Black Eagle (26 page)

Glancing toward shore, Black Eagle used the momentum of the natural force of their swing to aim them back toward the shore. It wasn't that far away.

“Hold on! I'm going to swing you both to shore!”

“I can't keep hold! It's too slippery!” It was Sarah yelling, crying.

“
Nyoh
, you can! You must!”

“I'm trying to, but—”

“She's slipping away from me!”

“I've got you!” He yelled at her. “Keep hold! Keep hold!”

But Sarah's hand was loosening. And though he was swinging them with all his might, Sarah's grip was failing. He could see it happening.

But Marisa wouldn't let go.

“Sarah!”

With a deafening scream, Sarah fell, and Marisa, casting a fated look up at Black Eagle, let her grip on Black Eagle's arm slacken but maintained her hold of Sarah. Black Eagle reached down to tighten his hold over Marisa. But it was too late. She had already let go of him, her screams echoing in his ears.

They were gone. Gone, into the sheet of water that was the falls. Not willing to assign them to their fate without his possible aid, Black Eagle let go of the tree limb. Whatever their destiny might be, so, too, would it be his own.

 

 

Somewhere between plummeting down the length of the falls and into the water, Sarah's hand became separated from Marisa's own. Had they not become dislodged during the fall, however, the force of the impact into the water would have accomplished it.

“Sarah!”

“Marisa!”

They hit the water and sank down, down, down. Underwater, Marisa watched helplessly as Sarah became caught up in an undercurrent, and before she could reach out to save her, Sarah was swept away. The tow, however, didn't take hold of Marisa, and she struggled to rise to the water's surface. There was one good thing, and perhaps only the one: Due to the recent rain, there had been deep, deep water between them and any sharp rocks awaiting them beneath the falls, thank the good Lord. But the undertow of the current was another thing altogether.

She fought it, afraid that if she let it take her, there would be no hope for her at all. Her lungs were aching and her head was pounding as she struggled to rise to the surface. She was almost there, and she reached upward, at last emerging. She gulped in air as though it were a feast. But she had no more than caught her breath when the water again took her in its strength and swept her away, forcing her under. Briefly she rose up again, then back down, over and over.

Had she been able, she would have cried out. But she couldn't. She could only go with the tow and catch her breath when possible. It seemed a hopeless struggle.

Still, she hung on, if only in the belief that, somehow, somewhere, she might find and save Sarah. It was all that kept her alive.

 

 

Black Eagle plunged down deep into the water. The undertow tried to take hold of him, but he defied it with raw strength and determination, and fighting to the surface with all the power of his physique, he surfaced, immediately reaching out to find a grip on something solid, be that a shoreline or a rock.

Within moments, he'd knocked up against a round rock, but it was too slippery to cling to, and he washed on by it.

The next obstacle was again a rock, but it was too big and too sharp to grasp onto. Looking ahead, he saw a flat surface within his range—if he could but steer himself toward it. Perhaps he could push himself up onto it.

He kicked his legs, his arms stretching forward, and he fought, and he pushed his way stubbornly toward it. At last, his effort paid off and he grabbed hold of the rock's surface.

The rapids defied him, as if its power were trying to sweep him back into its watery grave, but he withstood its force. Utilizing every muscle fiber in his arms, he pulled himself up onto the rock's wet surface, struggling to pull himself up, until at last it was done. Lying down full face, he allowed himself a moment to catch his breath, and then he struggled to his feet. There was no time to rest. Not only did he have to find Marisa, he must avoid the enemy, who would even now be searching for them.

Looking back over the raging water, he examined its surface for a sign of her. Nothing. He jumped to another rock that was situated farther along the water's path, his eyes scanning, exploring over the water's surface.

What was that? Was it something coral? Could it be the color of her dress? There it was again. Was it the auburn color of her tresses?

A closer look revealed
Ahweyoh
's body, as it twisted and plunged along with the current. He'd found her.

Never taking his eyes off her, he sprinted over the rocks, jumping from one to another, testing his speed against the force of the rapids. If he could outdistance the current and land on one of the rocks that lay farther out, into the force of the water, he could catch her as she swept by him.

Mustering all his strength, he jumped forward, flying toward another rock. He landed, slipped, caught himself, got his foothold, and turning back, he leaned down into the rapids. A fraction of a second later and he would have missed her. As it was, he had no more than spread out his arms into the water than it tossed her toward him. Reaching out, stretching, he grabbed hold of her with both of his hands and kept hold of her, despite the force of the water pounding against him, urging him to let go.

“
Ahweyoh
! Grab hold of me!”

But there was no response from her.

With one gigantic pull, he hauled her up onto the rock, quickly turning her over to check for a pulse rate or evidence of her breathing. He could find none.

He turned her over, and pummeled on her back to rid her of any water in her lungs. But she still wasn't breathing. Desperately, he turned her over, cleared her mouth of any particles and blew into it. He waited, then repeated the entire thing, blowing life-giving breath into her.

It took longer than he liked to consider, but all at once, she coughed up water, and struggling upward, she drew air into her lungs. He sat back, watching as she labored to find her breath. But finally, the worst was over; her chest began to rise and fall rhythmically and easily.

Only then did he sit back on his heels; only then did he realize that tears were streaking down his face.

Reaching out for her, he pulled her into his arms, and with his lips, he paid tribute to her. He kissed her everywhere, from the top of her head, down to her forehead, to her eyes, her nose, her cheeks.

“You're alive!”

She laughed. Better yet, she was able to speak, and she said, “Yes! I seem to be!”

“Come.” He picked her up in his arms, and carried her away from the rapids, and onto the solidity of the rocky shoreline. Seemingly content to let him do the work, she wound her arms around his shoulders and he thought he might never feel anything quite so wonderful as the feel of her body against his.

He set her down beneath a large maple tree. There was no grass here, only rock, mud and sand, but after their disaster in the water, it seemed as pristine as a sanctuary.

“I think I died a little,” he said, as he knelt in front of her, “when you let go of my hand.”

“I think I died a little, too. Did you find Sarah?”

He shook his head.

“Please, will you go and find her?”

He nodded. “But we are not safe here, you are not safe here. Even now the enemy looks for us. The enemy has only to go to a place where the crossing is easier and backtrack to find us.”

“But surely they'll think we died. And it could have been true. We almost did.”

He shook his head. “They will look for our bodies, and when they do not find them, they will come after us. Be assured, I have killed their friends, and they will not rest until they find me and exact their revenge.”

“Then I'll come with you. I must find Sarah.”

“And can you walk?”

“I will make myself do so.”

“No,” he said after a moment. “It will be faster if I search for her while you stay here and catch your breath. I will return.”

On this point she didn't argue, and he thought that this all by itself was quite telling. She simply nodded. “Please find her,” she said.

He agreed, and proffering her a knife, he instructed, “Use it if you have to.”

“I will,” she said, and with one final look at her, he rose and sprinted away, following the direction of the rapids. With any luck, he would find Sarah.

The sun was a low, pinkish orange orb in the sky, announcing its departure from the day in glorious streaks of multicolored sunlight. Shafts of light, streaming from the clouds, beamed down to the earth, looking as though heaven itself smiled kindly upon the land. And what a magnificent land it was. The birch trees were yellow, the maples red, and the oaks announced their descent into a long, winter sleep with oranges and golds. The hills were alive with autumn color, while the air was filled with the rich, musky scent of falling leaves.

Into this world of beauty came the delicate and pale figure of a woman, looking as though she had been plopped down on a large, flat rock. To a casual eye, it might have appeared as though she were engaged in nothing as untoward as taking in the sun. However, closer inspection would have shown that she had only recently been washed to shore.

Soon, the lone figure of a man emerged from the forest. Buckskin clad, he was tall and brown skinned, with long, black hair that hung well down past his shoulders. He'd been hunting this day, very far from his home, and from deep within the forest, he'd felt the breeze, and heard the rustle of the water. It had called to him.

Stepping quietly toward the water, he looked up, his gaze one of admiration for all this, the splendor of the woodlands. Squatting down, and setting his musket onto his lap, he bent over to partake of a drink from the water's cool depths.

However, instantly he sat up, alert. From out the corner of his eye, he'd caught the movement of something, and glancing toward it, he recognized the image of a piece of clothing; it was a woman's skirt. Raising up, he stepped toward it to get a better look, if only to satisfy his curiosity.

That's when he saw her. She was a white woman, blond haired and slim.

Was she alive?

Hauling himself up onto the rock where she lay, he stepped toward her and bent over her. He placed his fingers against her neck, feeling for a pulse. Her body was cold, so very, very cold and he was more than a little surprised when he felt the sure sign of life within her.

The pulse was weak, but it was still there.

Turning her over, he was surprised at her pale beauty. Of course, being Seneca and from the Ohio Valley, he'd had opportunity to witness the unusual skin color of the white people. But it wasn't as familiar a sight to him as one might reckon.

Who was she? How had she gotten here? And what had happened to her?

Glancing in all directions, he took in the spectacular sights of the forest. Where did she belong? Who did she belong to?

But there was nothing to be seen, no other human presence to be felt within the immediate environment. There was nothing here but the ever expansive rhythm of nature.

Using his right hand to brush her hair back from her face, he noted again how cold she was, but he couldn't help but be aware of how soft her skin was, as well. Putting his fingers under her nostrils, he could feel the weak intake and outflow of breath. She was alive, but only just. If she were to live through the night, he had best get her to a place where he could nurse her.

Taking her up in his arms, he stepped off the rock and headed back into the forest. If he hurried, he could make it to a good spot before darkness fell.

Then hopefully, he could find out who she was . . . if she lived . . .

 

 

“Did you find her?”

He didn't answer all at once. Instead, kneeling down in front of Marisa, Black Eagle gathered her into his arms, and brought her up to her knees, where he drew her body in toward his. He wrapped his arms around her, and commenced kissing her face, her neck, her hair.

Though he was worried and rushed, for he was aware that the enemy would be looking for them, he first had a duty toward this woman. He dreaded telling her what he must, but there was no use hiding the facts from her.

“
Neh
, no, I did not find her,” said Black Eagle at last, holding Marisa tightly against him. “There is no sign of Miss Sarah. I fear she has washed away to her death.”

“No!” Marisa grabbed hold of him, and held onto him tightly. “No! I refuse to believe it!”