Somewhere to Dream (Berkley Sensation) (26 page)

CHAPTER
41

Gift of Persuasion

As he rode into the village, Jesse was spotted by eight-year-old Ahsdahyaw Deela, or Loud Skunk, and the rest of his little gang. They shrieked something that Jesse was sure was supposed to sound fierce, then raced ahead, announcing Jesse’s arrival to the entire village.

Kokila ran toward him, her brow creased with worry. “Tloo-da-tsì!” she cried in English. “I cannot find Adelaide! She is gone many days!”

Jesse slipped off Blue and smiled with reassurance. “Don’t worry. She’s with me. In town.”

She stared at him, wide-eyed, clearly taken aback at the idea of Adelaide mixing with white people. “In town? Why?”

He tried to speak in Cherokee, then decided to stick to English. His emotions ran too high at the moment to try and translate. So he compromised by slowing down.

“She’s fine now, Kokila. She was hurt and sick. My friend healed her. She is getting better now.”

Her eyes flickered over his face, searching for anything he wasn’t saying, but Jesse didn’t have time for this. She wasn’t who he wanted to talk with about his mission. He needed to talk to Ahtlee. Kokila shrugged when he asked where the man was.

“Soquili is at canoe. I do not know about Ahtlee.”

It was a different boat from the one Jesse had originally helped with. Smaller but no less impressive. Soquili was busy carving into the sides, sweat streaming down his chest despite the autumn chill. He looked up when Jesse approached.

“Brother,” he said, frowning. “Where you go? You tell no one.”

“Not true. Dustu knew.”

Soquili twisted his mouth with disgust, and Jesse was hard-pressed not to laugh. “Dustu.” Soquili spat, then left his carving tools and went to Jesse. “Where you go?”

“To find Adelaide.”

“Ah,” he said, his expression lifting. He peered behind Jesse. “Where is she?”

“Not here.”

Soquili’s frown was back, dark with suspicion. “Where—”

“Listen, Soquili. I need to talk with Ahtlee.”

“He not here. He hunt many days.”

It was Jesse’s turn to frown. He sighed and hooked his hands on his hips. “Many?”

Soquili nodded, wiping sweat off the tip of his nose. “Why you need him?”

Jesse stared at him a moment, considering. It would have been easier to ask Ahtlee for help, but he didn’t have much choice. He sighed again. “Okay. You’ll do. Come and sit with me. I have a story for you.”

They sat by the river where they had once leapt from the creaking old oak. The leaves along the edges of the water were gold as sunshine, quivering with the slightest of breezes. One by one they gave in to exhaustion, twirling toward the soggy carpet of those that had fallen before.

“I have a problem,” Jesse admitted, grabbing a broken twig from the ground beside him.

“Ha! You have many problems,” Soquili assured him with a grin. “But you do not often come to me for help. What problem makes you look this way?”

“What way?”

“Old. You look old.”

“Fine,” Jesse snapped. “Respect your elders and keep quiet a minute.”

Soquili beamed and nodded amiably.

“You know of Adelaide’s dreams, right?”

Soquili looked doubtful. “You speak of her sister, Maggie.”

“No. I know Maggie has dreams, but so does Adelaide. They’re just not quite as . . . developed. She’s worked with Wah-Li on them.”

Soquili’s left eyebrow lifted with surprise, then he nodded, accepting the idea. “I did not know this. But I believe you. Maggie is very powerful. Her sister should be, too. Adelaide dreamed something?”

He didn’t want to tell Soquili about Adelaide’s surgery or the initial cause of her injury. He wanted to keep the message clear and direct. But Soquili was too astute for that. He pried with questions, asking over and over where Adelaide was, not accepting Jesse’s evasions. So he told him everything.

Well, not everything. He told him he was going to marry Adelaide, which made Soquili hoot with laughter, but didn’t tell him anything more about the two of them. Those memories were for him and Adelaide alone.

He told him of Thomas Black and his subsequent demise. Told him Adelaide was being cared for by his friend, who was an excellent doctor. Soquili looked confused when he explained about the surgery.

“I do not know of this healing. We must speak with Nechama.”

“No, that’s not the point here. The point is, we need to get the men to town. Keep the Catawba away.”

Soquili tilted his head. “You want Cherokee to fight Catawba for white men?”

Jesse nodded, but Soquili disagreed.

“I do not think this is wise. Cherokee may die fighting for white men. Why? They would not die for us.”

Jesse had to agree. And in truth, the men in New Windsor meant nothing to him, either. They’d ignored him when he’d staggered into the town as a young boy, bloodied from yet another encounter with his father. Teased him about crazy Doc Allen. And now he knew all about the men from New Windsor and what they’d done to Adelaide and her sisters. For that alone, he didn’t think any of them should live.

But Adelaide had told him those men were dead. Now Thomas was dead. So, technically, it set them back to even. And it was wrong, wasn’t it? Knowing someone innocent was going to die and doing nothing to stop it?

But Soquili had a point, too. Why put his people in unnecessary danger?

Jesse had so many questions about Adelaide’s dreams, though he doubted he’d ever learn all the answers. But it seemed to him there had to be a reason they were dreamt in the first place. Why else would a deep-rooted evil take hold of her mind and refuse to let go, unless she was supposed to do something about it? She rarely saw the endings. So could the dreams be made to end the way she wanted? Did she change history when she dreamed these things? Did it matter?

“If the town is killed, the army will come.” Jesse held Soquili’s gaze. “And white men often do not see any difference. You are all Indians,” he said, then waved at Soquili’s head, “with different hair and paint. You and all other Indians are their enemy whenever that’s convenient. You’re their friends when they need something. Well, I’m saying they need you now. And if your people don’t do anything about it, the army will wipe
all
of you out.”

“They cannot! They do not have that power.”

“You have no idea how many white people are in this world,” Jesse said, his voice rising as he remembered some of Doc’s lessons. “And they are all coming here, to your beautiful land. If the Cherokee are friends with the white men, things will be all right. If the Cherokee allow a slaughter like this to happen, there will be no hope for the Cherokee.”

Soquili’s eyes burned. “You are wrong, Jess-see. The Tsalagi have lived here forever, and will always live here. The white men are like geese, landing, then flying, coming back when the weather is good. It is not their land.”

Jesse closed his eyes, praying for patience. “I’m not here to argue with you about white men and Cherokee. I’m really not. I’m telling you it’s wrong to let someone kill someone else if you know it’s going to happen.” Time to spice it up a bit. “And with enough mighty Cherokee warriors there, the Catawba may run in fear.”

That worked a little. He saw the defiance ease in Soquili’s eyes, but not the suspicion. “Come,” Soquili said, standing.

Jesse followed him to Wah-Li’s house. He wasn’t comfortable with the old woman, didn’t like the way she could read his thoughts, but with all the dreaming going on, this might end up being the best idea after all. The men called in through her door, waited for a signal, then stooped through the low door.

Wah-Li sat with Nechama and another woman, watching them enter.

“Ah,” she croaked, stretching out hands that shook from age. “Handsome young visitors. Come. Come. Sit. What news of my Shadow Girl?”

Soquili started speaking, his tongue lightning quick over the syllables that always tripped Jesse. Jesse listened hard, wanting to make sure his side of the story was heard, but other than the occasional reference to Adelaide and himself, he couldn’t grasp much. Wah-Li’s shrunken face stayed neutral through the summary, the only movement coming from her lips as they rubbed contemplatively against each other.

When Soquili had finished, she turned her attention to Jesse and gave him a brief smile. “Come, come,” she said again, reaching for his face.

Jesse had been afraid of this. The way he felt when she did that crazy mind-reading thing was disturbing. Some of it was wonderful, as if he flew through the rare joyful moments in his life, seeing them all again. But the bad always goes with the good. He shifted closer so she could press her dry old fingers against his temples.

As if she held a warm rock to his face. That’s what it felt like initially. Then the heat from her fingers spread throughout his brain, sharing his thoughts and everything else about himself. Jesse wasn’t fond of sharing. Never had been. Usually when he shared, things were taken. But he had learned that Wah-Li never took. Or if she did, she left him with his own share, and never used any of it against him. Now he rode with her, racing through his childhood again, touching on the past and moving swiftly into recent days.

The inevitable scene came to his mind, the memory he would very much like to forget: the struggle with his father. How he’d turned to see Thomas holding Adelaide, how all the blood had left her face, and her eyes were squeezed shut. He saw Thomas’s fist ram into her side, felt the pistol’s sharp recoil as he blew his father’s miserable brains out.

Wah-Li saw them together, wrapped around each other on the forest floor. He sensed her surprise as their passion flitted through his mind, then her approval as Adelaide’s happiness shone in her eyes. Jesse felt no shame, only a strong need to be with Adelaide again.

She smiled, sensing his love for her Shadow Girl. “Yes, yes,” she purred, eyes still closed.

Wah-Li felt him sweat as he carried her all the way to Doc’s house, saw what he saw as he gazed at her pale, semiconscious face. She followed him inside Doc’s place and watched him explain to the old man. Then she saw Doc plunge a knife into Adelaide.

“
Ayah
!” she exclaimed, releasing his head. She turned horrified eyes to Nechama and told her what she’d seen. The healer looked shocked, glancing from Jesse to Wah-Li, then back again.

“She lives?” Nechama asked him. Wah-Li’s clouded gaze shot to him.

He nodded. “She does. Doc is keeping her safe.”

“He kill her!” Wah-Li cried, wrinkled features sloped with horror.

“No, he didn’t, E-Lee-See,” he said, addressing her as “Grandmother” for the first time. “He took a part of her out that was broken. It was . . . amazing. She was in a great deal of pain when I left, but Doc says she will live.”

Nechama leaned forward, eyes bright with interest. “I want learn from this Doc!”

Jesse couldn’t help grinning at her. “I’m sure he’d love to teach you, Nechama. I think he would like to learn from you as well.”

She clapped her hands together. “Oh yes!”

“No, no, no,” Wah-Li muttered, flicking a hand at Nechama. “Come, Tloo-da-tsì. No time for this. Story not over.”

He nodded and leaned forward, submitting to her seeking fingers again. Then she was given proof, hearing Adelaide speak to him, hearing the pleading in her weak voice.

“Soquili,” said Wah-Li. “Call meeting. You will lead. You and Tloo-da-tsì stop Catawba.”

Soquili couldn’t argue with her. When Wah-Li said something, it would be so. Before they left, Jesse turned back and took the old woman’s hand again.

“E-Lee-See?”

She peered curiously at him. Her skin was warm and smooth, waxy with age. Jesse felt an unfamiliar pang of regret, realizing the old woman couldn’t live forever.

“Thank you for blessing Adelaide and me. She has agreed to marry me.”

“I know,” she said, then covered her toothless mouth and giggled like a young girl. “It was you. It has always been you.”

CHAPTER
42

Warrior

Wah-Li kept her smile hidden the next time she reached up to touch Jesse’s face. It was quite a stretch for her, but when he stooped a bit to make it easier, she shook her head. She had become small and hunched in her old age, but her pride hadn’t shrivelled with her body.

She slid her finger down his nose, tickling his skin with the cool stickiness of paint. “Red is for war,” she murmured, her voice weak in sound but strong in meaning. She stroked five lines across each cheek. “Red is also for your clan, the
Aniwahya
. You are pure in spirit and proud in your heart, Tloo-da-tsì. The Tsalagi are proud of you.”

It was a new feeling, this whole pride concept. In his past, Jesse had experienced apprehension and a spattering of excitement on the eve of battles or raids, or whatever his father wanted to call them, but never before had he felt as if there was a purpose for what he was about to do. As if it mattered what he did. When Wah-Li had finished, Jesse stood a little taller. He wore the same single feather as everyone else. It was an identification method for use during the thick of battle, should things get out of hand. Anyone with a white, red-tipped feather was friend. Anyone else was fair game. The feathers also served to help identify the dead when it was all over.

Soquili stood beside him, and Jesse chuckled, studying the red pattern that had also been painted on his own pale skin.

“Looks better on me,” Soquili said. “You stick out like gull in middle of crows.”

Jesse snorted. “Looks better on you? That’s not what the ladies say.”

“Stand beside me when the Catawba come, brother,” Soquili said, sober. He clapped a hand on Jesse’s shoulder. “I will not lose you again.”

“Ha! Can’t lose me. I stick out like a gull, remember?”

“Oh, you will be lost,” came a snide comment. “You do not belong on battlefield unless you are prisoner, like before.”

Jesse flushed at the reminder. “Didn’t nobody ever tell you that if you ain’t got nothin’ nice to say, don’t say nothin’ at all? You’re a pain in the ass, Dustu.”

“Maybe, but I
belong
here,” Dustu retorted.

“That’s enough,” Soquili snapped in Cherokee. “Having the same skin colour does not mean you belong, Dustu. You would fit in better with weasels, I say.”

“
I
say,” Dustu continued, speaking so quickly Jesse almost didn’t understand. He poked Soquili on one side of his chest. “That if you want to keep this
brother
of yours alive, today is not a good day. He does not know how to fight, and the Catawba will eat his liver.”

Soquili shoved the shorter man out of his way, and Jesse followed him through the circle of warriors. He’d had enough of the flexing and posing anyway. Sure, sure. All right. They were all tough and ready to go.
Let’s get on with it,
he kept thinking. He didn’t know exactly when the Catawba were coming, but Adelaide had said it would be soon.

But Dustu wouldn’t leave it alone. Jesse grunted when a sharp punch landed in the centre of his back. He spun around, glaring at Dustu. As usual, the man was spoiling for a fight, always wanting to tempt Jesse’s fists. Hadn’t he had enough?

“I teach you,” Dustu said, grinning. “I teach you do not put your back in a man’s face. Unless you running. Or maybe you like to run.”

“Keep walking,” Soquili muttered. Jesse turned back and moved alongside Soquili.

“Like now,” Dustu continued. “Show him your back, same as give him your throat.”

“Don’t you have somewhere to be?” Jesse growled, glaring back at him.

Dustu shrugged and moved up beside them, offering the guileless smile of a child. “I do not think so. It is important I teach you. You die make Soquili sad. So I ask do you have knife? Weapon is important in war.”

Jesse’s hand dropped to the hilt of his knife, which was always at his hip. He turned so his face was an inch away from Dustu’s, but the impertinent grin never wavered from Dustu’s face.

“My knife hasn’t had a taste of you yet, weasel,” Jesse growled, “but it sure is hungry. What do you say? Wanna give it a sample?”

Soquili stepped between the two, shoving them apart. “Enough,” he said. “Save it for Catawba.” He was right. Jesse stepped back, but Dustu didn’t move.

The smaller man sneered. “Stay away from me, white man. You will get us all killed.”

When the horses finally headed out, forty or so of them, Dustu’s words were what stuck in Jesse’s mind. And that made him angry. Dammit. He knew what he was doing. Always had. He’d known how to fight his whole life. If he hadn’t been born with the skills, he had learned them from necessity. So he shouldn’t have worried. But he did. He knew the Catawba from a distance, and from reputation. While his blood growled with lust at the opportunity to finally get some sort of revenge for the killing of his family, a part of him trembled with something close to fear. Dustu was right. They were coming for white-men’s blood, and though the Cherokee would be standing against them, Jesse was an obvious target. Even so, before they’d left the village, something in him had rebelled, and he’d decided not to bother smearing anything into his hair to darken the colour.

They stopped a mile or so from the town, and Soquili held up his hands, beckoning the group closer. They left the protective forests behind and passed scattered homes—either huddled together in clusters or standing separate and fragile—which had popped up like bubbles across the grasslands. The war party was still far from the bustling streets of New Windsor, but Jesse could see the narrow roof belonging to Doc, imagined he could see River, grazing calmly in the field.

And if he imagined even harder, he thought he might just be able to visualize the pale pink oval of Adelaide’s face where it pressed against the lone window in Doc’s healing room. The velvet fall of her long blond hair. The haunted combination of fear and hope in her eyes. He sat a little taller, rolled back his shoulders as if to settle everything. The plain fact was he couldn’t get killed today, because he couldn’t bear to let her get hurt again.

Leadership was new to Soquili, but Jesse was impressed by the settled look in his eyes. He seemed born to this. The role draped over his shoulders with pride, like a mantle handed from father to son. From his place beside Soquili, Jesse smelled the sweaty thickness of the air around their leader, heavy with nervous energy, excitement mingled with anxiety. Every man bore a variation on the same scent of natural intoxication, the fervour and thrill of impending bloodshed. The horses felt it as well and pressed closer together, eyes wide and aware. When all the men had gathered around, they ceased talking and waited respectfully for whatever Soquili had to say. As if he held the pipe.

“Today is an important day for the Tsalagi,” he announced in their language, sitting comfortably, though his mount pranced with nervousness. He kept the words simple so Jesse wouldn’t miss anything. “What we do today will change everything. We stand against the Catawba to defend another enemy. A weaker enemy. An enemy with white skin.” Then he sneered, nostrils flared as he looked over the men. “The Catawba are too low to lick the fleas from our dogs. They have no reason for killing these people today. But we have reason to kill the Catawba.”

Soquili’s horse shifted under him, another mare snorted loudly from somewhere in the group, and Blue pawed at the dust, tossing her head with impatience. Jesse patted her neck, and she settled, but Jesse did feel a little bad for her. She’d no experience in fighting. Other than when they went hunting, the stench of blood was relatively new to her.

“If the Catawba kill the white people, the white army will come to kill Mother Earth’s children: Cherokee, Creek, Choctaw, Chickasaw, Shawnee, and Catawba as well. We are all the same in the eyes of the ignorant white man. So today we must defend that white man.” He gestured with an open palm toward Jesse. “We stand with my white brother, Tloo-da-tsì.”

The moment was surreal: sitting on Blue’s creaking saddle in the midst of these savages, being called one of them, knowing they were all here and would fight because of him. A part of him wanted to laugh at the irony of the situation. The other part wanted to wriggle even deeper into the throng of men, mingling and sharing their ancient strength. Something had happened to Jesse since he’d lived among these people. Well, of course it had. But not in the way he’d expected. He was not a starved, beaten slave, subjected to torture and constant ridicule—except at the hands of Dustu, of course, who he could handle easily. Instead, he had been accepted, respected, and included. His opinion mattered for the first time in his life. He felt new. His back was straighter these days, his heart a little stronger. These people believed in him, so he did, too.

He wondered what Adelaide might think, seeing him at the head of the Cherokee like this: lone feather pointed skyward, face painted with red lines like the claw marks of a cougar. Then again, she said she had seen him there already.

The breeze kissed the powerful men’s cheeks, ruffling feathers and coarse tufts of black hair, lifting manes and tails. Like a whisper, a response from the heavens. It roused the horses and a few tossed their heads and snorted, ready to go.

They didn’t have long to wait. The Catawba was a tribe used to ambush, adept at sneaking up on their enemies. They were soundless until the last moment, when a man could practically die of fright as a result of their sudden, wild shrieks. They would have sent scouts ahead, and the unexpected parade of forty Cherokee warriors painted for battle would have compelled them to regroup, change tactics.

Somewhere in the back of Jesse’s memory he saw them again, heard the screaming, smelled the burning, then remembered the torn bodies of his family from when he’d helped his father lay the poor souls to rest. The memory awoke an ancient rage in him, and he ran his thumb down the smooth edge of the
galuyasdi usdi
at his hip, tied there alongside his knife. Soquili had taught him how to throw the wicked tomahawk, how to split a log from thirty feet away, and he’d learned well.

On his other hip, he carried his father’s pistol. The one that had left Thomas rotting in the woods, exactly where he belonged.