White Dusk (19 page)

Small Bird was tied to a tree, bait to lure her husband into a trap. Worse, she knew it would work. Swift Foot would come for her; he’d die, and it would be her fault for going so far from camp when he’d told her to stay close. At least her mother was all right. Moon Fire had told her that Yellow Robe was assisting in a birth and had not been harmed. She supposed her cousin had no reason to lie, so her mother was probably fine.

Unfortunately, she and the small four-year-old boy tied beside her were not. According to Many Horns this was Golden Eagle, the son of Hawk Eyes. The child wore a stoic expression, but Small Bird knew he was terrified. As she herself was.

Many Horns continued to sharpen his knife while Moon Fire prepared a simple meal. Watching Many Horns, Small Bird had to admit his plan was good: kidnap the son of one chief and the wife of another, and let the two sides blame each other and fight. But she didn’t understand his reasons. He was Miniconjou. Why take the son of his chief? All he’d needed was her to lure Swift Foot into a trap. They’d ridden for two days before stopping here. But why?

To still her nerves and fear as Many Horns ran his finger over his blade, Small Bird asked, “Why the child? What purpose does it serve to scare him? And why did you take him? You don’t need him to lure my husband into a trap.”

“I am not scared,” Golden Eagle spoke up. But his voice quavered.

Many Horns threw his knife. It slammed into the tree trunk inches above Small Bird’s head.

She refused to cower. Now more than ever she needed to retain her faith in herself, had to believe that all things happened for a reason. Giving in to terror would do no one any good. Standing and retrieving his knife, Many Horns bent down and pressed its blade to her cheek. “Yes, I have you. So your husband will come.” He paused to stare at the child. “But the boy will bring his father.” He walked over to where Moon Fire sat.

“My father will come, and he will kill you.” Golden Eagle’s youthful boast brought laughter to Many Horns. Moon Fire joined in somewhat less enthusiastically.

“Your father will be killed by Swift Foot,” Many Horns answered cruelly.

Moon Fire moved over to her lover and ran her hand down his back, but Small Bird noticed Many Horns seemed barely aware of it. “Then you plan to kill us,” she guessed.

Many Horns looked unrepentant. “Yes. You will both die. Then I shall know peace. Revenge will be mine.” His eyes were filled with some unknowable rage.

Moon Fire frowned. “You said you weren’t going to hurt anyone. Not seriously. Bring them together and make them talk, that is what you said.”

Many Horns laughed harshly. “They will never talk. Those two will come together and die trying to kill each another.”

Small Bird spoke up: “You underestimate both Hawk Eyes and my husband. They will learn of your treachery and come after you.”

Moon Fire looked nervous.

Once more, Many Horns’s knife flew toward Small Bird. This time she felt the blade strike close to her head. He hadn’t hit her, but he had come about as close as he could: she felt the blade, cool against her scalp.

The man pulled Moon Fire into his arms, and Small Bird saw her cousin swallow hard. “Do not go weak on me now, my love,” he said. “They all have to die. You know that.”

“So that we can start anew somewhere else?”

“They cannot be allowed to live. I will have my revenge. And if we let these others go, they will point their fingers at us and we will never know peace.” His voice drifted. “Do not feel sorry for any of them. They are all responsible for the loss of my father.”

Moon Fire pulled away, seemingly surprised. “You didn’t tell me that.”

“Would it have mattered? The important thing is that we have our revenge. Then we will go away. Just like you wanted.”

“Oh, Many Horns,” Moon Fire crooned, resettling in his arms.

Small Bird took a deep breath. The longer Many Horns talked, the longer they rested here, the more chance Swift Foot would have to save her. She just prayed he would not fall into the other man’s trap. “Who killed your father? If I am to die, you can at least tell me why.”

Many Horns narrowed his eyes, but he kept hold of Moon Fire, his fingers stroking the outer edge of her breast. “My father wasn’t killed, exactly. He loved the mother of Hawk Eyes, but she was promised to Runs with Wind. He was angry that she wouldn’t run away with him. When Runs with Wind rejected her, my father tried again to marry her.” His voice grew hard. “Again she rejected my father.”

He rubbed the strands of Moon Fire’s hair between his fingers. Small Bird wanted to know more, but she didn’t dare risk angering him. He was silent a long while. Finally he continued.

“My father left the tribe. He married my mother who was the daughter of another chief in a different tribe. He never loved her—all he wanted was to prove he was a worthy warrior. After I was born, he left and never came back. We had no one. My mother lived with the shame of his rejection. Not wanting to go back to her own tribe, she took us to that of Hawk Eyes’s father. But they did not want us.

“My mother took me away. Along the Big Muddy river, two white men found us. One of them kept us with him. He took my mother to his bed. Then she started drinking his poisoned water and turned mean like him.”

“So you are trying to punish both tribes for your past?” Small Bird interjected, astonished that so much hate could live in one person.

“I ran away when I was twelve winters. I’d been beaten, my mother had been beaten…but she didn’t care. All she wanted was more of that firewater. The day I left, I swore I’d kill the men who did this to my mother. The men who destroyed our family—as I will destroy theirs.”

“What does this have to do with Swift Foot or his father? By not marrying the woman your father loved, Runs with Wind gave your father a chance to win her.”

“My mother could not live up to what my father wanted! He only wanted Hawk Eyes’s mother! And your husband’s father spurned her! And Hawk Eyes’s father had her! They laughed at my father, drove him away, made him miserable. And that made my mother miserable. And now I will visit that upon their children!”

Looking to her cousin, Small Bird shook her head. “He’s mad. You cannot allow him to do this, Moon Fire.”

Sneering, Many Horns lowered his face and kissed Small Bird’s cousin. “She will do as I wish. She loves me.” Standing, he carried the girl a short distance away. Then, though it was only dusk, Many Horns took Moon Fire on the ground there in full view, uncaring that he had an audience in the early-evening light.

Small Bird closed her eyes. Next to her, she felt the child slump against her as he slept.

“Come for me, my husband,” she whispered. “Come for me. Find us before it is too late. And do not fall victim to Many Horns’s trap.”

The clear night sky was kind to Swift Foot; it helped him see to track his foes. Night turned to day, and day again into night. His party stopped only to rest, and to water and feed the horses. During these times, Swift Foot gathered his warriors and formulated several plans.

As they did so, he listened, he kept thinking of Small Bird.
Hang on, my wife. I am coming.
He sent the prayers up into the sky. It was midafternoon on their second full day out.

Night Thunder used the tip of his finger to draw a path in the dirt they’d softened. “We have come from here.” He drew their path. “I think they are heading here. They go south, back to their own lands.” He marked an area far off.

Swift Foot frowned at his friend. “When we battled, we were here.” He marked the site, then where his scouts had told him the Miniconjou had camped before the fight. Likely they had moved since. He had a smaller group of warriors with him this time. Though he longed to attack directly, to get revenge, he felt he had a better chance of getting Small Bird back alive with stealth. Especially if those who had taken his wife managed to reunite with their tribe. “If they came from here, knowing the land, they will most likely be here.” He marked where he thought his enemies would be taking Small Bird.

Murmurs of agreement followed. One voice dissented.

Swift Foot sighed. Kills Many Crows had insisted on coming along. To his surprise, his cousin pointed to a region most avoided.

“They’ll stop here. In
Mako Shika.
”

The badland. Swift Foot considered. Hadn’t he sought refuge there after the attack. Because the earth was so barren, it made a good place to hide from an enemy. Most tribes avoided the stark place, but Swift Foot had always seen not only a beauty, but a practical purpose to the area. What better place to set a trap than among a maze of rocks, hidden valleys and deep ravines? Perhaps his foe thought as he did.

He said, “That is a large area. It will be hard to find them if they go there. Especially if they cover their tracks.”

“But they do not cover their tracks. And there are only two of them.” Kills Many Crows looked smug.

Which worried Swift Foot. Was he riding into a trap? “There will be many others,” he promised. “Perhaps they lie in wait.” He studied their dirt map, considering his cousin’s assessment.

Glancing over at Kills Many Crows, he was surprised to find no bitterness there. There was intensity, but it was not directed against Swift Foot.

His cousin met his stare. “No one harms a member of our family.”

Swift Foot nodded, pleased. “Then let us ride. We will head to the badland.”

As he mounted, he focused his rage, drawing on his inner strength. He had control. He would find his wife. Then he’d make sure he never lost her again.

Dumped in an exhausted heap on the hard, dusty ground, Small Bird tried to move. She felt so sore. Her arms ached. Her feet felt numb and her tongue was swollen. She was so thirsty.

Somewhere near her, she heard Golden Eagle whimper in his sleep. Her captors had been more generous with him. Twice she’d seen her cousin slip him some water while they traveled. Small Bird continued to ride with Many Horns, though, and he gave her nothing.

Struggling to sit, Small Bird fought a wave of dizziness. Her eyes felt gritty. She tried to wipe them with her shoulders, for her hands were tied behind her back, but it was useless.

Bleary-eyed, she stared up at the night sky. The stars winked down at her. She found the one that never moved. She found the seven stars of the seven councils. Then she remembered Wind Dancer’s words. He’d said reason was always there, reason for all things. Like the stars, or the sun. He’d said that she had to have faith—she had to believe.

Stifling a moan, she wasn’t sure she had any faith left. Surely she’d die long before Swift Foot found her. Her eyes were scratchy. She couldn’t even cry for the much-needed moisture. She tried to close her mind to her physical discomfort and her mental anguish, and she shut her eyes too.

Another whimper made her scoot over to the child. “Hush,” she said in a croak. “They will come. They will come,” she murmured until her throat closed.

Golden Eagle rolled closer, seeking comfort.

Please,
she thought over and over.
Please save us.

Staring up at the sky, Small Bird continued to pray. The night blurred. The star she’d been focusing on split into two above her head. She blinked, then realized the one star really had split into two. Two trails of light zoomed down toward where she lay. Her aching eyes followed the shimmering light until comets winked out.

“Find me, husband,” she wished on the shooting stars. “Find me.”

Riding, his body bent over his horse, spent with exhaustion, Swift Foot still refused to give in to the need for rest. He had to find Small Bird before it was too late.

Night Thunder caught up with him. “We must stop.”

“We cannot.” He couldn’t stop. Not until Small Bird was found.

“You will do your wife no good by killing the horses.”

Sighing, Swift Foot nodded. His friend was right. Both man and beast were beyond exhaustion. “Give the signal.” He slowed.

Dismounting, he found that fatigue nearly brought him to his knees. Beside him, his horse hung its head, blowing softly through its nostrils. It had been hours since they’d last found water. Swift Foot opened his pouch, and poured the precious liquid into his palm for the horse.

Afterward, he sat. He didn’t bother to hobble his mount. Like him, the animal was too tired even to think of wandering. Knowing they had to rest for several hours, Swift Foot lay back and closed his eyes. Just for a few minutes—he would not sleep, he told himself firmly. He could not sleep until Small Bird was returned to him and those who’d taken her punished.

That was his last thought. Soon he was dreaming of Small Bird: the love in her eyes and in her voice, and her compassion toward his people and toward him. It swept away all the pain of his past. Whether making love, defending him or seeing to the needs of others, his wife put her heart into all that she did. And he loved her deeply for that.

Yet, of everything he held dear, most dear was the way she believed in him. Nothing he’d ever said or done had swayed her from the determination that they were meant for each other. That knowledge soothed him. It made him happy. He woke.

With all her faith in him, he refused to fail her. They could believe in destiny, but they could not sit back and wait for it to happen. “I’ll find you, my wife,” he promised.

In the deep dark night cloaking the sky above him, stars blinked down. Small Bird loved the stars. Swift Foot smiled, remembering that first night he’d shown them to her. Suddenly two stars shot across the sky. Swift Foot’s heart hammered as he watched the stars fall and fizzle out like flames doused with water.

A sign. It had to be a sign. “She’s alive,” he shouted, conviction ringing in his voice. He jumped to his feet. The stars would be his guide.

Night Thunder rushed to his side. “What is it?”

“A sign. The spirits sent a sign. We go. Now.”

Knowing the rest would follow as they could, he rushed to his horse and rode off.

Rough hands shook Small Bird awake. “Shh,” a voice said.

Lone Warrior!
Her throat too parched to do more than croak, her eyes too dry to cry tears, Small Bird struggled to sit. If her brother was here, then it meant Swift Foot was near. For just a moment it hurt that her husband hadn’t come for her himself. Gathering her pain and burying it deep, she concentrated on getting herself and Golden Eagle free from their captors.

Something sharp slid between her wrists, slicing through the leather thongs binding her arms behind her back. At first she couldn’t feel her fingers; her arms hung useless and heavy. Then the blood began to flow, and excruciating pain shot through her. Small Bird bit down hard on her lip to keep from crying out. Her feet were untied.

“Come, I’ve got to get you out of here.” Lone Warrior slipped his arms under her.

Small Bird protested. “The boy. We have to take him with us.”

“What boy?” Lone Warrior asked.

“The son of Hawk Eyes. He is here.” But where? She looked around.

Lone Warrior grabbed her shoulders. “We have to get you away. Forget him.”

“No. We cannot. Where are the others?”

“The others? I don’t know. I saw the campfire and came over to see what was happening, then had to wait till it went down to speak closer. Why is Moon Fire here? And who is this other—”

Small Bird shook her head. “Many Horns. He is responsible—”

“Ah, the enemy.” Many Horns’s voice rose behind them.

Small Bird whirled around.

Lone Warrior stepped forward, his knife outthrust defensively. “You will die for your crimes,” he promised.

“Not so fast,” Many Horns said with a sneer. He moved into the moonlight, holding Golden Eagle in front of him.

Small Bird tried to get around her brother, but he blocked her progress. When Moon Fire stepped out of the shadows, Lone Warrior shook his head in horror; he couldn’t believe that his cousin had truly betrayed her tribe.

“What is going on?” the girl asked.

Narrowing her eyes, hating to have to say anything, Small Bird lifted her voice.

“Moon Fire is the one who is responsible for the deaths in our tribe. She told Many Horns about my wedding, she informed him of our camp’s defenses and told him when to attack.” Her throat was so dry, the accusation made her cough and fall to her knees.

Many Horns glanced into the darkness, then eyed her. “Get up,” he ordered, waving his knife. He pointed at Lone Warrior. “The child dies if you do not toss your knife to the ground.” To show he was serious, he brought the sharp edge of his blade to the boy’s throat.

Small Bird’s heart stopped. She stood. “We cannot allow harm to come to him,” she whispered to her brother. No sound came from the child, and the darkness kept her from seeing his features clearly.

Lone Warrior tossed his knife to the ground. Many Horns laughed. “Good. But you will all die, anyway. Warriors from both tribes ride into my trap. What better revenge than to let them do my killing for me? I left a false trail for each to find. The mighty Hawk Eyes and Swift Foot will soon clash, and they will kill each other and you.”

“And you can allow this, cousin?” Lone Warrior obviously couldn’t believe the girl’s duplicity.

“It is no crime to want happiness, cousin,” Moon Fire said, her voice full of anger and disgust.

“Take his knife,” Many Horns barked.

Small Bird watched her cousin bend down, placing herself in the way of her lover. Many Horns’s view was obstructed. Seeing their only chance for freedom, she nudged her brother with her elbow, then glanced once at him, and once at her cousin. Moon Fire grabbed the knife, stood, then turned and started walking back.

“Now,” Small Bird said in a hiss. Springing forward, she threw two fistfuls of dry, dusty soil and pebbles at Many Horns, then tackled her cousin. Behind her, Lone Warrior charged forward. “Run!” he yelled.

Moon Fire screamed. Many Horns dropped his hostage as wind blew dust into his eyes. Lone Warrior knocked him to the ground.

Small Bird held her breath and crawled to where Golden Eagle had fallen. He grabbed her, whimpering.

“Run, Small Bird.”

Lone Warrior’s voice spurred her to her feet. Weakened, she staggered as she lifted the child to carry him. She turned back to her brother. “I can’t leave you.” She jumped out of the way as the two warriors rolled toward her, locked in a life-and-death struggle.

“Go. Find the others. Let them know you and the boy are safe, or it will be too late for everyone. The killing will be worse.”

Realizing that neither tribe knew the truth—that Many Horns and Moon Fire were behind the kidnappings—Small Bird turned and raced off. Along a narrow fissure that split off from the main part of the ravine, darkness overwhelmed her, closing in on her. She moved forward blindly, stumbling over large boulders in her path, which forced to slow in order to avoid a fall that might injure the child. At last she reached the wide main body of the ravine, but she couldn’t figure out which way to go. She didn’t know where Many Horns had led the two tribes to fight.

Tears streamed down her face. Fear for his safety demanded that she return to her brother, but fear for her people kept her going. Small Bird searched desperately for a path leading out of the deep ravine. Around her, its sides rose smoothly and sharply upward. There was no way out. Knowing that if Many Horns killed her brother, he would come after her, Small Bird let out a frustrated sob.

“Where do I go?” she cried to the stars above. “Help us,” she sobbed.

As if in answer, she heard a clear voice lifted in song. It came from the left.

“The spirits hear you,” Golden Eagle whispered. “They sing for you.” Awe filled his voice.

Small Bird crossed the stream and followed the voice of the spirit.

Swift Foot entered the ravine from the south, followed by his men. There were two main entrances to this canyon, and several paths leading up the west side. The east was a sheer rock cliff.

He rode slowly, unable to see any tracks. There were many recessions along the walls of the ravine. Small Bird had to be here somewhere, yet he dared not call out. He stopped often to listen, but heard nothing. Frustration and fear made him edgy. He was afraid to go on. His warriors spread out; they checked everywhere.

By the time the darkness turned to the gray of predawn, he was afraid he was too late. Then he spotted a cloud of dust coming toward him. Stopping, he grabbed his bow and motioned for his warriors to regroup. Out in the open, they were unprotected, and there was no place to hide—just dry, dusty land and a riverbed that was half-f with autumn rain.

An approaching group stopped a short distance away. Like Swift Foot and his warriors, the Miniconjou war party had no cover. The two tribes sat with arrows nocked and aimed. Given the short distance from each other, one volley could kill nearly every warrior present.

“Where is my wife?” Swift Foot finally called out.

Hawk Eyes shouted back, “I know nothing of your wife. You have my son. Return him to me or die!”

Night Thunder and Kills Many Crows flanked Swift Foot. “They seek to trick us,” Night Thunder guessed.

“If you have harmed Small Bird, your tribe and mine will
never
know peace!” Swift Foot promised. Anger roiled inside him, but he kept it under control. Before he killed his enemy, he had to find his wife.

“You do not wish peace, or you would not have taken my son.” Anger emanated from Hawk Eyes’s entire tribe.

Confused, recognizing that something wasn’t right, Swift Foot stared into the fury of his enemy. He tried to explain: “It is you who seek war. You attacked my people at my wedding. You stole my wife. The people of Hawk Eyes speak falsely when they say they wish to talk of peace.”

“We speak falsely? Do you think I did not learn of your plot to attack and kill my son?”

Night Thunder shook his head, furious. “We have two women missing. And we have proof you are the one responsible.”

“Proof?” Hawk Eyes lowered his bow and arrow, and held up something else. “I have here the foot of
Mastinca.
It was found near my wife. You tried to kill her, then took my son, and now you lie about it. I ask one more time: Where is my son? Release him to me unharmed and I will spare your lives this day. I am tired of violence. However, kill me and the many warriors I left behind will seek out the people of Swift Foot forever and kill them.”

Intrigued, Swift Foot lowered his own bow and removed the medicine bag from the bundle tied before him on his horse. “I know nothing of your child, Hawk Eyes,” he called. “I only know my wife is gone. This medicine bag belongs to you, does it not?” He threw it over to the other chief.

Hawk Eyes caught the bag and stared at it. “This has been missing for many weeks. You took it from me when we battled. This is not proof.”

Once more both chiefs readied their bows and arrows. Beneath the pale dawn, arms trembled, eyes blurred and anger blazed.

Just before Swift Foot loosed his first arrow, the first act toward total bloodshed, he heard a sound.

A song.

Blinking in surprise, he listened to the wind sing a sad melody. It was compelling: he wanted to lower his bow. Had exhaustion claimed his mind, or were the spirits already mourning his death?

“What trick is this?” Hawk Eyes called out.

Beside him, Kills Many Crows and Night Thunder both stiffened. Swift Foot realized they heard it also. Warily, he glanced around.

“Look,” someone cried out.

Swift Foot swung to the right. High on a rocky shelf, a lone woman stood with arms outstretched, her pale dress fluttering in the wind. High above, moon, stars and sun illuminated all. Long, flowing hair streamed around the woman’s head as she sang—of peace not war.

Swift Foot glanced at his warriors, unsure what to do. Neither did the enemy seem to know. Bows on both sides were lowered, all attention focused on the woman. Then she stopped and stood there, as if watching them.

“A vision,” Hawk Eyes whispered.

“A message,” Swift Foot said, equally stunned.

“Unhcegila,”
someone gasped as a hunched, monstrous shape crawled out of the shadows and toward the vision. Gasps rose from the warriors.

Held by the surreal play of spirits, Swift Foot urged his mount forward. He held his breath as the monster reached out a hand and pulled itself up over the ridge. The monster became two shapes as something fell off its back.

A gasp left his mouth when the first figure stood. It was a woman. A child was the other shape. Swift Foot galloped forward. It couldn’t be. He prayed it was. “Small Bird!” he shouted.

Spotting the gathered horde, Small Bird held out her hands. “Do not fight,” she called down in a hoarse voice. “Do not fight!” She slumped to her knees.

The child beside her dropped also and stared down at them. “Father. Father,” he called, his voice weak as well.

The woman who’d sung her song of peace stood above, as if guarding Small Bird and Golden Eagle. Without thought to his enemy or fear of receiving an arrow in his back, Swift Foot jumped down from his horse, ran to the sloping side of the ravine and started pulling himself up.

Below, he heard someone climbing after him. It was Hawk Eyes, and he was murmuring, “My son, my son,” as he followed.

Twice, both men lost their footing and slid down the steep slope.

At last, Swift Foot reached the top. His first thought was to run to his wife. Then he hesitated, knelt and held his hand out.

Hawk Eyes grasped his wrist. When the other chief came over the top, both men eyed each other briefly, then rushed to their loved ones. Swift Foot fell to his knees to make sure Small Bird was unharmed. Hawk Eyes gathered his boy into his arms.