Passage (Soul of the Witch Book 1)

by C. Marie Bowen

  Marvelous.

  Easy to identify, Tall and Ominous returned from across the camp carrying two carved bowls in his oversized hands. He stopped beside her, then handed her a bowl of thin brown gravy.

  “Thank you.” She smiled up at the huge man and cradled the warmth close to her chest.

  His stern face softened, and he smiled. “Toma.”

  “Thank you, Toma.” She inclined her head.

  He lowered himself beside her on the blanket. “Toma,” he repeated and then pointed at her.

  “Nicki.” She touched her chest. “I'm Nicki.”

  “Nic-ki.” Toma gave a satisfied nod of his head and began to eat.

  She observed him for a moment, then followed his example and scooped the thin gravy with the pieces of beef. When the last drop was gone, she licked her fingers and set her bowl aside. Her gaze touched on the men she could see from where she sat.

  Where is Merril?

  A few men stood, stretched, and wandered away from the fire. They disappeared into the darkness around the camp. Most stayed seated and spoke in low voices. Their leader was nowhere in sight.

  A low moan caught her attention, and she turned to the tent behind her. She looked at Toma for permission, and he motioned for her to go inside.

  It was warm and dark inside the structure. Nichole crawled through the opening on her hands and knees, then paused to let her eyes adjust. A subtle movement to her left told her where he lay, and she scooted closer to the sound.

  Behind her, Toma folded the entrance flap back allowing the dim light of the campfires to brighten the inside of the shelter.

  Merril lay on a woven blanket along one side of the tent. His shoulder wound had been cleaned and bandaged. His arm was bound tight to his body with torn strips of material.

  He opened his eyes and lifted his head as she crawled to his side. “Is that you, or am I dreamin' again?” His voice was hoarse.

  “It's me.” She took his hand and rubbed it against her cheek. “How do you feel?”

  “I've been worse, I guess.” His eyes closed, and he eased his head back onto the blanket. “I ache all over, and my shoulder is on fire.”

  She laid her hand against his face. “You have a fever.”

  “I'm not surprised.”

  “Nor am I, my brother.” The leader ducked into the tent and sat near the opening.

  “Gray Wolf.” Merril smiled, his eyes were bright with fever. “I'll be damned. I hoped this was your band of renegades. Last I heard, you were raising hell around Laramie.”

  “True,” Gray Wolf nodded. “We fell back to regroup. We are lying low, as you would say. We steal your cattle to eat.” A brief smile flashed across Gray Wolf's face, vanishing so quickly Nichole wondered if she'd seen it. “I did not think you would mind, old friend.”

  “You know I don't. You could have let me know you were here, though. I would have given you the cattle.”

  “We are outlaws. I would not endanger you by imposing on our friendship.”

  “How long will you stay?”

  “Not long. We move north. Sitting Bull has called for us to gather. Custer would kill us all if he could. It is rumored he plans to ride against the Sioux.”

  “General Custer?” Nichole looked from Merril to Gray Wolf, a sharp pain seared across her forehead.

  Merril's gaze turned to Nichole. “Lieutenant colonel recently, but yes.”

  “Custer...” I know this. “Does Custer's Last Stand sound familiar to you?”

  Merril's glazed eyes stared dully at her. “I know who Custer is. I've never heard of his last stand.”

  “I learned this in school. I'm positive. Custer and his men were wiped out—” She looked from Merril to Gray Wolf, and her voice dropped to a whisper. “—by a bunch of Indians.”

  Gray Wolf leaned away from Nichole. His face reflected both wonder and fear. “Where did Custer die?”

  “I... um... let me think. I know this.” She held one hand to the ache in her temple, the other she held up at Gray Wolf. “One of the northern states. Montana...I think.” She opened her eyes and smiled. “He died at the Battle of the Little Bighorn, in Montana.”

  Merril closed his eyes and lay back on the blanket. “You're wrong.”

  “She speaks the truth.” Gray Wolf's eyes were wide.

  “George Custer isn't dead.” Merril didn't open his eyes.

  Gray Wolf stared at Nichole. He spoke just above a whisper. “It is as he said.”

  “Who said?” Merril's voice was sharp with annoyance.

  “My grandfather.”

  Merrill's eyes snapped open. “White Eagle's with you?”

  “Yes. He knew you would come.” Gray Wolf rose and left the tent.

  Merril raised his head to look at Nichole. “What's this all about?”

  She pulled the loose strap of her chemise back on her shoulder. “I don't know,” she muttered, hesitating to elaborate.

  “Where did you hear of Custer's Last Stand?”

  Nichole shrugged in frustration and blinked at the sudden sting of tears. “I don't know Merril. I thought I learned it in school. I shouldn't have said anything, but it was right here, in my head.” She pressed her fingers against her forehead.

  Merrill laid his head back and closed his eyes. He winced whenever he moved, and his face was drawn and pale. “I need to rest.” His soft, hoarse voice broke her heart.

  “I know. I'm sorry I mentioned Custer. It's like... I knew it happened.”

  “Will happen, Nicki,” he corrected sleepily. “Now, let me rest.”

  She crawled outside. Her mind and heart in turmoil.

  The banked fires burned low. Several men sat and talked, but most lay upon the ground.

  She walked from the camp into the brush, stopping a few yards away. Silent tears slid down her face. Merril needed a doctor, and she had lost her mind. She wiped her eyes and her nose and turned back toward the tent.

  Toma loomed up out of the darkness in front of her.

  “Holy shit, Toma.” She gripped his arm with one hand and held her chest with the other. “You scared the crap out of me.” She chuckled at her fright and looked up at the tall brave. “You need a bell around your neck.”

  Toma grunted and reached down to touch a teardrop that trembled from her chin. He looked from his fingertip to her eyes and shook his head, a question in his eyes.

  “I'm just tired, Toma. Sleep?” She placed her palms together and laid her head on top of them.

  Toma nodded and vanished into the thicket in the direction of their camp.

  She followed, trying to imitate his silent movements but without success. Her bare feet had taken a beating today and were more than tender.

  Outside Merril's tent, Toma waited with an old coat draped over his arm.

  “Nic-ki sleep.” He pointed to the blanket on the ground in front of the shelter. “I watch.”

  She raised an eyebrow at him and smiled, and then sank to her knees on the mat. She took the coat and wrapped it around her shoulders. “You're not so bad.” She curled into a ball on the blanket and shivered

  A few feet away, Toma sank gracefully to the ground by his bedroll.

  “You're just a big softy at heart.” Her eyes closed.

  * * *

  Jason Harris

  Jason gritted his teeth in a fury and watched Jim pace around the dining room table.

  What the hell had he been thinking?

  “I swear to you, Jason. She said she was coming right back here.” His deep voice boomed across the room. “The last I saw her was around noon or better at the branding site. She told me she could make it home from there.” He turned and glared back at Jason “Hell, I know she could have.”

  “We thought she was with you.” Amy sat her teacup in its saucer and glanced from Jason to Jim.

  “She should have been with you, Jim, the whole time.” Jason tapped a pencil on the polished wood table. “I thought you knew better than to let her go off on her own. It
's your fault she's lost.”

  “Do you think I don’t know that? I could kick myself for lettin' that little girl ride away by herself. I told her to come straight back here.” He pointed to the floor and glared at Jason, and then turned and paced away to look out the front window. “For all I know, she could be lying out there, hurt.” His voice dropped to a whisper. “Or worse.”

  “She's not dead.” Amy's calm voice caught both men's attention.

  “What?” Jason snapped. His glare turned from Jimmy to his wife.

  “I said, she's not dead.” Amy enunciated clearly to Jason. Her serene eyes held his.

  “I hope you’re right,” Jim muttered, his face gray with worry.

  “She's all right, Jim. I know she is.” Amy rose from the table and rested a comforting hand on Jim's arm. “You couldn't have changed what happened. Nichole would have found another way to go off by herself. Believe me. Please.”

  “Thank you.” Jim smiled for the first time since he walked in the house. “Jason doesn't appreciate you enough.”

  “He will.” She smiled at Jim's compliment and winked at Jason as she crossed the dining room and began to ascend the stairs. “But for now, I'm going to bed. Tomorrow promises to be quite a day.”

  Jason's curious gaze slid from Amy's disappearing skirts to the pencil he fumbled with his hands. “There’s no use going back out tonight,” he commented morosely. “We'd never find her in the dark.”

  “We have to do something.” Jim crossed the room and stood before Jason. “We could put the men on horseback with torches. Ride from here to the branding site. Make sure I didn't miss anything.”

  “No. You didn't miss anything this afternoon.” Jason rubbed his face and eyed the tall foreman. “She's not between here and the branding site. Nichole’s gone off somewhere else.”

  “Damned if I don't know that, Jase.” Jim turned back to the window and stared into the night. “I just wish I knew where she was.”

  “Tomorrow we'll ride to The Shilo. For all we know, she's been there the whole time. If not, then we'll search from there. Either way, you'd better get some rest.”

  “Yeah.” Jim slipped his hat onto his head. Anxiety made him look far older than his thirty-five years. “That shit ain't likely to happen. Good night, Jason.”

  “Good night.” Jason watched Jimmy head out the door and disappear into the darkness. Both anger and sympathy surged in his chest at Jim.

  Where could she have gone?

  Jim was right. The branding site wasn’t far, or hard to find, especially in the light of day.

  Then where could she be?

  He shook his head and ran a weary hand through his golden hair.

  Where in blazes are you, Nicki?

  Abruptly, the pencil stopped its rat-tat-tat. A cold sweat broke out on Jason's forehead.

  Jones.

  That one name—one thought—sent a chill of terror rippling along his spine. Blackie Jones. If that son-of-a-bitch touched one hair on Nicki's head, he'd kill him.

  Chapter 23

  Nichole Harris

  Nichole shivered in the darkness, and her eyelids fluttered open.

  What was that?

  The banked fires cast no light across the camp, and clouds covered the night sky. She huddled beneath the oversized coat and stared into the black silence—senses alert.

  Soft footsteps drew her attention, and she lifted her head. The raised perspective showed the muted glow of the small fires. In front of her, Toma stood, outlined by the red coals.

  Has he been there all night?

  A voice spoke in hushed tones to Toma. Then the coals disappeared as a shadow passed to the front of Merril's tent and slipped inside. Unintelligible voices and the sound of movement came from inside the small shelter. First one, and then another shadow emerged from the tent. The soft stir of their footsteps disappeared into the camp.

  Where would they take Merril in the middle of the night?

  She gripped the coat around her shoulders, sat up and leaned toward the big man. “Toma,” she hissed as quietly as she could.

  Toma turned toward her makeshift bed and knelt on one knee. “Nic-ki sleep.”

  “Where has he taken Merril? I want to go with him.”

  “No.” His deep voice was gentle. “You sleep.”

  So, he does understand English.

  “I can't go back to sleep. I want to go with Merril.”

  Toma rose and stared into the dark camp. After several moments, he spoke in a hushed voice. “Wait.” Then he vanished into the dark without a sound.

  Nichole waited.

  In the bushes along the creek, the faint stir of morning birds and animals intruded on the night’s silence. The sky lightened to gray as she chewed her lip and prayed for patience. Then morning broke with a brilliant display. The sky changed from dark gray to orange-gold when a glimmer of sunlight slipped between the horizon and the cloud cover.

  She tried to find someone she recognized in the weird red light, but the camp of strangers had lurched into motion. She blinked, and Toma stood beside her.

  He's a damned Ninja.

  He motioned for her to follow him and moved away.

  She tightened the leather jacket around her chilled shoulders. Her calf muscles cramped as she staggered upright. She rubbed them for a moment, never taking her eyes from her tall friend, and then limped after him through the camp on sore feet.

  Toma stopped before the shelter she'd been in yesterday. He turned his eyes away, crossed his arms, and watched the men break camp.

  “Thank you, Toma.” Nichole entered the tipi.

  The white-haired man sat in the same place and chanted to the fire. Merril and Gray Wolf were seated on either side of the fire, both silent. They looked up as she entered.

  “Sit,” Gray Wolf commanded in a quiet voice. He indicated a fourth seat that would make the square complete. “Be silent.”

  Nichole sank to the ground beside Merril. She studied him in the firelight. Rest appeared to have done him some good. His face had color, and the improvised bandage had stopped his bleeding. He needed some real medical attention though.

  He needs a hospital.

  Dark circles shadowed his eyes, and he grimaced in pain with every movement. He offered her a smile and returned his attention to White Eagle.

  The shaman's low, hypnotic chant grew louder, and he swayed in time with his song. He continued that way for some time.

  Both Gray Wolf and Merril gave White Eagle their full attention.

  The chant came to an abrupt halt. In the sudden silence, White Eagle raised his arms and spoke in a slow, monotone voice.

  She didn't understand the words, but from Gray Wolf's wary glances and the stunned expression on Merril's face, she knew the old man spoke about her.

  White Eagle's abrupt speech ended, and he lowered his arms to resume his rhythmic chant.

  She sat forward to ask Merril what he had said, but Merril forestalled her with his hand. He looked at Gray Wolf.

  The Indian leader gave a short nod then turned back to his grandfather.

  Merril bent close to Nichole and whispered. “White Eagle said time is as simple as a child's toy to the Great Spirit. That life and eternity are one within the Great Spirit's grasp.” Merril paused for a moment, then lowered his voice even more. “He said you walk the path laid before you by the wolf spirit—the spirit who warned White Eagle you would come.”

  “Why is this about me?” Nichole spoke softly in Merril's ear. “What path?”

  He held up a finger and looked at his friend's grandfather.

  White Eagle's chant had paused once more, and he raised his arms again. His voice, low and old—his words unintelligible, but filled with power.

  Merril leaned close and put his lips beside her ear, never taking his eyes from the old man. “He says once a door is open, the wind may pass through. He says you are the wind that searches. Time holds the key to the door.”

  Nichole turned her fac
e toward Merril and mouthed, “What does that mean?”

  Merril shook his head, his attention fixed on White Eagle.

  The old man's trance deepened. Beads of perspiration collected across his brow as he continued to speak.

  Merril leaned close again. “He says a day will come when the wind will choose a direction.” He paused to listen, then continued. “There will come a time when the door must close.”

  “I don't understand,” she whispered.

  “Neither do I.” His breath tickled her ear. “He says your past will haunt you, and your future will divide.”

  Nichole sat back. White Eagle's words didn't make sense, even translated. Why were his cryptic remarks about her? She pushed the coat off her shoulders and sat in the silent heat, wishing for the ritual to end.

  White Eagle's supplication to the spirit continued through the morning. Her back ached from sitting motionless on the hard ground. She cast a glance at Gray Wolf and Merril. How did they sit like this for so long?

  Gray Wolf added more wood to the fire and the heat inside the tent became unbearable.

  The sun was well into the sky when White Eagle ceased to chant and became as still as a stone.

  “We will leave now.” Gray Wolf stood in one fluid motion. “Grandfather must rest.”

  Nichole struggled to her feet and wobbled. She pushed her tangled hair out of her face and brushed at her chemise, but it didn't help. By the light of the fire, she could see the bottom trim had torn loose and trailed behind her, as filthy as the rest of her. Her calves were scratched and bruised, and her unshod feet were cut and tender. Her sorry state didn't distract her from what she had witnessed.

  “What else did he say?” she asked as Merril followed her out of the tent.

  “A lot,” Merril replied uneasily. “Most you wouldn't understand, 'cause I sure don't.”

  “Tell me anyway.”

  “I will,” he evaded. “Right now, I need to figure out how to get you home. Your cousin's going to be worried sick about you.”

  When they reached Merril's tent, he lowered himself onto the blanket with great care, cautious of his shoulder.