Dangerous Dreams: A Novel (113 page)

Emily and Isna sat side by side in the forest. Tears ran down her cheeks as she finished telling him about her encounter with Tayler and her discussion with Ananias and Elyoner. After a moment of quiet, his stern look softened to his wry smile. “Emily’s heart beats strongly with bravery, the greatest of all Lakota virtues.”

Emily brushed the tears from her eyes. “But Emily acted selfishly . . . foolishly. She has endangered those she loves . . . to save herself.”

“No, my little white fawn, Emily did what was
right
for those she loves, for now they know of the danger that stalks them and can prepare to defeat it . . . is this not so? And will not Isna always be prepared to fight Tayler and his men? And will not the parents of the little one now be prepared to help you protect their child? And will not this evil man who hates himself and is a coward now wonder if his enemies wait for him and will try to kill
him
?”

“Yes . . . but, Isna, Tayler’s men are as evil as he is and will now hate Emily and Isna more than before . . . and be more careful in their treachery . . . and perhaps, if Ananias is correct, try to fulfill their threats.”

“Isna is not afraid. He will find these cowards who have twisted, knotted hearts and kill them, so Emily and her people can be free of them, for they will hurt your people and others if they remain alive.”

Emily paled, shook her head as a vexed look clouded her eyes. “Isna, these men will not fight with honor, but from the shadows and behind.” She sighed. “Ananias speaks wisely when he says we must wait for John White to return with more good men. Will Isna not heed his words?” Forsooth, he is so like a Viking: fears nothing, courts risk and violence, revels in danger,
tempts death beyond all reason . . . for honor. Dear Lord, how can I love such a man . . . and how can I live with the constant, gnawing fear of his death?

“Isna
will
heed Ananias’ words . . . for a time . . . because Emily asks this; but if John White does not come before Isna returns to the Lakota, Isna must kill Tayler, for he cannot leave Emily here while Tayler lives.”

Emily sighed, stared at him, wondered when he would leave; she prayed for John White to return, arrest Tayler that very day. In less than two seconds, she visualized her transformation from a carefree girl in love with life to a debauched, pregnant, frightened woman, desperately in love with a man she couldn’t bear to be without, but from whom she would soon part . . . a young woman with no future but that of unwed mother and whore to the man who raped her. And, she thought, even if Isna kills Tayler and escapes the wrath of his men, it won’t help, for no one will accept his having killed a white man . . . even a wretch like Tayler . . . nor will they accept our being together in the colony. But if Governor White returns and prosecutes Tayler, then . . . mayhap . . . we will have a chance to be together. “When will Isna leave?”

He looked at her stoically. “Ten days . . . perhaps a few more. The Lakota are restless to return to the people . . . yet the thought of leaving Emily pains Isna’s heart like the cut of a sharp arrow.” A twinge of sadness crept slowly across his face.

Emily looked away, rubbed her eyes, then looked back at Isna. “Will Isna return to Emily?” She rubbed her eyes again, thought, I know his answer.

“Isna
will
return . . . he
must
be with Emily . . . but he does not know if he can become like a white man. They seem ignorant of the meaning of life and care only for themselves . . . not the good of the people. This is different from the Lakota, who shun or even kill people such as these, and it would be difficult for Isna to live like them.”

“Isna, all white men are not like these evil ones. Many
are
good men and care for the people as the Lakota do—Lieutenant Waters, Ananias, John White, Roger Baylye, others—but Isna has not met these men, so he cannot know this.”

He nodded. “Isna understands this; and so he tells Emily that even if he does not wish to become a white man, he
will
return to her . . . perhaps stay with the Chesapeakes . . . or the Monacans, in the mountains . . . and perhaps come to know some
good
white men, and then think more of becoming one of them.”

Emily’s face bloomed; she laid her hands on his. “Oh, yes, Isna. Yes.” She took his hands in hers, looked pleadingly then sadly into his eyes. “If Isna stays with the Chesapeakes or Monacans, he will bring hides of Tatanka, and it will take him longer to return.”

With a suddenly contemplative look, he said, “Yes. But three more important things chew on Isna’s heart. The first is the killing of Tayler by Isna. If, as Emily believes, the white men will then hate Isna, he will not be able to remain here. Second, if Isna does
not
kill him before he leaves, Tayler will force himself on Emily . . . again and again. And last, unless your chief returns soon with many more men of strong heart, the Powhatans will overwhelm your village, kill all the men, and use the woman as wives for a time . . . before they kill
them
, as well.”

Emily stared numbly at the forest, mused his words, grasped for the logic to refute them; she finally acknowledged their inescapable truth, yielded her mind to sprouting seeds of depression. She looked solemnly into his eyes. “Isna’s words are true . . . what will we do?”

“Isna does not yet know. He asks Wakan Tanka and his truth bearer to show him the pathway ahead; they have not yet answered him, but Isna believes they will do so soon. No matter what happens . . . as long as he still breathes . . . Isna
will
return to Emily,
wherever
she is.” He paused, touched her cheek. “Does Emily believe her people’s leader will return soon?”

With suddenly misty eyes, Emily said, “No. She knows not why, but she does not.”

He held her hands while reluctant tears crept down her cheeks, fell onto her chest; he hardened his look, stared silently at her for a long moment, then said, “It is difficult to know what to do . . . but Emily and Isna must soon decide.”

Emily nodded, blinked at her tears. “ ’Tis so. And Emily will also pray to God to show
her
the way.” The two stared thoughtfully at one another
until Emily suddenly forced a smile. “Will Isna now tell Emily about the dreamers among the Lakota?”

Isna nodded, smiled, then rolled onto his knees, turned to the north, sat back on his heels. Emily positioned herself beside him in a similar pose. He scraped a bare spot on the ground, drew the circle with a stick, marked the north, south, east, and west points on the circumference, then scratched the two lines that joined the north and south points, east and west points. “ Isna said Emily was born a person of the north and east, with wisdom and enlightenment; he now believes she was also born a person of the south, with innocence and trust. But as Isna has also said, in Emily’s short life, she has also touched the west and acquired a strong gift of introspection . . . her dreams tell Isna this is so, for no one can dream such dreams as Emily, and certain Lakota dreamers, without a strong looks-within gift of introspection that finds the dreams in her soul and mind . . . or without a deep, natural innocence that accepts the dreams and trusts them to show themselves with purity and truth. So Isna now tells Emily that he was wrong when he drew her position within the circle of life. Emily’s true position within the circle”—he quickly drew a very small circle around the mark at the center of the large circle, placed a mark on it midway between the north and east lines—“ is very close to the center and Wakan Tanka.” He smiled, took her hand in his. “She approaches being a truly whole human being with all four gifts—her wisdom and enlightenment allow her to understand and respect many things, like Lakota ways and beliefs; and her heart of innocence and introspection, which is filled with purity and truth, allows her to dream as no human being can dream, except for a few who possess the same gifts. And it is these gifts, and Emily’s quiet way of possessing them, that draw Isna to her and cause him to love her above all things in the world.” He paused, glanced at the circle then back at Emily. “ Isna now tells Emily that all Lakota dreamers are women, and all have strong gifts of introspection and innocence, but none also possess the gifts of wisdom and enlightenment as Emily does. So Isna again tells Emily she is very close to Wakan Tanka.”

“No, Isna. Emily cannot be close to Wakan Tanka. She was cruel to her father. She sometimes spoke angrily to her mother . . . and disobeyed her parents, and”—she bowed her head—“and she did wrong with Tayler.”

Emily gasped, trembled; chills raced through her body. “Saints in heaven, the butterfly is . . . is the center . . . Wakan Tanka?”

“Yes.”

“Isna, I . . . I . . . look at this.” She flipped her long hair downward over her face, exposed the back of her neck, then pointed to a small, purple, butterfly-shaped birthmark an inch below her hairline. “It itches when I dream of the Vikings and . . . and I feel like I’m there with them, feel their thoughts and feelings, their emotions, everything, as if I were a spirit they cannot see.”

Unconscious on the floor beside her bed, Allie O’Shay trembled; herbreathing and pulse raced; her eyes blinked open for a moment then closed.

Emily looked up, flipped her hair behind her shoulders, noticed his wry smile, doubting look. “ Isna thinks Emily jokes.”

He interlocked his thumbs and extended his fingers to imitate a butterfly, flitted it around her face, brushed her cheeks. After a few dives and zooms, it flew up to Emily’s nose, pinched it.

“Fie!”

It then flitted under her chin, tickled her neck.

Emily giggled. “Don’t! I’m ticklish!” She tried to catch his hands with her chin, but the butterfly was too quick, pulled back, flitted around for a second, then dove under her hair and tickled her behind her left ear.

She giggled louder, rolled away into a pile of leaves; but the butterfly pursued, attacked again. Emily rolled to her back, threw a handful of leaves in Isna’s face.

He fell still on the ground beside her; but as she approached to tickle
him
, he opened his eyes, grabbed her wrists.

“You rascal! Let go of me! Let go!” She squealed, twisted, wrestled to free herself.

Their eyes met; the wrestling ceased. Isna eased his grip, pulled her gently on top of him; their lips drifted together; but as their tongues touched, he suddenly tensed, pulled away. “Did Emily hear that?”

She slid off him onto her knees, shook her head. “What was it?”

“A cry . . . a man’s cry . . . fear or pain . . . from near Emily’s special place.” He sprang to his feet, pulled her to her feet. “ Isna will go there and look.” He snatched his weapons from the ground, started into the forest; slid his hatchet and stone war club inside his waist band; flung his quiver onto his back, nocked an arrow.

“Emily will go with Isna.”

“No, Emily should return to the village.”

“People in the village will have heard the cry and be on their way there. Emily will go with Isna. She has her knife and pistol.”

“The village is too far away for anyone to hear so faint a cry.” He shook his head, looked at her with a frustrated look. “Isna forgets . . . Emily is still an English girl and does not obey a warrior’s commands.” He sighed. “Come! Stay close.”