Authors: Sharon Sala
The Warrior (22 page)
Richard felt sick and, for the first time, ashamed. He'd left Jacob behind, and this was what had happened. Everything was coming undone, and it was all Alicia's fault. If she had just listened, he could have made her understand. She didn't know what it was like to be poorâto be laughed at for the way you looked and the way you lived. He'd given her everything, and this was how she'd repaid him. Poor Jacob.
He swallowed past the knot in his throat and then took a deep breath. This only reinforced his intent. If it took the rest of his life, he was going to find Alicia. He wanted to hear her beg. He wanted her to admit she was wrong. And then he would render his own brand of justice.
“Get a pen and paper,” he ordered.
“Okay, boss, just a minute,” Dieter said, and began digging through his pockets.
Richard waited, thinking about what had to be done, and remembering where and how he'd learned it. Growing up on an Iowa hog farm, he'd watched his father sort through the new litters, culling out the sickly and deformed. He'd always claimed it was for the best, that only the strongest should survive. And no matter how distasteful a task it had been, he'd made Richard help him throw them into the boar's pen to be eaten alive. Always for the best, his father had said. Always for the best.
And now Richard had fathered an imperfect daughter, one who did not know the meaning of familial loyalty. One who was faulty, imperfect in Richard's eyes. Letting her get away with destroying him wasn't an option. But he had to do this the right way, and with Dieter's help, he wouldâas alwaysâsucceed.
“Okay, boss, I'm ready,” Dieter said.
“Perfect,” Richard said. “Here's what I want you to do first.”
Dieter listened carefully, then began to write.
A
licia wasn't present anymore. Her body was right where John had put it, but who she was had gone into hiding, just as her father had done. The allergic reaction to the scorpion's sting had been the last shock she'd been able to take. She did not react to stimuli or sound or hunger. It had been twelve hours since the incident, but it might as well have been an eternity. She had no concept of the past or her present. She'd gone AWOL in the most literal sense, and the only person left on this earth who cared was her father's worst enemy.
The whale sounded, spewing through its blowhole in a most spectacular way. The village children shrieked and pointed, laughing and squealing, then mimicking the action by spewing water at each other.
White Fawn watched the children's antics from her seat by the fire, all the while making sure the fish she was smoking wasn't too close to the
flames. It was a constant heartache that she had not been able to give Night Walker any sons of his own. Every warrior wanted sons, but because of her, he had none. Despite the fact that he had never blamed her, or berated her for her failure, she felt the shame.
A spark popped out of the fire and onto her moccasin. She sighed as she absently brushed it away, unaware that her husband was watching her from the other side of the clearing.
He knew his woman as he knew himself. She was gentle to a fault, loving to all in the village, and held in high esteem for her sewing skills. Of all the warriors in the village, Night Walker's ceremonial garments were always the most striking. The skills with which she utilized porcupine quills, delicate shells and the tiny beads she fashioned from animal bones was unlike any other's. He loved her more than his own life and grieved for her sadness in her inability to bear a child. But he would not trade a night in her arms for a dozen sons. She was the reason he drew breath, the single thing that gave his life joy. He shook off the moment of contemplation as he continued readying for the hunt, and was about to leave with the other men who were gathering when he saw her throw her head back and laugh.
The sound pierced the sadness within him, causing him to look for the source of her joy. Then he saw that a young puppy, one of the village dogs, had stolen a huge bone from one of the older dogs that had wandered off to sleep. The puppy
was trying to run with the big bone in its little mouth. But every time the puppy tried to run forward, the bone slipped and jammed itself into the ground, throwing the puppy backward to the point that it was losing more ground than it was gaining.
He grinned. It was a funny sight. But it was the smile on White Fawn's face that brought the joy to his heart. One of the other warriors called out to him. He was turning to leave when suddenly a gust of wind rose out of nowhere and blew smoke into his line of vision. He waited for it to pass, but it only seemed to grow thicker. He tried to step out of it, but everywhere he walked, it was there. He couldn't see White Fawn any longer, or anyone in the village, but he could still hear her voiceâonly she was no longer laughing. She was crying and calling his name. Even though he couldn't see where he was going, he began to run. But the faster he ran, the thicker the smoke became, and no matter how fast he moved, he couldn't seem to find his way out. Suddenly a huge gust of wind blew again, clearing the vista before him. In that moment, he felt a piece of himself die.
She was gone. The village was gone. The children, the puppy with the boneâ¦gone. Night Walker was alone. Fear spread through him like a wave washing onto the shore, enveloping him in devastation. He turned in a circle, searching for a signâpraying that this was only a bad dream from which he would wake. He began shouting her
name, calling for White Fawn over and over, until nothing came out but a scream.
The scream that came out of John's own mouth was what woke him. He was out of his bed and halfway down the hall, stark naked, before he realized he'd been dreamingâbefore he remembered that he could run for eternity and never find her. He was now the lost one.
He reached for the wall to steady himself, and as he did, he heard a sound behind him.
He spun.
She was standing a few feet away, as naked as he was, a dark silhouette in an even darker hall.
His heart hit a beat so hard that he lost his breath.
“John? What's wrong?”
He exhaled a slow, shaky breath. At least one woman had returned to the land of the living. He moved toward her on bare feet, wanting to test the temperature of her skin, anxious to reassure himself that this wasn't just another dream.
He slipped his hands beneath the thick fall of her hair, pulling it away from her face and then cupping the back of her neck.
“Soâ¦you decided to come back,” he said softly.
The touch of his hands on her bare body was disturbing enough, but it was the tone of his voice that drew her in.
“What do you meanâ¦I came back? I didn't go anywhere.”
Despite the fact that they were both without clothing, he pulled her into his arms. For a moment he allowed
himself the luxury of the embrace, laying his cheek against her hair, then rubbing her back with slow, sensuous strokes.
“You went far, far away, Alicia. I didn't think you were coming back. I thought you would die.”
Die? If he didn't turn her loose, she thought, she might die from a sudden attack of lust. Other than that, she didn't know what he was talking about.
Suddenly she remembered. “The scorpion!”
He nodded as he swept his fingers along the curve of her face and neck, feeling for signs of fever. There were none.
“I'm allergic,” she said.
“Now you tell me,” John said.
“How did youâ”
“Don't ask,” he said. “You wouldn't believe me anyway. Suffice it to say you scared the hell out of me.”
“I seriously doubt that,” she said, and then suddenly felt embarrassed, so she crossed her arms over her breasts in an effort to cover them.
“Are you okay? Are you hungry? Thirsty? I canâ”
Alicia shook her head. “I'm okay. I feel sort of weird, but I'm okay.”
John took her by the arm and led her back into her bedroom. “You need to lie down. I know you're still shaky, even if you won't admit it. You've been unconscious for over twelve hours.”
Alicia let herself be tucked back into bed and then watched him as he moved around the room, fussing with her covers, adjusting the flow of the air conditioner, refilling her glass with water, until he was making her nuts.
“You aren't wearing any clothes,” she muttered.
He was standing at the foot of her bed when she made her announcement.
“Neither are you.”
Alicia decided to change the subject. “Why were you calling?”
“I justâ¦I had a bad dream, that's all.”
Alicia frowned, then shook her head. “I think I was dreaming before, too. What was yours about?”
He didn't try to explain himself. There was never a way to explain. But he was grateful for the sound of her voice as he listened to her talk, feeling thankful that she hadn't given up on living after all.
“You know how goofy dreams can be,” Alicia said. “They always seem so real and logical while you're in themâ¦but when you wake up, nothing about them makes sense.” She put her hands beneath her head and then shifted to a more comfortable spot. “This one felt so real. I was sitting by a fire, cooking fish.” She laughed once, so softly he almost didn't hear it. “Which proves it was a dream, because we both know I can't cook.”
John was too shocked to speak. He kept staring at her face, watching the words come out of her mouth and telling himself that what she was saying meant nothing.
“In the dream, a puppy was playing with a bone that was too big for him, and I was laughing so hard. Then I heard you shouting. I called back, telling you that I was right there. But you kept shouting and shouting, as if you couldn't see or hear me. So I began to get up from the fire to go see what you wanted, but it felt like my legs wouldn't work.”
John shuddered. He wanted her to stop talking. He couldn't think about this. She didn't belong in his dreams. They were all he had left.
“Finally, I managed to get up from the fire, and when I did, the dream was gone and it was just me getting up out of bed. You ran past my room shouting my name. So I came out to see what was wrong.”
“You heard meâ¦calling your name?”
She nodded.
“
Your
name?”
Alicia frowned, then suddenly pushed back the covers and sat up, unconscious of the fact that she'd just bared herself to him again.
“No. No. Actually, that wasn't what you were saying.” She shoved her fingers through her hair, wishing for something to tie it back, because it was hot against her neck. “I guess I must have still been half-asleep when I got out of bed. You were calling a name, but not mine. I guess I got confused because it was me you were calling for in the dream. The dream me, not me in this bed. I told you dreams were crazy.”
John needed to walk out of the room right now, but he couldn't leave without knowing.
“What do you mean, it was you in the dream, not you in the bed?”
She laughed.
His fingers curled around the bedposts. Their laughter was nothing alike. This meant nothing. He was making a big deal out of nothing.
“That did sound crazy, didn't it?” Alicia said. “What I meant wasâ¦in the dream, I wasn't me. My name wasn't Alicia. That's what I meant.”
“What was your name?”
“Oh, something Indian. It's probably because of you and all the stuff in your house.”
Something Indian.
Okay,
he told himself.
Let it go. Don't push. It doesn't mean anything. It can't. Yeah, right. Then why was she dreaming my dream?
Even while John was giving himself the big let-it-go speech, his mouth was opening and the words were coming right on out.
“Exactly what âsomething Indian' are we talking about?” he asked.
“I'm sorry. I didn't mean for that to sound condescending, I swear,” Alicia said.
“Alicia, I'm very glad you're no longer unconscious. And I'm very glad that you didn't die. But I swear to your God, that if you don't answer my question, I am going toâ”
Alicia threw up her hands. “White Fawn. For pity's sakeâ¦my name was White Fawn. Now go on. Laugh yourself silly. I know that sounds like a Hollywood version of the traditional Indian maiden bit, but I didn't make it up. In my dream, that was my name.”
John reeled as if he'd been slapped, then backed away from her bed as if she'd turned into a witch.
“Go to sleep,” he said.
She flopped back down and pulled up the covers, grumbling beneath her breath.
“Happy to oblige. But if you want people to be quiet, you need to look to yourself first. Running naked all over the place and yelling out crazy names.”
John pulled himself together by sheer will and was almost out the door when she spoke again.
“Hey! Wait a minute!” she called. “Why were you shouting that name out in the hall?”
“I told youâ¦I was having a bad dream,” he said. “Go back to sleep.”
Alicia frowned. “You were dreaming about a woman named White Fawn? The same woman
I
was dreaming about?”
He sighed. “Yes.”
“That's a little weird,” she said.
“Not to me,” he replied.
“But⦔
John gritted his teeth. “In the name of all that's holy, womanâ¦let it go.”
“Who is White Fawn?” Alicia pressed.
He looked away, wanting her to shut up and knowing she wouldn't until she got an answer. “The woman in the paintingâ¦She's the woman in the painting.”
“But I thought that woman was yourâ”
One minute John Nightwalker had been in her doorway, and now he was gone. Alicia frowned. “For pity's sake,” she complained. “You want all your questions answered ASAP, but just let me ask a question, and you go and pull the silent act on me. Fine.”
She lay down again and pulled the covers back up, still fuming about the way he'd made his exit when it hit her. Yes, she'd seen the painting, but she hadn't known the woman's name. So how had she stumbled on that exact name in her dream?
She rolled over onto her side and closed her eyes. It was stupid trying to make sense of a dream. Besides, she'd probably heard him say the name before and just forgotten. Within a few minutes, she had fallen back to sleep.
For John, sleep was over.
As Alicia slept, he put on a pair of sweats and went into the kitchen. It was almost four in the morning. Might as well make some coffee.
