by Vella Munn
He remained silent. Her mind whirled with what she might say to put his concerns to rest, to remind him that owls were nothing more than night creatures. She wanted to tell him he was a miracle, the only living link with his people’s heritage, but if she did, she might say the rest—that he couldn’t keep his wisdom locked within him. The wrong words and he would turn from her as he’d done before, and she couldn’t stand the thought of not seeing him again.
Not making love to him again.
Ignoring her own state of undress, she stood on less-than-steady legs and walked over to him. They were alone in the solitude of his world. Funny, she’d given it no thought earlier. She took his hand and brought it to her breast. He gave her a quizzical look but didn’t draw away. She spread his fingers over the sensitive mound, showing him with gestures and smiles and silence that she was placing herself in his hands and in return wanted him only to be gentle with her.
“Think of me as a flower,” she whispered. “A fragile flower.”
“A flower does not feel.”
“No,” she admitted. “And I do. Believe me, I do.”
Their exploration became hands and lips again, touch and retreat, tease and urgency, whispered encouragement, quiet reminders, a slow building of emotion and sensitivity. And always the awe of being with him, believing in him. Maybe loving him.
Fighting her own urgent body, she trailed her fingers lightly over his arms and ribs, surrendered to his embrace and then pulled back. Not once did she stop touching him; he did the same, smiling as he learned what pleased her. Not as hungry as the first time, she drew out the foreplay, explored and retreated, challenged before backing off until she felt in control again.
When she stopped being the teacher and simply began sharing, she couldn’t say. It might have been when his tongue invaded her mouth for the first time. Maybe it was when he turned her around so her back was against him and he ran his hands firmly, possessively from the base of her throat to the apex of her legs.
She began moaning when he did that, couldn’t stop. Head thrown back, she gulped in needed air. That only increased his access to her. She tried to stop him, but his power over her and her helplessness—her wanting—was so great that after a few seconds, her hands dropped uselessly by her side. No longer caring, she listened to herself whimper, knew nothing except his strong fingers invading her most private parts.
He guided her so that she faced him once more, careful to keep his hands on her so she wouldn’t collapse. He was smiling; despite the red film curtaining her vision, she could see the beautiful and knowing gesture.
“A flower?” he asked. He forced her to stand in front of him, arms still limp, while he ducked his head and flicked his tongue over her taut nipples. “I think not. A flower is easily crushed. You only blossom more.”
He was right, right as only a man who knows what pleases a woman can be.
As had happened the first time, she suddenly found herself no longer standing. This time she wasn’t on her knees but already on her back, reaching for him, reaching and whimpering again. He knelt with one leg on either side of her hips, growling deep in his throat when she ground the heels of her hands against his chest. She tried to open herself for him, but he held her trapped under him. Fear flickered but died when she saw the passion she felt etched on his features. He wanted this—this lovemaking—as much as she did. The evidence of that was clear. But he’d learned, or maybe he’d already known, that ecstasy long anticipated becomes all the richer.
When he slid to one side of her and slowly, gently, firmly, slipped his hands between her legs, asked permission, she fastened her hands in his hair and pulled him down to her for one last passionate kiss before—
Before lovemaking.
“Gew’ks.”
Tory struggled to pull herself out of the dark cave she’d fallen into, but it wasn’t until Loka repeated himself that she managed to focus. He was sitting up, one hand clutching a rock, his attention fixed on a tall, thin pine tree some fifty feet away. At the top perched an owl large enough that it made the spindly branch sag.
“Gew’ks? Owl? Loka, he’s just—”
The owl stretched its neck; its long, mournful hoot stopped her in midsentence. Instantly, what Loka had said about an owl warning of death came back to her. She stared at Loka, trying to think of something to say that would make him see nothing more than a bird, but he’d been conditioned by a lifetime of legends and spiritual belief.
Besides, what if he was right?
“Loka.” She scrambled to her feet but stopped before reaching him. Even while he tied his loincloth back into place, his eyes never left the owl who again shattered the quiet with his haunting call.
“Gew’ks.”
“He belongs here, Loka. He’s hunting. That’s all just hunting.”
“Your heart is not Maklaks. You do not know.”
No, she didn’t. “Tell me, please. Why…”
“Gew’ks speaks. I listen.”
“What about me?” She hated the fear, the loneliness in her voice, but couldn’t kill it. “Won’t you listen to me?”
“Gew’ks is born of Kumookumts. Kumookumts created all Maklaks.”
And she wasn’t Maklaks. “They’re gone, Loka. You said so yourself. Please turn your back on the past. Walk—walk into the present.”
“I do not know what is my present, Tory. I search and ask and pray. I know restlessness that threatens to tear me apart. I want—I want to belong somewhere. But—”
“You belong with me!”
“Do I? And is it enough? Tory, the past claims me. It is all I know. I do not want to leave it behind. I do not want my heritage to become dust. Who except for me will keep it whole?”
Without looking at her, he strode off into the wilderness.
Was she ever going to sleep again?
Despite the exhaustion etched deep inside her, Tory sat up and slipped out of bed. Not bothering to look for shoes, she walked over to the nearest window and took in her surroundings. Morning was little more than a faint cast in the night-dark sky, but she remembered what dawn had looked like from the top of Spirit Mountain—when she stood beside Loka and he told her about the untold generations of Modocs who’d believed that the world began and ended with what they could see from up there.
They’d been right, she acknowledged. At least back then, what existed beyond where the Modocs ranged hadn’t mattered. Loka had a growing grasp of today’s world, but he’d never seen a city, and no matter what he’d read or heard, he would have only a rudimentary understanding of what one was like. His world had ended before the invention of the telephone. How could he comprehend computers and fax machines?
She tried to tell herself it didn’t matter because he still lived on the land that had nourished him and his people, but the attempt at self-delusion didn’t last long. He might carry an ancient knife and put his faith in messages brought to him by wild animals and birds, but The Smiles Of God was no longer his domain, and he knew it. It had been invaded by those he considered his enemies, and unless he spent the rest of his life isolating himself from them—which in his heart he didn’t want to do—eventually they would learn of his existence, and he would have to learn how to coexist with them.
We can do it, Loka. Together. If you’d just trust me, share your wisdom and spiritual richness with the rest of the world…
In an attempt to ward off the headache building behind her temples, she dug through her meager supply of groceries. She came up with some fruit and a bagel and washed breakfast down with cool, sweet water. She’d brought enough food with her to last a couple of days; most of that was gone, which meant she would have to drive into the nearest town to restock.
She walked into what passed for a bathroom and splashed water on her face. Only then did she look into the small mirror and face the decision she’d made.
She couldn’t leave.
Couldn’t because Loka had crawled under her skin and she couldn’t walk away
from him and go on living.
He doesn’t want you. He left you yesterday, remember.
He left because an owl warned him of danger.
Danger from you?
“Enough!” she blurted, shaken by the realization that she’d spoken aloud. But although she turned from the mirror so she wouldn’t have to stare at her hollowed-out eyes, she couldn’t hide from her thoughts.
She’d made love to Loka. Maybe fallen in love with him. The last thing she’d ever do was endanger his existence.
But was it possible that she had by coming here?
No, damn it, no!
Maybe.
Groaning, she pressed her hand against her forehead. What she needed was her very own Eagle. If she had a spirit, she could call on it for the answers to questions that threatened to drive her crazy.
Well, she didn’t have one. The only alternative was to get out of this blasted cabin so maybe her thoughts would stop ricocheting off the walls. Heartened by the thought that she had a plan of action, she dressed and walked outside. She’d covered most of the distance separating the cabin from park headquarters before she admitted that she’d spent the time looking for some sign of Loka.
He wasn’t here; if he’d been, she would have known. Her body, so sensitive to him, would have told her.
Maybe he was still sleeping, alone, dreamless. Maybe he was awake and thinking about what he perceived to be Owl’s warning.
And maybe—
She stopped in midstride as an unwanted thought hit her. Loka had been adamantly opposed to Fenton’s plans to exploit Fern Cave. She’d tried to tell him that opposition by any number of environmental groups would put an end to that insanity, but had he believed her? Was it possible that he’d decided to stop Fenton in the only way he knew?
Stomach knotted, she was forced to ask herself if Loka might risk his life protecting what his people had held sacred.
Of course he would.
Hurrying now, she tried to come up with a plan. First, she’d call Dr. Grossnickle and tell him she didn’t know when, if ever, she’d be rejoining him. He deserved as much of the truth as she could give him, which, in order to protect Loka, wouldn’t be much. She could tell Dr. Grossnickle that she’d discovered a risk to an historically sensitive site and didn’t dare leave until she could be sure that it was safe. He’d argue that what he was trying to accomplish was more important, but she’d hold firm. If he told her she no longer had a job—
What did a job matter? Owl had cried of death yesterday.
“You’re still here?”
Tory winced, then admitted that she’d known her chance of getting in and out of park headquarters without Fenton spotting her had been slim. At least she’d managed to make her phone call. Turning her thoughts from Dr. Grossnickle’s terse command that she either wind things up here or he’d be forced to look for a replacement, she faced Fenton, who looked inordinately proud of himself this morning.
“Actually,” Fenton said as he joined her, “I’m glad I caught you. You’re the first to know this. The senator’s coming here next week.”
“He’s what?”
“I caught him in a weak moment. Actually, I made my uncle an offer he couldn’t refuse. He’s getting a lot of flak about not getting out enough. I told him he could fly here and take a tour, with photographers around to record his concern for an historic landmark, of course. Once the public show’s over, he can get in a little bird hunting.”
Thinking of the vast wetlands that had been preserved to protect the large number of birds that made their home in this part of the country, she couldn’t believe the senator would want to be seen hunting. However, when Fenton explained that he’d arranged to get his uncle onto on private land far from prying eyes, she understood. “You bribed him.”
“You might say that. Hey, as long as he comes out as being concerned for the lava beds’ future, what do people around here care? They’ll see him, hear him and think there’s going to be money following in his wake—money I’ve laid the groundwork for.”
She didn’t want to hear any more, but if she didn’t pretend to be fascinated by Fenton’s latest plans, she wouldn’t know how all this might impact Loka.
Loka, who would perceive a self-important politician and the press as a threat to his sacred land—to the only thing he had left in life.
“Next week, you say?” She made herself ask. “How did you manage to pull it together so fast?”
“Brief congressional recess. Pheasant and duck season. The timing couldn’t be better.”
“No. I guess it couldn’t.”
Fenton studied her for a minute, making her all too aware of what she must look like. She’d made love to Loka twice yesterday—abandoned and unashamed lovemaking. Her lips still felt swollen. She’d brushed her hair but had been unable to do much to restore bounce to it. And her eyes—her eyes had that look this morning. “I take it you’re going to show the senator Fern Cave,” she said in a desperate attempt to take his thoughts off her.
“You bet.” Fenton gave her a self-satisfied grin. “It’s going to take some stretching of the rules, but one way or the other, I’m going to get him down there with the press. Can’t you just imagine it? Shots in newspapers all over the country of Senator Baldwin studying the petroglyphs, crouching over the ferns. If that doesn’t increase interest in this area, I don’t know what will. In fact—what do you think of this? I’ve been mulling it over half the night. If he’s favorably disposed—and why wouldn’t he be if he gets in some good hunting and even better press?—he’ll spread the word among his colleagues. I’ll work through him, let them know I’m their contact man when and if they come here. Get enough of them interested in this chunk of Northern California so that when it comes budget time, they’ll vote to increase the allocation for the lava beds.”
“That’s—that’s pretty ambitious.”
“I’m just getting started.” When he smirked, it was all she could do not to wipe it off his face. “I’m sure you heard about the restoration they did to the lodge at Crater Lake, how hard it was to get the money allocated. In the end it happened, and that’s what matters. Well, the lava beds haven’t begun to tap their potential. I mean, look at what they’ve got, nothing but a couple of cabins like yours and that dinky camping setup. But a lodge—I can just see it! I wonder how big they could make it? What do you think, at least a hundred rooms? There’s sure as hell enough land to build it on. Of course they’d have to put in a parking lot and maybe a few more roads, particularly one out to the Thomas-Wright Battlefield. Having to walk out there the way people do now just isn’t cutting it. Getting my uncle revved up, that’s the first step. And I’m the one to do it.”
Feeling as if she’d been plunged into ice water, Tory could only stare openmouthed as Fenton went on and on about his plans for the lava beds. She nearly interrupted to remind him that just a few days ago he’d seen the lava beds as nothing more than a brief stop in his career. Now, if he had his way, this beautifully wild and serene area would become an overcrowded tourist trap. She had a horrible image of fast-food restaurants and gift shops springing up like weeds.
“I know, I know,” Fenton said at last. “All of this is in the future, but it’s got to start somewhere, and I’m the man to get it done.” He swiped at a bee. “I can’t believe you’re still here. The appeals court has set a date to hear the Indians’ objection to what Dr. Grossnickle and the university is planning, you know. I thought you’d have burned rubber getting back to him.”
She hadn’t known that—she hadn’t talked to Dr. Grossnickle any longer than absolutely necessary this morning. She was about to tell Fenton that she still hadn’t completed her exploration of the area when she realized he would never believe that, would see through the lie. Feeling trapped, she said the only thing that might satisfy him.
“Yes, I know I should be leaving, but, well, the truth is, General Canby was my great-great-grandfather. I don’t know when I’ll have another oppo
rtunity to see what his world was like.”
“You’re what? No kidding? Why didn’t you say something before?”
“Because my coming here is for me,” she said firmly.
“General Canby’s great-great-granddaughter.” His eyes took on a speculative look, and she guessed he was trying to think of a way to exploit what he’d just learned. “You can prove that? Not that I don’t believe you, but it’d have a lot more impact if it was documented.”
“I just told you, my trip is a personal thing. I want to touch base with what he experienced, try to understand it, have something to tell my children someday. It’s no one else’s business.”
“You’re wrong. Wrong. Wait a minute! Does Dr. Grossnickle know?”
“No.”
“In other words, he doesn’t know the real reason you haven’t hotfooted it to his side?”
Convinced she was walking into a trap, she could only stare at him. Instead of challenging her, he simply nodded, his eyes speculative, questioning. He glanced at his watch. “Black is going to be here any minute. He called last night, wouldn’t say why he wanted to talk to me, just that I’d better not try to dodge him. I figure he’d already heard about the senator coming. Of course he’s going to object—I don’t have to be hit over the head to know that. But there’s nothing he can do about it. It’s a free country. I can invite anyone I want. I don’t get it, Tory. Why wouldn’t you want anyone to know who you are? If you did, I’m sure everyone here would go out of their way to tell you everything they can about General Canby.”
She couldn’t tell him that since the first time she’d looked at Loka, she’d been unable to put her mind to anything else. “Maybe I should have,” she said weakly.
“I sure would have. And if I had to cover my tail with my employer, I’d have told him the truth. If that’s the truth.”
Wary, she waited Fenton out.
“I’m not saying you aren’t who you say you are. However, you’ve been here for days now, and from what I’ve seen, you haven’t spent a whole lot of time trying to learn more about the general.”
