Authors: Kathleen O'Neal Gear

It Wakes in Me (20 page)

BOOK: It Wakes in Me

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A GENTLE HAND REACHED OUT OF THE DARKNESS AND touched her cheek.

Sora blinked and rolled to her back, still mostly asleep, though she heard a baby crying somewhere in the village. The coals in the fire hearth had faded to a pale crimson that flared when the night wind gusted around the door curtain. The fragrances of fire-warmed blankets and rain filled the air.

Just above a whisper, Strongheart asked, “What were you dreaming?”

She looked up at him, but saw only a tall, dark silhouette, rimmed in gray. It took her a moment to remember that bright world of exotic flowery scents and warm sunlight.

“We were camped on a beach on the far southern islands my father used to tell me about. You were bathing me, as you did the first night I spent in this village. I was dreaming of the feel of your hands. For a short while, they made the terror go away.”

He smoothed his fingers over her hair, and said, “I understand. Go back to sleep.”

WINK WANDERED AROUND HER PERSONAL CHAMBER, picking things up, examining them, and putting them down. Rockfish stood stiffly near the doorway, waiting for her to explain why she’d summoned him to her chamber at this time of night. He wore a faded blue shirt, and his gray hair shone.

Wink picked up a ceremonial chunkey stone that had been made for her in the north at Yellow Star Mounds. As she examined the superb workmanship, she said, “The matrons came to me tonight to tell me how many warriors they would be committing to the jade party.”

As though annoyed, Rockfish said, “Yes, I was sure they would. What did they say?”

Wink coldly replied, “Shadow Rock Clan will commit one hundred. Shoveler clan will commit one hundred and seventy-five. Bald Cypress will commit two hundred. And Water Hickory Clan …” She left the sentence hanging for effect. “Will commit ten.”

“Ten! You’re not serious?” He appeared genuinely upset.

But, of course, he may well have known this fact before she did. He could have prepared himself to react this way.

“Yes, I was just as stunned as you are. Do you have any idea why Wood Fern is being so parsimonious?”

“Me? Why would I know?”

“Well, it just seems to me that you’ve been particularly talkative of late, especially with Water Hickory Clan.”

His cheeks reddened. “Wink”—he spread his arms in a gesture of innocence—“I’ve been very straightforward with everyone. I truly believe the jade will be good for our nation. Why would it surprise you that I’ve been urging the clans to support the war party?”

“Because your wife opposed it, that’s why. And as the husband of the chieftess, you have no say in any political matters relating to this nation. You are not—I repeat—
not
a member of our Council of Elders. Pressuring the clan matrons to vote against your wife’s wishes might, by some, be considered treasonable.”

He let his hands fall to his sides. “Wink, please, I regret anything I’ve done to offend you. Tell me what I may do to make amends.”

Her face must have gotten what Sora called the
“I’m going to kill you if you don’t do as I say”
look, because he cocked his head as though silently dreading what she might demand from him.

“If you truly mean that, there are some things you could do that might help
prove
your loyalty.”

Warily, he said, “Of course I meant it.”

Wink smiled, and the lines at the corners of her eyes crinkled. “Good. Tomorrow morning the three hundred warriors your people have committed to the war party should arrive. They will join with four hundred and eighty-five warriors from our nation and, by tomorrow night, will be headed eastward toward Eagle Flute Village to join with two hundred warriors there. Is that your understanding of the plan?”

Wink rested the chunkey stone near the hearth.

Rockfish watched her, grudgingly folded his arms across his chest, and said, “Would you like me to arrange another ‘understanding’ of the plan?”

“Yes,” she said softly, “I would. And just to make certain we understand each other …” She clapped her hands, and a tall warrior ducked into the chamber. He had oddly luminescent, inhuman eyes. “I want to introduce you to Lean Elk, my best assassin.”

Lean Elk silently pulled his deer-bone stiletto from his belt sheath.

Rockfish glanced at the man, then looked back at her. “Wink, I … I don’t understand.”

She said, “Do you think I’m foolish enough to believe Wood Fern only committed ten warriors because that’s all she wanted to commit? Did you think I wouldn’t start asking questions?”

He frowned. “Why else would she only commit ten warriors?”

Blessed gods, he really doesn’t know. I can see it in his eyes.

Wink felt light-headed as the implications sank in. “Rockfish, her warriors have been on the trail for a full day.”

“What warriors?” He looked truly stunned. “Wink, I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

She studied his confused expression. “You really don’t, do you? I thank the gods.”

Wink walked away from him. When she passed Lean Elk, she said, “Follow me.”

AT DAWN, WHEN SORA HEARD THE FLUTE, SHE ROLLED TO her side and stared at the door. A breeze tousled the curtain, revealing glimpses of the misty plaza and the naked Dancers who approached in single file, following behind the elders.

The two old men entered first, just as they had yesterday, and went to sit on opposite sides of the house with their tortoise shell rattles in their hands. Next, the four old women came in, but they did not sit by the fire. They sat together on the floor near the doorway. The wind that had entered with them carried the scents of wood smoke and marsh.

Was she sitting in their ritual places? Is that why the old women had been forced to sit by the door?

Sora rose, wrapped her blanket around her shoulders, and walked to the bench on the far side of the house.

As the Dancers filed in, their shell jewelry winked and glimmered in the firelight.

Flint entered next and stiffly stood on the opposite side of the door from the old women. This morning he wore a black
knee-length shirt. He had his jaw clenched, as though he didn’t like this very much, but she also noticed the puffiness beneath his eyes. Had he been up all night?

The Dancers formed two concentric circles and began the ritual … .

But it was different. The women stepped to the left, while the men stepped to the right. The two circles rotated in opposite directions. No one Sang. The women, who formed the inner circle, kept their backs to the men. The only sound was the rhythmic pounding of their bare feet on the floor.

She was about to call out to Flint when Strongheart ducked through the door. He wore his buckskin cape with the yellow starbursts, but she could see that he wore nothing beneath it. His magnificent tattoos gleamed. Her gaze clung to the bands of interconnected human eyes, red and black, that ringed his muscular legs from groin to ankles. They seemed to blink in the firelight. His short black hair was wet and framed his round face, making his large sad eyes seem to bulge even more. A fine mist covered the arch of his hooked nose. His gaze went directly to Sora and never left.

The circles broke for Strongheart as he walked across the house and extended a hand to her. “Come and sit with me by the fire.”

Sora clutched her blanket to her, took his hand, and let him lead her to the mats, where he gestured for her to sit down inside the circle.

For a time, he didn’t speak. He walked around the fire, pulled branches from the woodpile, and added them to the coals until the flames leapt and crackled.

When he came back and sat beside her, the old men began shaking their rattles in time with the Dancers’ feet and Singing,
“Euhaha, ho, ho. Euhaha, ho, ho.”
Each time the men reached the end of the verse, the old women shouted,
“Hé!”

Strongheart reached out to touch her hand where it clutched her blanket closed. “Don’t be afraid,” he said.

“I’m not afraid.”

She let him pull the blanket from her shoulders and spread it out on the floor beside her. Despite the flames, the damp wind that fluttered the door curtain ate into her skin. She rubbed her arms to keep warm.

Strongheart untied his cape, removed it, and placed it beside the hearthstones; then he gestured to the blanket. “Join me.”

Sora swallowed hard as they stretched out facing each other. She looked at his lean, naked body, and fear blended with desire to create an odd brew in her belly.

She glanced at the doorway and found Flint watching her with bright, intense eyes. She could tell he longed to talk to her.

“Where is your shadow-soul walking, Sora?” Strongheart asked as he lightly placed a hand on her arm.

“I—I think … paths I’ve walked with Flint.”

He tenderly squeezed her arm. “Tell me when the paths become new.”

“New?”

He bent to brush his lips against her throat. They felt cool and soft. “You’ll know when to tell me.”

After a few choruses, the Dancers joined the part of the old men’s chant that went
“Euhaha, ho,”
and a strange hypnotic tension filled the house.

Strongheart smoothed his hand down her arm to the tips of her fingers.

When she shivered, he said, “Are you cold?”

“No, not really. It’s just that I …” She glanced back at Flint. He’d clenched his fists at his sides. He needed to talk with her
badly
.

Strongheart murmured, “Keep looking at him, Sora.”

“Why?”

“I want you to see him.”

“But … I want to look at you.”

“For now, look at Flint.”

Her eyes tightened as she looked back. Flint couldn’t hear what Strongheart was saying, so he seemed to take her unwavering gaze as some sort of silent request—and shook his head. His meaning was clear,
I can’t
. Had he been forbidden to leave his place beside the door?

She held Flint’s gaze, and his desperation, accompanied by the constant chant of
“Euhaha ho, ho, ho,”
followed by the louder
“Hé,”
gave the ritual a vaguely unreal sense—as though she were living a phantom dream that would vanish at any moment.

Strongheart’s touch was so light, she almost didn’t feel it. “Can you roll onto your back and relax for me?”

She inhaled a deep breath and let it out slowly. “I’ll try.”

“Good.”

She rolled over and stared up at the soot-coated ceiling. For one hundred heartbeats, he trailed just his fingertips over her skin, never lingering anywhere for long, circling her nipples, following out the lines of her ribs, then her hip bones, drawing downward as though outlining her right leg bones, toes, moving to her left leg, and rising. When his fingers moved between her legs, she shuddered, but his fingertips only lightly glided over her opening and ‘little manhood’ before they proceeded up her belly.

It felt so soothing, she longed to close her eyes, but when she tried, Strongheart whispered, “Please, look at Flint.”

She turned her head to do as he’d instructed, but when Strongheart moved to straddle her, it became increasingly difficult not to watch him. Strongheart’s groin rested against hers,
and she found herself desperately longing that he would touch her as a lover would.

He lifted his hands to warm them before the flames; then he placed his fingertips on her forehead and smoothed them around her hairline. The tension in her shoulders eased. He lightly traced the bones of her cheeks, and brought his fingers down around her jaw to the point of her chin. Then his hands dropped to her breasts, and he caressed them with exquisite patience.

Flint’s eyes narrowed. He obviously didn’t like the way Strongheart was touching her.

She remembered the first time Flint had looked at her that way. She’d just become a woman a few moons before. Her mother had been giving feasts for her, inviting prominent young men from surrounding villages to meet her. As the son of a village matron, Skinner had been invited. Flint had not, but he’d accompanied his best friend on the journey. There had been one stunning moment when Skinner had smiled at her, and Sora had smiled back … .

“You’re trembling,” Strongheart whispered. “Where is your shadow-soul walking?”

She blinked and breathlessly looked up at him. “I was remembering the first time I saw Flint jealous. A man smiled at me, and Flint gave me a killing look. I couldn’t understand why. I’d just met him … .”

Skinner turns to smile at Flint, as though pleased I’m paying attention to him … but his smile vanishes in a heartbeat when he sees Flint’s expression … .

“Blessed gods,” she said, stunned. “He wasn’t jealous for me. He was jealous
of
me. I was stepping between him and Skinner. I …”

As her voice began to rise, Strongheart bent and kissed her. It seemed to be an attempt to cut short her words, but when his
lips touched hers, a tingle ran through her body. His lips were like warm velvet.

Against her mouth, he whispered, “Just look. Don’t judge. Try to see him as he is.”

She gave Strongheart a baffled look. She had loved Flint for her entire adult life—who better than she could ‘see him’ as he was? But as understanding sank into her thick skull, she knew Strongheart was right. She might have loved Flint, but she’d never really known him. If she had, she—well, she would have known about Skinner.

How strange that in eighteen winters, no one had told her. Surely others must have known. People always knew. Perhaps no one had been brave enough to tell her.

I would have ordered the messenger’s death. I might even have killed him with my bare hands.

Without warning, tears welled in her eyes. The one great truth that could have changed everything, especially in the last winters when she and Flint had hated each other so much, had been withheld from her. And it was her own fault.

She slipped her arms around Strongheart’s back and pulled him down on top of her. He lay unmoving, his tall body like a shield against the world. Her desire intensified until it was almost painful.

She hugged him hard. “I never expected … this.”

“What?”

“You.”

He lifted his head and stared at her from less than a hand’s breadth away. The sadness in his eyes seemed deeper, more profound. “The gods are under no obligation to give us what we expect.”

“No, but sometimes they do.”

“Yes.” He smiled. “And generally we regret it. Please. Look at Flint.”

She turned her head. For a moment, she couldn’t see him through the rotating circles of Dancers. Each time a man and a woman stood face-to-face, their fingers trailed down each other’s cheeks in slow leisurely strokes; then they stepped to the next partner, and their hands moved down his or her chest. With the third partner, the man tucked his fingers inside the woman while she grasped his erect manhood, and they kissed. Then it began all over again with the next person. As the Dancers shifted, she glimpsed Flint, and what she saw made her tremble. He stood with his feet braced, his shoulders squared, ready for a fight. His chin was thrust out as he glared at Strongheart. The longer she looked at Flint, the more puzzled she felt. He hadn’t wanted her for three winters. But, now, when she wanted someone else …

He can’t let me go any more than I can let him go.

But for the first time, she wanted to let him go.

She looked up at Strongheart like a hurt bewildered child, and tears rolled slowly down her cheeks.

Strongheart said nothing but took her gently in his arms, and laid his cheek against hers. It felt so good to be held by him. Softly he asked, “Is she talking to you?”

“No, no, it’s—this is not my—my—” She stammered to a stop.
I can’t even say “my sister.”

He waited, stroking her hair. Against her ear, he said, “I have no blame in my heart, Sora.”

As though at a signal, the Dancers’ feet pounded the floor more firmly, and the old men’s voices rose to a hoarse cadence.

The old women shouted
“Hé!”

Strongheart lifted his head and touched her cheek. “Do you want me?”

Her gaze shot back to Flint, and he motioned to her as though he was desperate to talk with her. Her muscles stiffened. Had he spoken with Grown Bear? Blessed gods, had he discovered
what was going on? All of the tension that had drained away at Strongheart’s touch returned. Her belly knotted.

Strongheart said, “What is it?”

“I—I want Flint.”

He pressed his lips to her hair. “Are you afraid of me?”

She hesitated. She wasn’t sure how to answer that. The feel of his arms around her stirred powerful emotions, but fear wasn’t one of them.

He looked down, and for a long time, their eyes held.

“Yes,” she answered at last.

“Why?”

“Because part of me wants to unfeel the things I’m feeling for you.”

She was half expecting him to ask her what the other part wanted—which is what Flint would have done—but he didn’t.

BOOK: It Wakes in Me

4.85Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub

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