Chapter Eight

Beat…beat…beat.

Cesca drew a deep breath against the discordant pounding of drums. The memory of Marsh running the gauntlet found her. The godforsaken tom-tom had beat then too. Her eyes searched the crowd for Meko. Whatever lay in store for her, she wanted to see him one more time.

The People huddled around the sturdy limb of a tree dug into the ground, their eyes wide and curious as she walked forward flanked by Strikes First and Brown Wing. Perhaps they'd changed their minds and meant to burn her at the stake. That theory was quickly dashed for lack of tinder in sight. Murmurs and whispers scattered above the crowd and moccasins shuffled over the pebbled earth. She heard no cheers, shouts or whistles like she had when Marsh ran the gauntlet. At least some of the People were opposed to the severe punishment about to befall her.

Choking Wolf stood beside the post, apparently the place she'd be staked out. Before they left the lodge, Brown Wing had gathered Cesca's long hair into a leather thong at the nape, hoping it would bring a small respite from the unmerciful heat. From the cursed sun and her sinking courage, a fine bead of sweat had formed on her brow and trickled down her forehead. She'd tried to prepare herself for the ordeal, but her traitorous body trembled now like a fragile leaf caught up in the wind. She prayed for strength and bravery. And she prayed for a quick death.

With a contemptuous sneer, Strikes First delivered her to Choking Wolf. The man grabbed Cesca's wrists, cinched them with a length of rope and did the same with her ankles. He faced the crowd and delivered a litany citing her most grievous offense.

Strikes First stood beside her and translated, the man's English so clear and concise, Cesca forgot the horrific trial before her and stared at him.

"The Cheyenne have opened their hearts and lodges to this lowly white captive and how does she repay us? She sends her brother, my slave, riding from my lodge on a gift from the People. I have offered her a life, with me, but Meko refuses to honor the ancient code. I have chosen this for her, and now the spirit of the sun will decide whether she lives or dies." Chatter among the masses drifted off in the still morning air. Cesca scanned the crowd of strangers looking at her. What did they know of love between siblings, or for that matter, love in any form? Her gaze settled on the same group of young maidens who'd taunted her the day she arrived in the village. Black Bonnet stood among them, her eyes flashing victory. Rage boiled up in Cesca as it had the day she fought with the woman. She dropped to the ground and spread her hands and legs apart, offering herself freely to the evil form of torture. Seizing the opportunity, Choking Wolf tied her hands and feet to four stakes on the ground, pinning her to the earth.

She paced her breathing, willing her angry heart to quiet. If Black Bonnet or anyone else thought she'd cry, they were mistaken. She couldn't afford to expend her energy on rage or self-pity, knew she must conserve every ounce of strength to last three days under the burning globe above her. The curious crowd loitered for an hour and then disbursed. They must know she'd last through morning.

The sun beat down, hot and intense, but not unbearable. Not yet anyway. Black Bonnet and her friends circled once or twice and kicked dirt over her body. A raised stick from Brown Wing sent them scurrying away.

Strikes First's words found her. 'You must go somewhere in your mind.' She saw the smooth planes of the man's face, strong, uncompromising, and courageous. 'Above the clouds where the rain is made.' Like Meko, an aura of mystery surrounded the man. He didn't speak English as fluently as the dark warrior, or so she thought. This morning, while translating Choking Wolf's words, his speech was faultless. Who were these people? At least Strikes First cared what happened to her. She saw it in his eyes during the council meeting and again this morning when he brought the clothing.

Hours passed and the sun's harsh rays seared her skin. She wouldn't think of water or beg for it, would push any thought of the cool, clear liquid from her mind. If anyone so much as offered her a drop, they'd face the same punishment. How could she place anyone in the same situation by pleading for help? She'd sing songs in her mind, recite nursery rhymes, and count the days of the calendar, month by month for every year she'd walked the earth. When it became too much to bear, she'd think pleasant thoughts, imagine her scorched body taking a long dip in a cold pool of water or recall an evening she'd walked beneath silver moonlight.

She'd think of him, I Am The Wind. How had he acquired such an unusual name? Brother to the wind, he blew east to west, north to south, and over the mountain tops. He swirled and dipped through the valleys, skimmed across lakes and streams, wild and free; twisted through the branches of the jack pines and rustled through the leaves of the massive oaks.

The mighty wind could rip any structure to shreds, pull trees from the earth, scatter snow and dry up rivers. It could whisper in your ear, fan the wisps of hair at your temple and kiss your face like a lover. What a formidable traveler, the wind. Since the beginning of time it had existed between heaven and earth, would never retreat, had the ability to journey far and near in a heartbeat, reside in many places at the same time. Be everywhere, like him, I Am The Wind.

Her mind took a wandering path of its own by late afternoon. The relentless heat scorched every inch of her skin, exposed or covered. The all-consuming fire stole the breath from her lungs. She couldn't recall Strikes First's words now, but heard her father reading Psalms from the Good Book—prayers, fervent pleadings to the Virgin Mary. Oh, Virgin Immaculate, Mother of God, from your sublime heights, turn your eyes of pity on me.

The crowd had gathered again to see how the white captive fared under the pitiless sun. Choking Wolf stood above her, his face awash with evil. Brown Wing came and went from her side, her whispered words and low chants bringing comfort. She knew the old woman never ventured far from her, but stood guard like a rabid hound, daring anyone to hiss a taunt or pelt her body with dirt. Once or twice Strikes First's tall, lean frame knelt beside her, his dark eyes filled with pity. He'd rise and face Choking Wolf, the sympathy turning to hatred.

Where is Meko?

She knew in the dark tunnels of her soul, Meko came not from this place they inhabited but from somewhere far away. The stars? The mystical place above the clouds Strikes First spoke of? She didn't know why he'd appeared in her life, but some numinous presence had placed him in her path. She laughed; the strangled sobs of a woman possessed. Rising up from her belly, the cackling choked her. Oh, the perverse irony! It wasn't possible their paths had crossed for a timeless moment only to have her die beneath a blazing sun. There had to be more. She couldn't die now. Her destiny lay with him and it couldn't be over already. She wouldn't allow it to happen. She wanted to touch him, taste him one more time.

Psalms Forty rode the crest of her tortured mind. Let them be ashamed and confounded together that seek after my soul to destroy it. Let them be driven backward and put to shame that wish me evil.

By early evening, a white-hot fire pressed down on her. Her arms and legs ached as she pulled against the restraints. Choking Wolf had shown no quarter when he bound her to the stakes, so tight she thought her limbs had been stretched to the outer limits of the village. Her jaw ached, as did every bone in her body. She had to will her taut muscles to relax, concentrate on taking slow, deliberate breaths. Liquid flames of heat scorched her skin. Her hair was drenched, and rivulets of sweat ran down her arms and legs, soaking her dress.

She hadn't uttered a word, not one. While conscious, she wouldn't. The sun dipped low on the western horizon. Her courage dipped with it. Strange lucidity gripped her for brief moments, followed by a false and fleeting coldness of the skin. She turned her head. Raised blisters appeared on her arms, tiny domes of milky pus. Water. Oh, blessed water. She pushed the thought from her mind, wondered how she'd ever survive two more days of this agony.

The sun would set soon. Surely, she could survive until then. She'd worry about tomorrow, tomorrow. She couldn't bear to think about it now. Her back cried out in misery and every tiny movement, even the blinking of her eyes, sent a riptide of pain coursing through her. Her muscles twitched of their own volition and warm urine ran down her legs. Like everything on Mother Earth this time of year, she lay withered and listless beneath the pitiless sun.

Psalms Thirty-One. For I have heard the slander of many, fear was on every side. While they took counsel together against me, they devised to take away my life.

The sun disappeared and an overwhelming drowsiness she could no longer fight claimed her. Before she drifted off, she heard Brown Wing's voice. Chanting. Calling out to the spirits. Weeping.

Don't cry for me, Brown Wing. You'll make me cry too, and I haven't an ounce of water to spare.

She awoke in the middle of the night, the position of the moon revealing the time. Light snores came to her, Brown Wing's, and a man prayed somewhere near, called on the ancient spirits. Strikes First. What in hell did he think they could do for her? She wasn't one of them. Why would their God help a white woman who shouldn't have betrayed the People, shouldn't have helped her brother escape from a man who wanted to kill him? She had her own God, didn't she?

A young man with long braids wrapped in ermine fur knelt beside her. She felt his tender, opaque touch, saw his translucent fingers reach out and stroke her cheek. She'd never seen this person in her life before, yet she knew him. Ermine Boy, the fallen warrior. Oh, dear God, had he come to take her to the spirit world? He floated above her, his face radiating peace. He'd accepted death. She saw the unspoken consent in his eyes.

Don't take me. I don't want to leave yet. I've only begun to live. She tried to form words. Shoo! Go away! But her lips were swollen shut, the words lost somewhere in her throat.

Her body floated down the river, the ashen waters swirling around her. Snakes, reptiles, and the devil, rose up and grabbed her broken body.

No, you can't have me! I'll kill you before I let you take me!

Ghosts whispered in her ears, blew in on the wings of delusion, her mother, father and him—Ermine Boy. She closed her eyes and surrendered to tortured slumber.

* * *

Miles from camp, Meko stood on a mountaintop crying out to the spirits. Deep gashes splayed his arms, signs of mourning inflicted by his own knife. Blood streamed from the wounds and stained the earth at his feet, but the pain paled next to the anguish in his heart.

Strikes First stood beside him, and never once had he heard the man beg. "Give her to Choking Wolf. She is dying, my friend."

Meko turned to him, his voice cracking. "How do I give away my heart, my soul?"

"She lives if you stop it now."

The thought of Choking Wolf on top of her, his brown hands circling her slender throat, crumbled him. "I cannot."

Strikes First placed a hand over his heart. "She will always be with you, here."

"He will kill her before daybreak and you know it."

"She will die before the sun climbs over the mountain tomorrow if you don't stop this madness."

Meko focused on the graceful flight of a hawk.

"They come now," his friend whispered. "To steal the light from her eyes." Met with mute defiance, Strikes First stormed off, cursing under his breath.

Alone again, Meko cried out to the heavens. He'd known loneliness many times in his life, felt the sting of a solitary existence while living in the white man's world, but never had he felt so alone. His anguished scream scattered the birds in the valley, and then his lips moved, calling forth the ancient chant.

"I walk alone on the edge of time, traveling far and near.

Born of the sun, kissed by the wind, the call of the raven screams in my ear."

He felt the power of the raven course through his blood, allowed its strength and wisdom to enter his body. His vision blurred and pain tore through his head. The muscles of his back constricted, his tendons and ligaments stretched tighter than sinew on a tanning rack. His arms twisted into gnarled limbs; shiny, black wings took their place. He soared skyward, above the clouds, to where the rain is made. Through a great abyss he tumbled and emerged on the other side. The raven dipped in the heavens and arched his massive extensions for descent.

Perched on a wooden bench in her garden, Stands-In-Light watched a family of starlings in the nearby shrubs. He couldn't decipher the name of the book resting in her lap. She looked up as if expecting him. "Ethan, you've returned before we called you back."

He didn't care about his disheveled appearance at this point. The High Priestess knew the harsh rigors of time travel, had seen him after the transformation on many occasions. He glanced up and gathered his thoughts. "They say the sky is bluer in Montana than anywhere on earth."

"I enjoy the weather here." She closed the book and set it on the bench beside her. "The seasons change, but not dramatically." She graced him with an indulgent smile. "I'm certain you didn't travel through time to discuss the weather."

"I've failed in my mission, High Priestess."

"Your journey with the People has only begun." Intuitive eyes narrowed. "Why do you feel you've failed?"

"I want to return to my home." He walked toward her. "I can't go back to the Cheyenne."

She came to her feet, her leathery face staid. "You're willing to relinquish all future missions?"

His answer came without hesitation. "Yes."

"You swore an oath." The words hissed between her teeth. "Vowed to dedicate your life to the Cheyenne."

"I give it back now!" Ethan paced and ran his hands through his hair. "Send another in my stead to finish the job."

"The Sacred Council of Arrows chose you for a reason. There are others, but none with your experience." She raised a brow. "Did I not tell you this already?"

"Things have changed, ancient one." He'd get down on his knees and beg if need be. "I can't bear to go back to that . . . to watch . . .."

Her eyes softened. "It's the human element of your soul crying out."

"It's not!" Ethan said with a shake of his head. "It's all of me, every part of my being, raven or human, and I can't turn from it. It consumes me, resides in my blood, and walks with me in dreams, even . . .." Choked with emotion, he searched her eyes.

For a timeless moment, she dropped her guard. "Even?"

"Lives between the whisper of life and death."

Her eyes turned hard. "You must go back! Even if you choose to live among them for as long as you're granted human life, even if you choose to die among them, you must go back!"

Ethan raised his hands level with his waist, knowing she held the power to force him to return. "I'd rather die."

"I will use the words you spoke to her, 'If he can endure, so must you.'"

Taken aback, he stammered. "You-you know about the woman?"

"We know everything, Ethan, everything."

"I won't watch her die and I can't relinquish her to Choking Wolf."

Her all-knowing eyes seared his soul. "Can you think of nothing to save her?"

He stared into them. "Tell me, Stands-in-Light. Tell me how to save her."

"No, Ethan," she replied with a shake of her head. "You have the spiritual duality of the raven in your veins. Use it well."

Hopeless words left his lips. "I can't make it rain; I can't make the sun go into hiding."

"No, you cannot. Nor can I." She looked toward the clouds. "If I could, I would."

"Then tell me how to save her?"

"You alone must find the way." She turned her back to him, a clear sign the meeting had ended.

"You have the answer. Why won't you tell me?"

Stands-In-Light spun around to face him. "If I do, you'll never realize how close you came to losing—"

"I can't bear witness to it." He'd never interrupted a member of the Council, but something beyond reason compelled him.

"As I was about to say." She peered over her glasses. "If you don't save her, you'll never again feel whole. Does that thought induce you?"

"I have never loved so deeply."

"And you won't ever again, not in this world or another."

Her words tore at his heart. "Take pity on me, wise one, for her sake."

"I will not."

Desperate, he opted for a different approach. "There's more, High Priestess, you know what I speak of."

Her spine stiffened; another cue she wished to avoid venturing down this road. "You talk of future events concerning the woman?"

"I don't know what the visions mean, but she's in them."

She blew air through her lips. "We don't have authority to change history—you of all people know that. Have we ever sent you back to alter it?"

He shook his head.

"Then don't ask me to interfere now." She started off toward the house. "If you want her to remain in those visions, you will find a way."

She entered her dwelling and closed the door behind her. He heard the lock click, saw the shade shimmy down the small window.

Ethan sat in her garden for over an hour. He went over every word of their conversation, returning to the most profound, “You have the spiritual duality of the raven in your veins. Use it well.”

* * *

Beat . . . beat . . . beat.

The drums wailed, shot down from the heavens.

A new day arriving without a cloud in sight. I can't open my eyes now. Water . . . water. Don't cry out, please, don't cry out. Don't let Choking Wolf see you whimper and beg, you milk-livered coward.

His evil face blocked out the sun. She felt a kick to her ribs, knew he wanted to know if she still lived. She opened one eye and spit, but it lacked the power to reach him. A closed fist came within inches of her face, but the iron grip from a bronze hand forced it into submission.

Strikes First's voice came to her through a fog. "If you touch her, Meko will kill you."

I Am The Wind. I Am The Wind.

His name crept from every crevice of her mind, coursed through every drop of blood in her body. The agony unbearable, she tried to clamp her lips together, prayed she wouldn't cry out. At its highest peak, brutal and without mercy, the sun charred her body into the ground. She couldn't lick her lips, couldn't feel her arms or legs. She tried to wiggle her toes. Numb.

God, I'm dying. So soon?

She thought she'd last at least two days, but should have known after seeing the anguish on Brown Wing's face. When Meko came for her, she saw the pain and torment in his eyes but failed to recognize it as the last time he'd look upon her face. She knew now it had been.

Her mother and father stood before her, their arms open, their mouths moving in slow motion. “Francesca . . . Francesca.” Walking toward her through a heavy mist, laughter creased the corners of their eyes. “Come, our darling little girl. Walk with us in sunshine, splash in the cool mountain stream. You saved our Marsh.”

How she wanted to go to them, fall into their open arms. For the first time since Choking Wolf had staked her to the earth she tried to speak, but someone had cut the tongue from her throat. She wanted to say goodbye, goodbye to Brown Wing, to Strikes First, to him.

Death called out to her. A low murmur of gentle voices hummed around her. She felt them, heard them, strangled sobs and cries for mercy. They filtered through a waterfall, hovered over her, crawled beneath her.

"He'evo'nehe! He'evo'nehe!"

For me? Who'd be calling out my name?

"He'evo'nehe! He'evo'nehe!"

The chant roared in her ears, a unified cry from the People, but too late for Francesca Duvall.

Take me, God, I cannot endure another minute.

A death chant rang in her ears. She recognized it as the same one they sang for Ermine Boy.

Oh, Lucifer. Strikes First circled in an ancient dance; his voice strained and remorseful. 'Father, have pity on her. Nothing lasts long except the earth and the mountains.'

I Am The Wind. I Am The Wind.

His name drifted on the subtle breeze, fanned her searing temples. In that infinitesimal moment between life and death everything rang crystal clear. Hadn't she read somewhere that hearing was the last sense to leave one's body before death? They were right. She heard everything now—women wailing, babies crying, Brown Wing sobbing, the People shouting her name, Strikes First chanting. Choking Wolf's laughter and his moccasins pounding the earth in a victory dance echoed around her. But she didn't hear the dark warrior. He'd relinquished her to the merciless sun.

The thunderous roar of wings reached her. She struggled to open her swollen eyes, but only a tiny slit afforded her vision. Dark shadows dipped in the sky, soared, glided, and hovered above her, their wings arched against a red-orange sky as they blocked out the sun. Blocked out the sun?

Oh, poor girl, you really are losing your mind.

She watched through a gray haze as the birds chased the sun away—red-tailed hawks, their massive wings open in graceful flight, ravens, shiny black and sleek, golden eagles, their beaks splashed in brilliant yellow, and black-billed magpies, their white bellies dancing across the heavens.

Look, Cesca, they made a shield, a great canopy to block out the sun. Oh, blessed relief.

Cheers and whistles rose among the Cheyenne.

Beat . . . beat . . . beat . . . beat . . . beat . . . beat.

The drums cried out their triumph and the birds screeched their outrage over the offense transpiring below. Above her they hovered, wing against wing, head to tail feather, magnificent and powerful.

Through crusty lids she watched the evil warrior, Choking Wolf. He pulled the arrows from his bow case and fired in rapid succession, swift and steady. Swoosh . . . swoosh . . . swoosh, harried whistles of rapid flight. Skyward the feathered shafts sailed, a relentless stream of missiles.

Please don't shoot the birds! They came to save me!

Choking Wolf fell to his knees beside her, his raised tomahawk inches from her face, as cold and gray as the sky overhead.

Go ahead! Finish it! Thank you, my friends the birds, for trying to save me.

Cesca sagged against the ground, every muscle in her body surrendering to the cold wind of death that came to steal her heart, her soul.

A dark shadow loomed over her. She'd forgotten his ability to appear out of nowhere.

I Am The Wind.

She felt his presence with every fiber of her being. Her mind screamed out his name and her limbs writhed against the restraints. Silence fell over the land. She heard a strangled moan before shock crossed Choking Wolf's features. Blood spurted from a large gash across his throat, a crimson stream splattering his cheeks, running down his neck.

Dear God, blood is everywhere, soaking his shirt, drenching me! Warm, sticky liquid from above dripped onto her face. Ermine Boy had returned, his arms open, beckoning her.

A cold, dark void, blacker than she'd ever imagined, enveloped her.