Black Eagle

by Gen Bailey

  Stunned momentarily, she became silent. Turning away from Black Eagle, she paced back to the bridge, and placed a dainty foot upon its edge. She noticed without really taking note that the moon was now higher in the sky, and that it had changed color. Now, instead of the water reflecting orange-colored jewels, it looked to be a cascade of shimmering diamonds, floating aimlessly toward an unknown source. She was tired, however. She wanted time to consider these matters in her leisure, and so she said, “Let us not argue about this. Can we not agree to disagree?”

  “Yes,” he said, and his voice was close behind her. “Perhaps we can do that for now.”

  She stepped out farther onto the bridge, and silence fell over the two of them, until she asked, “Won’t you join me on the bridge?”

  “No,” he said. “I can better protect you from here.”

  “Protect me?” She turned too suddenly, and the bridge swung out from underneath her. Quickly, she took hold of the railing and, gaining her footing, righted herself. “I was about to say that I felt we were in a safe place, but perhaps I had better state such things once I reach firmer ground.”

  She smiled, and had barely uttered the words, when a shot rang out beside her. As though in slow motion, she realized that she could feel the air of that passing musket ball as it sailed much too close to her head. Was it intended for her?

  “Get down!” shouted Black Eagle.

  But the bridge was already swinging to and fro, and she was slow to action, and as another shot rang out, again, she could feel the wind of the passing bullet. This time the reality of what was happening became a horror, and she screamed.

  Meanwhile, Black Eagle had leapt toward her, and tackling her, he pushed her down onto the bridge. But their motion only served to set the bridge, which was already swinging, into further motion, and within moments, one of the ends of the bridge came loose. It shot downward, then stopped.

  “Stay with me,” Black Eagle coaxed. “We will slowly crawl back to solid ground.”

  But it was useless. No sooner had they started a crawl toward the shoreline, than another shot rang out, but this time, it hit the knots holding the bridge secure. At once, the rope unraveled, came loose from its ends and the bridge collapsed.

  Marisa screamed, and Black Eagle yelled, “It’s going down, hold tight to me!”

  And then they were plummeting feet first into the cold, liquid depths of the stream. The water wasn’t deep, perhaps no more than six feet in depth, and they hadn’t far to fall. Although it was a given that they would most likely survive the dive, the mere shock of the cold water might have caused Marisa to panic and drown herself, were it not for Black Eagle, who kept a firm arm around her.

  A wooden log from the bridge came down fast and hit her in the shoulder as it went sailing down the stream. She screamed under the impact.

  And then the undertow of the water took hold of them, washing them downstream.

  “Do not fight the water,” Black Eagle shouted at her, as she kicked out against him.

  “But we’ll drown!”

  “We will not drown. I will not let you. Hold tight.” A strong current momentarily tugged them below the surface of the water. But he quickly emerged, bringing her with him.

  And then they were riding out what seemed to her to be a watery highway. There were sharp rocks and shoals waiting, however—she remembered seeing them from her former perch on the bridge.

  But soon, she realized that her feet could touch the bottom of the stream, and that she could stand up against the flow of the stream, though the water came up to her chin. But she couldn’t move, the impact of the water was that strong.

  A muscular arm still held her round the waist and she looked up to see that Black Eagle was forcing his way to the shore, bringing her with him. Only a few feet stood between them and safety.

  But it might have been a hundred feet if only because the force of the water barely allowed for movement. This man must be made of pure determination, she thought, for it wasn’t easily done. He forced his way to shore, even though the current kept tugging them farther and farther downstream.

  Never had Marisa swum in water that swirled and dipped and coaxed a person under its surface so furiously. Yet the shore became ever closer and closer until all at once Black Eagle picked her up in his arms, and carried her out of the water, up the stream’s steep banks.

  They were wet. They were both breathing heavily, but as Black Eagle set her down, not even the mud and the sharp rocks on the shoreline could daunt her from the urge to kiss both him and the ground at the same time.

  Throwing herself in his arms, she did exactly that. Had she been on her own, she thought, she might have given up, she might have drowned.

  Luckily for her, Black Eagle had been there for her.

  He set her on the rocky shoreline, brought himself up over her and bending, kissed her firmly on the lips. And she kissed him right back, and with fervor. The kiss was long, however, and he seemed to suck the breath right out of her, and when she squirmed beneath him, unable to breathe, he must have realized what effect he was having, for he blew breath right back into her, then he drew away.

  She gasped. But the good Lord be praised, oxygen filled her lungs.

  “Are you all right?” he asked, his own breath coming in spurts.

  “Yes, I believe I am,” she panted between sobs.

  “Come, I am sorry, but we cannot stay here. There is no time to relax.”

  “Who’s relaxing?”

  He didn’t answer, instead he said, “We must hurry. I cannot leave you here, because if I did, whoever it was that shot at you could find you. But I cannot stay here while there are fresh footprints to find. Whoever fired that shot will try to cover his tracks. Can you walk?”

  “Yes.”

  He pulled her up, and letting her lean in against him, they began their trek back toward the inn.

  “Someone took a shot at me,” she stated the obvious, even as she struggled to keep her pace the same as his.

  “Yes, I intend to find out who that was.” He fell into silence. “Have you any enemies?”

  “No.”

  “No one who would wish to see your demise?”

  “No, certainly not.”

  He didn’t answer, but rather remained a rock-solid pillar for her as she struggled to merely put one foot in front of the other.

  At last the inn came into view. There were voices, all loud and raised, and as she and Black Eagle came within sight, the first person who came rushing toward them was Sarah.

  “Marisa! Marisa!”

  “I am here, Sarah!”

  There were tears flowing down Sarah’s face. She took hold of Marisa and squeezed. “I swear I will never leave you again. Thank you, Sir Eagle, for your assistance, and for saving her.” Sarah placed her arms around Marisa, and Marisa shifted her weight from Black Eagle’s embrace to Sarah’s.

  “Are you all right, miss?” It was Stiler, the innkeeper, who was followed by his wife. “ ’Twas Jacob, miss. He was drunk. He said he thought you was a deer.”

  “A deer?” It was Mrs. Stiler speaking. “Why I never heard of such a thing. Come here, child. I’ve got a nice fire ready to warm ye and some soup to give ye back yer strength.” Coming up on Marisa’s other side, both Mrs. Stiler and Sarah helped Marisa to walk back to the inn.

  Mr. Stiler followed. “We’s sobered ole Jake up, ma’am, if’n you want to come and speak to him. Yer man, Thompson, was beside himself with worry. ’Twas he who found Jake. I’s a heap sorry for the trouble, and I’ll give ye back yer gold pieces, as well.”

  Marisa was beyond words as to how to respond to the innkeeper. She was simply happy to still be alive, and apparently well loved.

  And so it was that, after a good hot meal, and the affectionate nursing of Sarah and Mrs. Stiler, Marisa met Jacob, who had approached her with hat in hand. It was easy to forgive the man, especially being surrounded as she was by such friendly and concerned friends.

&
nbsp; The only detail that marred her happiness was that Black Eagle hadn’t stepped foot into the inn to participate in the luxury of the hot fire and taste the delicious soup. And she couldn’t help but consider that he had to be as tired as she was.

  It was odd, because, the Lord help her, she missed his friendly, and his sometimes not-so-friendly, presence.

  Eleven

  The imprints left in the earth clearly showed two men’s tracks, not one. One of the men’s prints was, indeed, Jacob’s. The other, however, was that of Thompson.

  Black Eagle frowned, and rose up from the ground. Looking forward, toward where the footbridge had once been, he could see that Jacob would have had a clean shot. Most likely the man had missed due to the swinging of the bridge, rather than intoxication, as both he, and the others had indicated. Had it truly been an accident?

  If not a mishap, however, the incident could only indicate that the action had been deliberately meant. Though it seemed unlikely, he wondered if someone were trying to kill Marisa? And if so, why?

  Drunkenness aside, who could have possibly mistaken Ahweyoh for a deer? Could it have happened the way the other’s explained it?

  Perhaps. After all, Marisa had been wearing an ivory-colored dress, a similar color as the underside of a deer.

  The only fact that bothered Black Eagle was that both shots had come dangerously close to her, since Marisa had explained that she’d felt the passing whiz of the shots. This alone, because of the swinging motion of the bridge, insinuated that the shots had been carefully aimed, and not the result of a drunken escapade.

  But there was no proof of ill doing, outside of speculation.

  Black Eagle’s frown grew strained. First the cinches, now this. Was this incident, like the other, simply a case of neglect, or was there something about both incidents that had been carefully orchestrated?

  Planned or coincidence, it little mattered. The point was that he would be well-advised to be on his guard. Events concerning this party might not be as they seem.

  The morning dawned dark and rainy, cold and dismal. Not the sort of weather one treasured when traveling. It hadn’t started out well, either, not from the very beginning. Upon stepping from the inn, Sarah had been struck from above by a heavy branch, which had been precariously perched on the roof of the establishment.

  Luckily, outside of a bruise to her arm, no damage had been done. But the accident had delayed their start. And in truth, Marisa felt more than a little happy to remain where she was for the time being. After her wet escapade the previous night, she was in no mood to travel in the rain.

  But Black Eagle was insistent, it apparently being his opinion that a day consumed in rain-weary travel was a day well spent.

  “We must leave as soon as your maid is ready to proceed,” Black Eagle had told Marisa only moments ago. She had been huddled in a corner of the tavern, where she had been looking out one of the hut’s small windows, awaiting a change in the weather.

  “But why?” Marisa had asked, turning her attention to him.

  “Because it is usually a safer time to travel. If a war party is about, unless it is pressed, it will seldom move its position when the weather is bad.”

  Marisa had sighed. “But it is wet, it is cold, and after last night . . .”

  “You should prepare yourself well. If you have a heavy coat, wear it.” And with those final words, he had turned to leave, perhaps to make ready for the journey ahead.

  After last night, Marisa realized she wanted no further arguments with the man, and so she had capitulated, and had retired to the room that she’d shared with Sarah the previous night. Both women had readied themselves as though they expected a blizzard. Luckily both she and Sarah had brought along umbrellas, as well as heavy, woolen capes for traveling. This, in conjunction with their riding habits, might serve as adequate protection. Marisa hoped it would be so.

  However, because of all the delays, their party had once again secured a late start. It was noon, and both the innkeeper and Black Eagle had been working nonstop, equipping the horses for travel.

  Marisa, upon stepping foot from the inn, glanced back at the establishment. In reality, she was more than a little apprehensive about leaving. Perhaps it was because their departure today signified a farewell from the civilized world, even more so than their exit from Albany, which had seemed a relief.

  Perhaps the feeling might also be due to the fact that now that she had been on the road, the truth of how much her own and Sarah’s life depended on the skills of Black Eagle and Richard Thompson became a full actuality. In truth, since her escapade the previous night, she was beginning to wonder if she had really done well in arranging this journey. What had seemed a good idea at the time, was fast becoming an ordeal.

  However, whether it was a mistake or not was a moot point at present. The deed was done. There was nothing for it but to press on forward and hope for the best.

  Sheets of rain had drenched them all day long, with seldom a letup, and Marisa was cold, wet, ready to stop, set up camp and recover. However, it appeared that this was not to be an option. Rather than sleep under a rainy canopy, Black Eagle had decided to keep moving, even though night had long ago fallen over the land.

  Somewhere in the middle of the evening, Marisa had decided that traveling in the darkness was eerie. Trees that during the day were already thick and full, seemed to take on an additional facade in this unlit realm, giving them a ghostly appearance. Their branches hung in a phantomlike manner, as though shadowy arms and fingers were reaching out to capture. Even the hooting of an owl added to the gloom.

  In addition, Black Eagle no longer led their procession so far in advance. Rather he stayed close beside both herself and Sarah, as if he would protect them from any danger, be that of a human or animal influence . . . or perhaps that of wandering spirits. Even Thompson, who guarded them from the rear, and who usually hung so far back as to be undetectable, was staying close by.

  “Do you intend to travel the night through?” Marisa asked Black Eagle when he had ventured so close by her as to be within hearing range.

  “Nyoh, yes,” he answered without looking up at her.

  “But why?”

  “It is safer.”

  “And yet we are wet and bone weary, and deserve to stop.”

  He shrugged. “But at least we are alive and safe. Besides, there is some adventure to be had in traveling through the night.” He slanted her a glance.

  “Oh? And what would those adventures consist of?”

  “The exploits of storytelling, of course.”

  “While we are traveling, and in the rain?”

  “Nyoh,” he said. “Although the Iroquois ofttimes believe that one should not tell stories in the woods for fear the animals will hear and become alert to the ways of humans, I think the rain makes it safe. I cannot participate, but you and your friend could relate stories to each other, as long as you keep your voices low. When it stops raining, we will make camp.”

  “And if it continues to pour all through this night, as well as tomorrow?”

  “Then we will carry on and make good time through Adirondack country, I think.”

  She sighed, and Black Eagle hurried forward, placing himself out of hearing range. But as he had suggested, Marisa and Sarah began to relate various fairy tales to one another. Unfortunately for the both of them, it seemed to cause them to become uncommonly sleepy.

  But their drowsiness was destined to be fleeting. So far the weather had produced nothing but rain. That was about to change soon.

  Crash! Boom!

  As Marisa’s horse shimmied, she came wide awake. Beside her, Sarah’s mount was neighing. Both women reached down to calm their animals.

  Another crack darted through the sky, followed by an even louder blast that appeared to set the night on fire. Again the horses protested. Above them, the heavens rolled with white light, hurling swiftly across the sky, and the rumbling of thunder overhead pressed down on the two
women ominously.

  Looking up, Marisa was struck by the observation that were the lightning not quite so close or its rumbling so frightening, the sky might have provided a beautiful show. But with the crashing of the thunder, the trembling of the ground in reaction, and the fear of a lightning strike seeking them out personally, it was hard to appreciate what might have been a natural fascination.

  Crash! Boom!

  All at once Black Eagle appeared close beside them, and placing himself between the two horses, he took hold of the animals’ reins, leading their mounts, himself.

  Crack! A streak of light slanted through the sky, striking the earth much too close, perhaps only a mile away. An almost instantaneous roar followed, and the ground reverberated under Nature’s assault.

  Her horse reared.

  “Whoa!” Black Eagle sang out to the animals, and Marisa watched as the muscles of his arms strained to keep hold of the two animals, keeping them both grounded. She was doing little more than admiring the sight, when it came.

  A flash of light! Bang! Boom! Crack!

  A tree directly in front of them teetered.

  Her horse again reared, but this time it jerked its reins partially out of Black Eagle’s grasp, and before Black Eagle could grab back complete control, the animal jumped forward, pulling its reins completely out of Black Eagle’s hands.

  Instinctively, Marisa screamed, which frightened the animal all the more, and with nothing to hold it back, her mount shrieked away, shooting through the trees and brambles at an alarming and dangerous rate. Instantly, Marisa’s world changed, centering on her struggle to keep from falling. Her screams faded, and since the night was black as sin, she realized her only option, if she wished to remain alive, was to lean down over the animal, to pray that its feet were true, that it would not fall, and to hold on for dear life.