Beyond the Western Sun

by Kristina Circelli

  The last image playing behind her black eyes was of Ian and Cole shooting off across the Barren Plains, Ian clutching the reigns and hunching over to maintain his balance while the Army of the Dead began their long march to the living world. She remembered the look of surprise and confusion across his face when she told him she wouldn’t be going with him, and for some reason, she regretted letting him down.

  Whisper supposed that for all his faults, for all his disrespect, she had grown fond of Ian Daivya. He was a decent man at heart, and she hoped that they would succeed not only for her sake, for Gentle Heart’s sake, but for his own chance to rebuild his family.

  She had known from the moment Smoke Speaker began their training that her destiny was to die fighting the Raven-Eater. For years she studied the ways of her ancestors, practiced their magics, waited for the moment until she was finally ready to strike. Waiting meant having to rescue countless children lured into the wilderness by the Guardian of the Dead. While saving them helped strengthen her tracking and survival skills, with each rescue she only further realized the Raven-Eater’s power and determination.

  Finally, Smoke Speaker announced that Whisper was ready. She was ready to fight, ready to kill, ready to save his daughter from the Raven-Eater’s powerful hold. When Cole Daivya went missing, he ordered his apprentice to track him, wait until he died, then secure his body far down the river so he wouldn’t be found. Burying him was not an option, as that would mean the boy was lost forever in the Spirit World. No, they needed him in the Raven-Eater’s care, and needed his father to bring him back to the Land of the Living. That meant preparing her body for death, sharpening her prized blade in the light of a burning fire, sliding it across her wrist, and watching without emotion as thick blood dripped to the ground just moments before Ian stepped into Howling Vines. And all the while knowing that in killing herself, she was contributing to the murders of Ian and Cole Daivya.

  It was deceptive, it was dishonest, it was evil, and she would have done it all over again if it meant stopping this war and saving Blue Feather.

  Chapter 31

  For what seemed like days, Whisper lay on the floor of the filthy Fire Tower room in spasms of the worst pain she’d ever experienced. Not even when the Elder had tattooed the map for the Land of the Dead across her back, when her ankle snapped beneath the weight of a fallen pine tree, or when she sliced her own wrist with a flint-sharpened blade had she felt an agony quite like this. But she would suffer through it, had to suffer through it, to accomplish her mission and fulfill her destiny. She got through the pain by remembering that, as nothing else mattered but her destiny—not Ian, not the child, not even Smoke Speaker. She had easily deceived them all to get this far, and now it was her time to rise to the top.

  Heavy footsteps outside her dungeon room had Whisper struggling to a sitting position. She grit her teeth together as the fire ripped through her body, but managed to pull herself against the grimy, black-caked wall. The footsteps neared, getting louder and heavier, until they stopped just outside the closed door.

  And then he entered.

  In her state of half-delirium Whisper didn’t realize that her eyes widened instead of narrowed, that her lungs sucked in an involuntary breath of nervous air, and that her hands instinctively curled into fists. Her heart beat wildly as she took in the magnificently frightening sight of the Guardian of the Dead.

  His thick, menacing frame filled the doorway, lit from behind by the fire torches that lined the hallways. Dark shadows were cast across his rugged and worn tattooed face, while golden highlights reflected in his long black hair that reached to his waist, some tresses tied in thick braids and adorned with dark blue feathers. He glared across the room at his victim through fiery black eyes set beneath a wide, deeply lined brow that shouted his eternal rage. A thin white bone pierced his left nostril, while long white scars trailed across cheeks, tattooed with Cherokee symbols representing a lifetime dedicated to war and revenge. His ears were likewise decorated with bone piercings that dangled white feathers and square-shaped beads that just touched the tops of his broad, muscled shoulders.

  Trailing from those shoulders were arms as thick as the dead oak trees lining the Weeping Forest. His enormous hands were rough and calloused, evidence of his many years farming, building, and battling enemies. In another life, perhaps in his time of living, he may have been considered handsome. But now, after being hidden away in the Fire Tower for so long, letting hate, vengeance, and an unquenchable thirst for blood fill his soul, his inner repulsiveness was reflected on a face that met the world with an eternal scowl.

  But what truly struck Whisper, despite the fear creeping into her heart, were his incredibly ornate, beautiful clothings. His broad chest was wrapped in a thick buckskin tunic gorgeously decorated with blue and white beads, braided fringes, and animal shadows. The collar was slit in half at the base of his throat, tied together by thin straps of sinew. His pants matched the shirt, expertly stitched by a careful hand. Adorning his wrists were three bracelets crafted with twisted leather straps intertwined with feathers and beads.

  “So you are the one who destroyed my guards,” he spoke suddenly, his deep voice thundering across the room, rattling Whisper’s eardrums. She shook her head slightly when his words caused a brief but powerful dizzy spell. When she didn’t answer, he took a few steps closer, keeping his eyes trained on the prisoner, reveling in her painful misery. “So small and pathetic.” He was keeping his captive alive for three sole reasons.

  One, she was reason why his guards were missing, and he wanted answers.

  Two, his son was now missing as well, and he wanted him back. As powerful as the Raven-Eater was, even his spies seemed to have disappeared from the Land of the Dead. With his army on the move, he was needed here, at the Fire Tower, to direct his soldiers into battle with the living. It pleased his black, rotted heart to know that the ones who had taken his family’s lives were now under his control. They would be his slaves until he decided to free their souls, which he would never do. They didn’t deserve mercy.

  And three, he enjoyed her pain. He had used her own handcrafted weapon to take his enemy down, and he knew by the widening red stain on her chest that she was near death. A second death, in the Land of the Dead. When she passed, her memory would be erased from the living world and her soul would face the eternal depths of a world reserved for the greatest of sinners and forgotten names. Not even he knew what horrors waited for those unfortunate enough to die their second death.

  But before she died, she would speak.

  “You,” he growled, kicking Whisper hard in the shoulder. She tumbled to the ground, biting back a pained shout when his foot connected with the area injured in her fight against Ustahli. “Who are you? Why have you come?” She had strange power, this beautiful, mysterious, captive, and that displeased him. The fact that she made it this far, with a white man no less, was both curious and maddening. “Before you die, prisoner, you will answer my questions.”

  Despite her injuries, her burning chest, throbbing jaw from Ian’s punch, scratchy throat from the witch’s scaly hands, Whisper huffed sarcastically, rising to her hands and knees. “I owe you nothing, Raven-Eater. Not even death.”

  Outraged, the Guardian of the Dead slammed a hand on Whisper’s shoulder and lifted her completely off her feet. “We shall see,” he snarled in response, then dragged her out of the room.

  As he exited, the Raven-Eater turned to the last guard left at the Fire Tower, his own personal guardian. “Hunt her companion down, kill him, and return Fighting Fox to me.”

  Julia entered the coroner’s office, her father one step behind. The determination that once filled her step, the last determination to bury her son and get this nightmare over with, was gone, replaced by pure emptiness. After she returned home, after she lost her son for good, she didn’t know how she would move on, or if she even wanted to. There was no life without Cole, and she feared living with the memories of his death, of Ian�
��s betrayal, of her husband’s possible involvement in the murder of a seven year-old boy.

  David sat down next to his daughter in Dr. Hessy’s waiting room. They were there to make the final transportation plans for Cole’s body. Julia thought she would be leaving tomorrow, but David knew otherwise. After speaking with Smoke Speaker at the jail, he no longer knew what was right and what was wrong, but he did know that he believed enough in the stories his grandfather used to tell him to trust that look on the Elder’s face.

  Plus, David never thought that Ian was capable of murdering his son, like the police were now claiming. Cheating on his wife, yes, but killing, not a chance. So the only reason he was missing, in David’s mind, was because he was doing something about Cole’s death. And whatever he was doing involved the Elder’s apprentice, whether that involved actual traveling to the Land of the Dead or not.

  Dr. Hessy entered, interrupting his line of thought. The doctor was a small, timid-looking man with thin arms, a gaunt face, and graying hair. Wide glasses sat atop a long nose, hiding his dark blue eyes behind thick frames. He seemed nervous to approach Julia, who didn’t bother to rise. She was tired of showing respect to people who could no longer help save her son.

  “Mrs. Daivya, I don’t know if you’ve been informed yet, but the F.B.I. have decided to prolong the case a few more days.”

  Julia did rise at that. “Excuse me?”

  “An agent came in yesterday.” Dr. Hessy picked up a form. “I was given this. Apparently they are not satisfied with the results and have asked me to conduct another series of tests.”

  David recognized that look on Julia’s face. It was one from her teenage years, when she was about to explode with all her frustrations, all her rage, all her pent-up aggression. She was typically pleasant, but didn’t hold her anger well.

  As she began lashing out at the meek mortician, David let his thoughts trail back to his conversation with Smoke Speaker. He briefly wondered if he truly believed in the old man, or if he simply chose to believe because he desperately wished for Cole to come back to life.

  “What can I do to help?” David had asked. He would never forget the expression on the Elder’s face. It was one of torment, desperation, and hope. “What is going on?”

  “They need more time,” Smoke Speaker had replied, closing his eyes as though believing that such a thing would not happen. “They are so close, but have so far to go. If the child is buried, he can never return to the Land of the Living, and neither can Ian. You must find a way to keep the child in this world.”

  And so David went to the sheriff, pretending to be furious over his feeble and ineffective attempts to solve Cole’s case. He demanded to speak with one of the F.B.I. agents that had been sniffing around the woods during the investigation, and claimed he wanted more answers. It took some work, but he got both the agent and the sheriff to agree for more testing.

  More time. How much time was needed? The testing would only go on for three more days, and then Cole would be returned to Julia. And when they were back home, it wouldn’t take long for the boy to be buried. David had one final idea, and it tore his heart apart.

  He knew that when his plan was put into action, and Smoke Speaker’s words proved false, Julia would never forgive him.

  Chapter 32

  The hooves of Soquili pounded the earth, echoing heavily throughout the thick, humid air. An impossible darkness had descended across the Land of the Dead, starting to cloak the red and purple sunset in the distance.

  Ian kept his eyes on that sun, the Western Sun. That was his destination, where he and Cole would find their salvation. Even as the dust was thrown into his eyes, Ian’s focus never left the huge orb of tumbling hues. He clutched his trembling son to his chest, legs cramping as they gripped the sides of the black horse. The speed of the beast was unbelievable; they crossed the Barren Plains, crashed through the Weeping Forest, sped through clumps of wandering lost souls. Both Ian and Soquili paid the price for speed, as they were covered with dozens of scratches, beaten down by exhaustion, and desperate for a break. But Soquili was cursed with obedience—he would run until he reached their stopping place. The Raven-Eater had long ago bestowed a powerful magic upon him, one that forced him to run until his hooves bled, until his lungs burned, until the mission was accomplished.

  As he clutched both horse and boy, Ian reflected on Whisper’s last words. The young woman had slit her own wrists to reach the Land of the Dead, knowing she would never return. She had willingly given up her life so Cole could live. But….why?

  And she had called him by name. This entire trip, she had regarded him with a cool, icy glare and a constant “Mr. Daivya,” which always sounded full of disdain. Yet when speaking her last request to him, to tell the Elder good-bye, she used his first name. Had she finally reached some level of respect for him? Or was she so rushed, so frazzled for once in their escape, that she had experienced a mere slip of the tongue?

  It didn’t matter, because either way, he had left her behind. He would never forgive himself for leaving Whisper alone in a strange, evil place with the Raven-Eater rapidly descending upon them. And the arrow…in his final look back, he had seen the arrow that struck her down, blood bursting from the impact. The young, mysterious woman he believed to be so strong and invincible had tumbled to the ground, left to the wrath of the Guardian of the Dead.

  The regret and hatred he felt towards himself mixed with relief and anticipation when the river came into view. It was only seconds before Soquili skidded to a halt, nearly throwing its riders to the ground.

  Ian climbed off the horse’s back, feet landing solidly on the rumbling ground. He looked over his shoulder to see the Army of the Dead somehow gaining ground. The closer they got to the Land of the Living, the more their pace quickened, and they walked in straight lines a mile thick, rotting flesh hanging off cracked bones, torn and ragged clothes flapping in the increasing wind. Some, those who had died fighting, carried weapons, others had only their hands for war. But their lack of weapons didn’t matter. In the Land of the Living, they couldn’t die, couldn’t be killed. They would take over one murder at a time.

  Just ahead of them was Hunting Hawk, the Raven-Eater’s last guard. He was one of three of the Raven-Eater’s guards who hadn’t taken Whisper’s bribe, for reasons of his own. He had plans in the Land of the Dead, and wasn’t prepared to leave just yet.

  Hunting Hawk rode his own horse, appointed to him by the Guardian of the Dead himself. Not quite as fast as the Soquili Ian rode, he nonetheless flew across the earth, determined to reach Ian before he launched across the river.

  Not wasting any time, and desperately hoping to avoid a fight against the Raven-Eater’s guard, Ian dragged Cole off the horse and raced to the riverbank, where the RiverKeeper was waiting.

  “So you return,” the RiverKeeper sneered, greedy saliva dripping from the corners of his cracked lips. He held out an old, deformed hand. “Give it to me.”

  Heart racing, sweat dripping into his eyes, Ian grabbed for Cole, who was staring back at Hunting Hawk and the approaching army through wide, terrified eyes. “What?” he panted, fear creeping through him that they may not make it onto the boat in time. “Give you what?”

  The RiverKeeper’s eyes narrowed and his hand clutched into a fist. “I want what was promised to me!”

  “What? I don’t…” Ian looked around, as though Whisper would magically appear to once again save the day. The RiverKeeper was glaring at him with hungry greed spread across his face. Dark water lapped against the shore as the wind picked up. “I don’t have anything!”

  “You have everything!” the RiverKeeper shouted, shaking his fist in Ian’s face. “You carry the blood of the half-breed! It was promised to me!”

  “The…” Ian’s voice trailed off when he realized what he meant. The blood of the half-breed, the mark on Cole’s back.

  The RiverKeeper wanted his son.

  Whisper grunted as she was dumped at Gentle Heart
’s feet. The gaping wound in her chest screamed in defiance, dark red blood seeping to the stone floor. Gentle Heart took a step back, swallowing hard with nerves. This strange young woman had rattled her, stating odd yet somehow familiar claims of her true name, of her alleged father, of a beautiful necklace that used to be hers. She had that necklace wrapped around her wrist now as she struggled to regain her memories.

  “What have you told my wife to make her so afraid?” the Raven-Eater demanded to know, kicking Whisper in the shoulder. “What lies have you brought to my home?”

  “I bring no lies,” Whisper choked out through a mouthful of blood. She spat the thick liquid at the Guardian of the Dead’s feet, pleased when a scowl crossed his homely, deathly terrifying face. “I bring only salvation, from the Elder Smoke Speaker.”

  The Raven-Eater knew that name, and it burned through him like two thousand fires. He had stolen the man’s daughter many years ago, not for vengeance, not for hate, but because Blue Feather, now Gentle Heart, was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen, the only one who ever resembled his lost wife, and he wanted her for himself. The man had tricked him once, infiltrating the Fire Tower with a false face crafted by strong magic. He had posed as a guard, tried to steal Gentle Heart back to the Land of the Living.

  And he had failed, as the Raven-Eater’s magic was far greater and he had already destroyed her memories of her past life. Smoke Speaker returned to his world before his guards could capture him.

  “How do you know that name?”

  “She is his apprentice,” Gentle Heart spoke up, surprising herself. “She knows him well. He trained her in the old ways.”

  “Why?” The Raven-Eater lowered his enormous body to his knees, peering curiously at his dying captive. Her face had paled, her eyes were tired, and she was starting to shiver from the cold. “Why have you come to steal my son? What is your mission? You will tell me before I kill you, and before I kill your companion.”