Wind Cave, his grandfather called it, for Wind did live here.
Remembering his grandfather's instructions, he set about gathering firewood and prepared himself for a long vigil. Toward dawn, his eyes grew heavy and the rain that had threatened the day before began to fall. He stripped off his clothes and laid them over the pile of wood in hopes of keeping the bottom pieces dry. Naked except for his moccasins, he sat facing the cave.
Watching.
Waiting.
Praying.
By nightfall when the wind spirit still had not come, he began to have doubts. Maybe the stories of Wind Cave were just that—stories. Like the ones his little sister read. Never before had he doubted the Apache legends of the Mountain Spirits. Just as he had never doubted the existence of Ussen, the almighty Giver of Life. But as the night grew longer, his doubts grew stronger.
When at last the rain stopped, he built a fire and warmed himself. Suddenly an explosion of firebrands flew into the air and flames rose up in front of him like fiery snakes preparing to strike. He leaped to his feet and saw a whirl of wind—like a desert dust devil—moving toward him. Even as he watched, it grew into a tall, sleek-looking funnel. Then there came a sound—a fierce roar that echoed off the canyon walls.
"S . . . e . . . e . . . k . . . e . . . r!"
The man lifted his chin and straightened his shoulders. "I am here."
From inside the top of the funnel, the head of an old man squeezed out like a butterfly emerging from its cocoon. His craggy face was unmistakably Apache and his long gray hair flowed back into the wind that swirled about him. "Why are you here?"
"I seek knowledge and power," he answered without hesitation.
"Many seek knowledge and power. Why should I give it to you?"
"So that I may help my people."
Wind roared with mirth. "You have no people, half-breed."
He gritted his teeth and held back the anger that always came when someone called him half-breed. "You're wrong, Wind. I have two peoples and they are at war with each other."
Wind reared back as if affronted. "The Apache and the white man have much to learn. Peace without price will teach them nothing."
He paused, took a deep breath, knowing it might be his last if he angered the spirit. "Already, too many have paid the price with their lives."
When Wind looked away, the man turned and reached for his clothes.
"You turn your back on me, Seeker?"
"Because you turn your face from me, Wind," he said over his shoulder.
"I look at you now."
With his clothes in hand, he turned and faced the ominous vortex.
"You must learn patience, half-breed. And tolerance," Wind said.
As he opened his mouth to reply, the wind pushed against his face and dove down his throat.
The half-breed awoke to a cloudless blue sky, feeling nothing except a terrible thirst and hunger pains. Had he dreamed his encounter with the wind spirit? Or did he now possess the power of the wind? How would he know?
Confused, he gathered his things and started for home, stopping briefly at the place where the earth ended and the sky began. A sudden wind rose up from the canyon floor and eddied around his feet—warm and familiar.
Then it was gone as quickly as it had come, but now, on the outsides of his moccasins were small white tracks—wind tracks, to make him fast and light like the wind.
Wind had given him the greatest power of all, Enemies-against, the war power.
Author Bio
Chelley Kitzmiller lives and breathes the Wild West. She travels the West to research her books, decorates her home with Western everything and has known and loved many a Western movie star.
After publishing four books with NAL and Harlequin, she took a long break to open two bookstores, work as an editorial assistant for Fern Michaels, learn photography, and start a pet rescue. Through it all, she freelanced for both newspapers and magazines, including Publishers Weekly. She is also the founder of the Orange County RWA Chapter. These days she splits her time between writing, RVing and rescuing pets at Have a Heart Humane Society.
Visit Chelley on Facebook, Twitter @chelleykitzmlr and sign up for her newsletter at http://www.ChelleyKitzmiller.com.
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