She thrust a hand through her tangled hair, trying to alleviate the remnants of her terror, but the painful pull against her scalp didn’t help. The wicáhmunga knew who she was, and he would come after her. When he did, she would have to defeat him. This was her destiny—what she’d prepared for her entire life. She shouldn’t be frightened.
“Of course you should be frightened, Sarah. To be otherwise would be foolish, and you are not foolish,” a deep, ethereal voice announced.
“Wanága!” Sarah gasped, as a mystical glow appeared at the foot of her bed.
She watched her spirit guide take form. As his body appeared, she marveled at his beauty. He sported a leather headband, with an eagle feather tucked over his left ear. His long, black hair flowed down his back. His eyebrows arched across his forehead and emphasized the upward slant of his dark eyes. His face was narrow; his nose long and straight. His lips were thin and unsmiling, giving him a ferocious look.
Automatically, her gaze dropped to his compact, muscular body. Wanága had two wardrobes. One was full battle regalia; the other, which he appeared in tonight, consisted of nothing more than a leather breechclout covering his slim hips. Except for the feather in his headband, his only adornment was a necklace made of small seashells.
Several years ago, she’d asked him where he’d gotten such a necklace, since seashells were not indigenous to South Dakota. He’d replied, “When it is time for you to know all, you will understand.”
Over the years she’d grown used to this cryptic statement, though it still frustrated her. Even his real name was a mystery, because Wanága was the Lakota word for ghost. She was also sure that he knew who she was and where she had come from. But no matter how much she begged for the information, he answered with that maddening, “When it is time for you to know all, you will understand.”
“Who am I, Wanága?” she suddenly demanded, even though she knew that, under the circumstances, it was an irrational question. She should be asking him about the dream and the wicáhmunga. She should be ascertaining the best way to fight him. Her identity was unimportant when mortal danger loomed over her people.
But how could she defeat the wicáhmunga if she didn’t have a sense of who she was? She needed that knowledge to ground her, to make her spirit stronger. Unfortunately, it was an argument Wanága wouldn’t understand, or at least he’d pretend he didn’t understand it. She had used it with him before to no avail.
Wanága arched a brow. “Why do you ask me such a question now, Sarah?”
“Because if you don’t tell me, I may never know the answer.”
“Why would this be?” he asked, regarding her in bemusement.
“You know what I saw in my dream,” she said, deciding to use an argument he couldn’t deny understanding. Over the years he’d picked up contemporary language, but he was still from the past. A past rich with mysticism and ritual that he ardently observed. “You also know the danger I face. What if I die? How will my spirit know where to go if it doesn’t know where it came from?”
“I have guided you in this earthly world. Do you believe I would abandon you in the spirit world?”
“In other words, you refuse to tell me what I want—no, need—to know,” she said angrily, though it wasn’t anger provoking her temper. It was fear. No matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t get the wicáhmunga’s menacing voice out of her mind. He knew who she was, and he would come after her. She had sensed his raw power, and it was stronger than anything she’d ever known. How could she possibly defeat him?
Wanága opened his mouth to respond, but she interrupted, “Withholding that information isn’t fair, Wanága. I have accepted the role of guardian, and I am willing to risk my life to do what must be done. I don’t think it’s too much to ask for my identity in return.”
“You already know your identity. You are Sarah, and you are the guardian.”
“Why are you doing this to me? Why won’t you just tell me who I am?” she cried in frustration.
“Because it is not knowledge you seek. You have seen a part of what is to come, and you are frightened. You want to escape, but you cannot escape. Look at the tipi, Sarah. Look at it. Touch it. Learn what you must know.”
Sarah shuddered at his instruction. Tipi was the Lakota word for tepee. It was also the word Wanága used when referring to the triangle she wore around her neck. Until now, she’d managed to ignore it, even though she’d been subliminally aware that it was so hot against her skin that it burned.
Closing her eyes tightly, she whispered, “I don’t want to look at it or touch it. I saw what it did to the wicáhmunga. It summoned the lightning, and it burned him!”
“Fear lies in ignorance, Sarah,” Wanága chided. “Look at the tipi. Touch it. Learn from it, and then you will no longer be ignorant.”
Every self-protective instinct Sarah possessed screamed at her to ignore Wanága. But after twenty years, obedience was too deeply ingrained in her.
She opened her eyes and looked down at the triangle. It was glowing so brightly that she felt blinded. Hesitantly, she raised her hand to it. When her fingers brushed against it, she heard a soft rustling sound overhead. Anxiously, she glanced toward the ceiling, only to confirm her worst fear. The wreath of lightning circled above her bed.
She started to jerk her fingers away from the triangle, but a bolt of lightning broke free and struck it. Pain shot through her with such intensity that she knew she was going to die. She could feel her body convulsing and smell the singed flesh of her fingertips. But when the pain became so unbearable that she couldn’t stand it a moment longer, the lightning disappeared.
The feelings that next flooded through her were euphoric. She felt more alive than she’d ever felt before, and she tossed back her head and laughed at the exhilarating sensation.
But then her mind filled with images that made her laughter die. She was having another vision, but this one had the familiar echoes of the past, which meant it had already happened.
She saw the wreath of lightning spinning above a pit, and she gasped as she watched a small, feral man hit an older man over the head with a shovel. She knew the older man was dead; she saw his spirit ascend from his body. Then she watched the small man climb into the pit and dig up an object. When he did, he was hit by the lightning, and his name flashed through her mind—Butler. John Butler III, an archeologist.
She no more than completed the thought that, as in her dream with the wicáhmunga, the small man started staring at her. He, too, knew who she was and would be coming to kill her.
But as she looked into his ice-blue eyes, she didn’t experience fear at the evil she perceived in him. She felt mesmerized by it. Drawn into it. Would it be so bad to give in to it? To let herself be consumed by it?
“Let go of the tipi, Sarah,” Wanága suddenly commanded. “Let go of it now.”
Wanága’s voice was so urgent that she instantly released the triangle. Then she collapsed onto the mattress, feeling as if she’d been drained of her life force.
“I’m going to die,” she sobbed, tears rolling down her cheeks. “They are going to kill me, and my people will be lost.”
“There are different kinds of deaths, Sarah,” Wanága said, placing his palm on her forehead. Until she felt his cool touch, she didn’t realize she was burning up with fever. “Your duty will be to choose the right one.”
“What does that mean?” she asked weakly. “I don’t understand.”
“When it is time for you to know all, you will understand.”
Chapter 2
Evil Perceived
AS SEBASTIAN Moran neared the top of the mountain he was climbing, he stopped walking and warily surveyed his surroundings. Moments ago he’d been listening to the scurry of small animals. Now all he could hear was the sigh of a summer wind through the spruce and pine trees encircling hi
m.
While he scanned the moonlit woods, using both his eyes and his mind, for a reason for the animals’ sudden stillness, he considered how he’d ended up in a remote area of South Dakota’s Black Hills. Early this morning he’d learned about the talisman. When he put on the triangle, he’d immediately learned about the mortal woman who had the other triangle. Although he hadn’t been able to mentally connect with her, touching the triangle had provided her name—Sarah. It had also given him her location—Rapid City, South Dakota. A plane had brought him to Rapid City by early evening, and a rental car to the base of this towering, granite mountain about an hour ago. All he had to do was touch the triangle, and it showed him where to go to find this Sarah.
But none of this explained the animals’ odd behavior. He frowned. Something was wrong, but he hadn’t picked up on anything that could be a personal threat. So what was going on?
He considered casting a spell to find out, but decided it would be a waste of time. Spells rarely worked on wild animals, because they were incapable of reasoning. Or at least the kind of reasoning that humans could decipher, he amended.
Instinctively, he touched the triangle hanging around his neck. His mind immediately filled with the image of Sarah. She sat beneath a large pine tree, but he couldn’t determine its location. Frustrated, he tried to connect with her mind, but that didn’t work, either.
Releasing the triangle, he muttered a curse. He knew she was close. The triangle had been glowing softly for the past several minutes, and he was sure it was a reaction to the other triangle. So why wasn’t it showing him her location? It had, after all, led him this far. And since she was nearby, why couldn’t he touch her mind?
He didn’t have the answers, so he decided to finish climbing to the mountaintop. Maybe from there he would see something that would lead him to her.
He resumed his trek upward, constantly searching the shadows. When he still didn’t hear any animals, he mumbled, “They’re just afraid of me.”
But if that were the case, he would have encountered the silence all the way up the mountain. Something was definitely wrong, and he felt damned uneasy.
A few minutes later, he heard a soft, slithering sound behind him. He instantly halted. There was only one animal that made that hair-raising sound. A snake.
He shuddered. Because of slight physiological differences between his race and mortals, the bite of a nonpoisonous snake would make him critically ill. The bite of a poisonous snake was so lethal that even anti- venom couldn’t save him. Snakes were also one of the few living creatures that couldn’t be spellbound, which meant he couldn’t control them. Worse, because he hadn’t picked up on anything threatening, he hadn’t cast a protective spell over himself.
How could he have been so damn stupid? Even if he hadn’t picked up on the snakes, he should have realized there would be some out here. He was in the middle of the wilderness, for pity’s sake!
He considered casting the protective spell now, but he knew he had to determine the snake’s location first. The spell-lightning might startle the reptile and make it strike. He had to make sure it was far enough away for the spell to take hold before it could get to him.
Cautiously, he turned around. When he did, he heard the slithering again. This time it came from his right. He pivoted his head in that direction. Before he could focus on the area, the sound came from his left, and then from behind him.
That’s why the animals were silent, he realized in horror. This part of the mountain was crawling with snakes!
He no more than completed the thought when he heard the first rattle. It was followed by another and another and another until the air vibrated with the clatter.
Terror coiled in his gut, and he broke out in a cold sweat. These weren’t just snakes. They were rattlesnakes, and they had him surrounded.
“Well, wicáhmunga, as you can see, my friends and I have been waiting for you,” a woman said.
Startled, he swung his head toward the sound of her voice. He knew it had to be Sarah, but he couldn’t see her. Recalling that the triangle had shown her sitting beneath a pine tree, he concentrated on the trunks. Finally, he spotted her, though she was nothing more than a faint silhouette against the darker outline of the tree.
Why hadn’t he sensed her? he wondered in confusion, again trying to connect with her mind. When he failed, he was even more baffled. He also recognized that, under the circumstances, his inability to touch her mind was irrelevant. He had to find a way to protect himself from the snakes.
He glanced at the ground. He couldn’t see the serpents, but they had stopped their rattling. That didn’t ease his trepidation. The rattle was a warning. Did their silence mean they were preparing to strike?
“What’s the matter, wicáhmunga? Cat—or I guess I should say snake— got your tongue?”
Sebastian switched his attention to Sarah and frowned. She was baiting him, so he didn’t bother responding to her taunt. Instead, he considered her claim that she and her friends had been waiting for him. She had to be referring to the snakes. But that implied she controlled them, and that was impossible. If he couldn’t control them, there was no way a mortal could do so. But what else could explain what was happening?
Nothing—and as fantastic as it seemed, he had to conclude that she was capable of communicating with the repugnant reptiles.
Deciding to take the offensive, he said, “Hello, Sarah. My name is”—
“I don’t need to know your name,” she interrupted curtly as she stood. “I already know everything I need to know about you. You’re a wicáhmunga, and you’re here to fulfill the curse.”
“Curse?” Sebastian repeated, bewildered by her unexpected charge.
“Yes, curse,” she said, stepping into the moonlight.
Sebastian gaped at her. A rattlesnake curled around her right arm from wrist to shoulder, with its head nestled against her neck. As if sensing his scrutiny, the vile creature swiveled its head toward him and flicked its forked tongue.
Sebastian instinctively took a step back. When he did, the snakes on the ground resumed their rattling. He froze.
“Careful, wicáhmunga,” Sarah drawled. “Otherwise this battle will be over before it has a chance to begin.”
Sebastian dragged his attention from the snake to Sarah’s face and cursed inwardly. Since he couldn’t read her mind, he needed to see her expression. But she was too far away and standing with her back to the moon, so her face was shadowed.
“Obviously, you’ve mistaken my intentions, Sarah. I’m not here because of any curse, and I’m certainly not here to do battle with you,” he told her. “All I want is the triangle.”
“What triangle?” she said, reaching up to stroke the snake’s head. Sebastian barely managed to repress a shudder. How could she touch something so repulsive?
“You know what triangle,” he said. “What you don’t know is that you’re in grave danger from it.”
She continued to stroke the snake. “I really hate to point out the obvious, wicáhmunga, but you’re the person in danger right now.”
Unable to dispute her words, Sebastian balled his hands into fists, furious that he’d gotten himself into this mess. He had to get out of it, and the only way to do so was to cast a protective spell. Did he dare take the risk?
Yes! an inner voice cried. But he knew it was his pride talking, and his mission was too important to let his ego dictate his actions. Besides, he was sure he could persuade Sarah to cooperate with him. “How did you get the triangle, Sarah?” he asked.
She stopped petting the snake. He still couldn’t see her expression, but he could feel her tension. “What triangle?”
“Sarah, denying that you have it is ridiculous,” he chided. “The moment I put on my triangle this morning, I connected with you. Obviously, your triangle also connected yo
u with me, or you wouldn’t have set up this ambush.”
When she didn’t respond, he went on, “It’s apparent that you perceive me as a threat, but I’m not the threat. The triangle is, and it’s more dangerous than you can even imagine. It’s important—no, critical—that I get it. If you don’t give it to me, a lot of people, including yourself, could die.”
“You dare talk to me about death?” she said in a low voice that quivered with rage. “You are standing in the very spot where your ancestor tortured and slaughtered my people. If you listen, you can still hear their screams. If you look hard, you can see their lost spirits wandering this ground, because he gouged out their eyes so they couldn’t find their way to the spirit world.”
She paused and drew in an angry breath. “I don’t perceive you as a threat. I see you for what you are—the evil wicáhmunga, who has come to finish what Seamus Morpeth started. But my ancestors destroyed him with the snakes, and now I’m going to destroy you with them!”
Sebastian stared at her, stunned by her diatribe. Just the thought of a warlock performing such atrocities was inconceivable. It went against the very doctrines of his race.
But Seamus had been corrupted by the talisman, he reminded himself. And if he had needed proof of just how evil the object was, he now had it. He also had to convince Sarah that he wasn’t her enemy. Considering her feelings toward Seamus, that wouldn’t be easy, particularly when she knew how deadly the snakes were to him. Although he recognized that Seamus didn’t deserve pity, he couldn’t help feeling sympathy for the agony he would have suffered while dying from several rattlesnake bites.
“What Seamus did was unforgivable,” he told Sarah. “But I am not like him, and I swear to you that I am not here to harm you or anyone else. Can we sit down and talk? Once you understand what’s going on, you’ll know that I’m telling you the truth.”
“I’m not stupid,” she said derisively. “You’re trying to trick me into calling off the snakes, but I’ll make you a deal. You give me your triangle, and I’ll let you live.”
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