by Vella Munn
He is in your hands. Yours and Eagle’s. If you need him with you in your world, so be it. But I believe he belongs here. With me. Both safeguarding and sharing Wa’hash with those he trusts. Loving me. She faltered at the last but wasn’t sorry she’d spoken the truth. Loka’s life was up to Kiuka; she had absolutely no doubt of that. Mesmerized, she listened to the wind-borne song. Once, when the notes briefly died, she heard Wolf. His howl hung in the air, a lilting cry that seemed to have been alive since the beginning of time.
She looked around for the predator but couldn’t see him.
Someday, she prayed, she’d gaze at the owner of those plaintive yet peaceful notes.
Wa’hash. Although the heat continued unabated, a cavelike coolness touched her nerve endings and eased her journey into the sacred place. Nothing of her sense of wonder from that first time had lessened. Again, awe, admiration, reverence washed over her as her mind’s eye recorded each and every drawing, each ancient and telling symbol. But this time, instead of wanting the world to know what existed beneath the earth, she accepted it for what it was. A people’s legacy.
This is your place, Kiuka. Yours and Kumookumts’s. I feel blessed because I’ve seen it, but it isn’t mine. I have no right saying what will be done with it. Wa’hash belongs to the ages. If that’s how you want it to remain, I accept your wisdom.
Kiuka stopped chanting. Despite the distance between them, she had no doubt of the message in his eyes. He had heard her. But did he believe?
Loka moved, stole her thoughts. She lowered her gaze. His eyes were open and clear, and he no longer looked pale as death. “Kiuka,” she whispered. “He’s on Spirit Mountain.”
“He waits for me.”
“No,” she told him with conviction. “He knows you can’t reach him. He—he comes to you through me.”
“You believe?”
Emotion clogged her throat and made it impossible for her to utter a word. Still, she trusted her eyes to speak for her. After a few minutes during which the air remained full from Kiuka’s chanting, Loka brought her hands to his mouth. When he saw the feathers she still clutched, a smile touched his lips. “You remembered.”
“That that was how a believer could be healed? Yes.”
“It is not enough, Tory.”
“Not enough?” Fear reasserted itself, but there was strength in Loka’s fingers and his eyes remained bright.
“Belief must be total. You as well as me.”
“Me?” She hung on the word they both needed to hear, the finality of it, the conviction. “Yes. Me, too.” She glanced up at Spirit Mountain, but Kiuka was no longer there. She could still hear him and Wolf, or maybe their songs now existed inside her.
Maybe they always had.
She helped Loka sit. He was no longer bleeding. The day’s heat beat down on her, but it no longer made her feel light-headed and half-sick. Something had happened here today. She might never put a name to it, not because it defied her comprehension, but because believing in the power of the first Maklaks shaman belonged in her heart, not her mind.
“I prayed for you.” She couldn’t take her eyes off him. “I don’t know what I said. The words didn’t make any sense. But it didn’t matter. Whatever it took to keep you from dying—”
“I heard you.”
“Did you?” A tiny white butterfly flitted near his dark hair. If Loka wasn’t holding her hands, she would have seen if she could get it to land on her finger. “I was so scared you were dying. Then I saw and heard Kiuka, and I was no longer afraid. When I heard Wolf, the sound strengthened me.”
“I felt your strength.” He ran his fingers up her forearms, her shoulders, gently caressed the sides of her neck. “Here.” He pressed his thumb against the pulse at the base of her throat. “And here.” He covered her heart with a hand that could once again hunt and fish, and make love to her.
Echoing what he’d done, she placed her hand over his naked chest. Muscles roped it and sheltered his heart but didn’t keep her from feeling its beat. Warmth flowed over her. This time, she knew, the heat came from him. Staring into his eyes, she believed he felt the same thing, because he understood her love for him.
“You couldn’t die,” she told him. “It wasn’t time. Kiuka wouldn’t let you.”
“It was not Kiuka who kept me in this world.”
He was right. He had been pulled back from the brink of death because he wasn’t the only one who had been touched by Kiuka, Eagle and Wolf. He was no longer alone in that, would never climb Spirit Mountain by himself again.
“Kiuka trusts you, Tory,” he whispered. “Eagle does, too. And Wolf.”
“I—know.”
“It is because they know I carry you within my heart.”
His heart.
Epilogue
Summer’s heat hadn’t yet given way to cool fall, but Tory didn’t feel the sun as she sat on one of the rocks that made up the dance ring. Miles away, tourists drove slowly over the park’s single road, but she and the others were safe from prying eyes. She couldn’t help but smile. If park personnel ever learned about the underground tunnel that allowed Modocs to come here undetected, they would undoubtedly add it to the list of attractions.
But the secret would remain safe until Loka and the other Modocs decided that the time for sharing had come. And it would be done in their way.
Loka, magnificent in his loincloth and sun-kissed flesh, turned in a slow circle as he addressed one Modoc child after another. Their looks of awe left no doubt that they were fascinated by stories of ancestors who’d survived harsh winters because they’d had the wisdom to gather and hunt during the generous summers. They loved to hear about Bear and Wolf, occasionally looking around with wide-eyed wonder.
“Maybe the time will come when they’ll see Bear and Wolf and the others, when they fully understand.”
Tory nodded to acknowledge what Black had said but didn’t take her eyes off Loka. His wound was nearly healed. In every way that counted, in every way that mattered to her, he had recovered.
Loka had been pointing toward Spirit Mountain, but he stopped with his arm in the air and all eyes on him to look down at her. His smile, intimate and knowing, held for several seconds. Instead of blushing, she lovingly returned his gaze. He spent his days sharing his wisdom with the area’s Modocs. She didn’t resent a moment of his time and loved watching him emerge from his long isolation as both children and adults embraced him. At night—the nights belonged to them.
“You’re sure he wants to do this?” Black asked when Loka returned to his storytelling. “You’re going to be able to get him in a car? Into modern clothes?”
“Oh, yes. He believes as I now do that only Indians have a right to the Alsea site. We’ll be going there next week. He’s told me what he intends to say. His words are so eloquent, so powerful. They come from his heart, from an earlier time. Once the court hears him, I think they’ll rule in favor of the Indians.”
“It’ll cost you your job.”
“I don’t care,” she said, meaning it. “Black, you know what it’s like to want to learn everything you can about ancient ways and beliefs. That’s the way it is for me, too, now. The time will come when I’ll know how to convey that to this generation. When Loka and I will do it together. But for now, I’m content to be a student.”
“Hmm. That and embrace the last warrior.”
The last warrior. Loka bent before a small boy so the child could touch the baby’s cradle he carried. Boy and man locked eyes, and Tory saw, not grief for the son Loka had lost, but love for this child. Loka might be the last of a once-proud people, but he now lived in today. Loved in today. Was finding a place for himself in this generation.
Unconsciously, she spread her hand over her stomach. Next week she and Loka would travel to the Oregon coast. Just looking at him, feeling his pride and passion, she had no doubt that he would succeed in what he was determined to accomplish. The university and its staff wouldn’t be the ones to uncover
the Alsea past; Indians would.
Once their work on the coast was done, they would return here, he to continue introducing modern-day Modocs to their heritage, she to bring their child into the world. She intended to continue as an anthropologist, but from now on her focus would be on the magical, mystical world that sustained Loka and had been his people’s most essential element.
The last warrior? With their son growing inside her, that was no longer true.
VELLA MUNN grew up the daughter and granddaughter of teachers, and from childhood on was in love with the written word. She turned to writing when her first child was born and has dozens of contemporary and historical romances to her credit. Vella says that she has always been drawn to the unexplainable. She is the mother of two grown children and lives in southern Oregon with her husband.
ISBN: 978-1-4592-1690-7
THE MAN FROM FOREVER
Copyright © 1996 by Vella Munn
All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including xerography, photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, is forbidden without the written permission of the editorial office, Silhouette Books, 300 East 42nd Street, New York, NY 10017 U.S.A.
All characters in this book have no existence outside the imagination of the author and have no relation whatsoever to anyone bearing the same name or names. They are not even distantly inspired by any individual known or unknown to the author, and all incidents are pure invention.
This edition published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.
® and TM are trademarks of Harlequin Books S.A., used under license. Trademarks indicated with ® are registered in the United States Patent and Trademark Office, the Canadian Trade Marks Office and in other countries.
Visit Silhouette at www.eHarlequin.com
