she couldn't help thinking that if a man truly loved a woman, he'd want to spend what could be his last hours in her arms. But then, he'd waited six years before looking for her, hadn't known whether she was married, dead or living as a nun.
Attempting to ignore old pain that made her hurt, Louisa glanced about. Last night the guard had said her compadres would be staying nearby. Several lean-tos of brush and canvas stood some yards from the house and she spotted Monte sitting cross-legged on the ground outside of one of them.
Pleased that he seemed to be alone, she paced toward him and without preamble, demanded, "I want to hear about Comanches."
"Have a seat." As she eased herself down, he asked, "Where did you get that bear claw you wear?"
She fingered her necklace. "My ma gave this to me as my only inheritance from my father, I guess. It's –"
"Comanche," he finished for her. "Warrior's medicine." He opened his shirt, drawing out a similar arrangement of claw and feathers and beads on a cord. "What was your fathe
r's name?"
"Red Knife."
"You're sure?" He was gazing at her so strangely, his lips set in a straight line, his eyes unrelenting.
"Is something wrong?"
"You might find this hard to believe, but I'm your brother."
Now it was her turn to stare. "Ma didn't say anything about having another kid." Not while living with the Comanche.
"Half-brother. We shared the same father."
Louisa felt both awed and touched. Never having had a sibling, she examined Monte's face. His features were stronger and harsher than hers. But their stubborn, squared off chins were similar. "Are you sure?"
"Red Knife had several wives. Two white. Mine was the runaway daughter of a Texas rancher."
Louisa objected, "Ma didn't say anything about her either."
"Because she was long gone by the time your mother came around – what's her name?"
"My ma? Belle."
He looked thoughtful. "Hmm, blue eyes, reddish hair. Yeah, I remember her. But she had a Comanche name then. Talks Loud."
Louisa would smile if she weren't so stunned. "Ma can talk up a storm all right. You lived in Red Knife's camp?"
"Until I was thirteen." He explained, "My own mother went back to her people when Old Man Ryerson, my grandfather, lined up a white man and paid him to marry her. My stepfather didn't like me much. I was a little too dark-skinned for his taste."
"I know what you mean." She'd never gone unnoticed, either.
"So I went back to the camps of the Penateka when I was six. Learned to ride and steal horses and go to war the Comanche way."
Amazing. Her heart told her to believe him. Her brother.
"Red Knife was hanged as a horse thief when I was thirteen, along with some other important warriors. His people took off, most got hunted down, and what was left got sent off to reservations. I went back to my mother and stepfather."
Her brother. Louisa had so many questions to ask, her mind whirled. "We had the same father. It's so hard to believe, I mean that we would meet on a journey like this."
"You do believe in things your eyes can't see?"
