Warrior's Embrace (63 page)

But Eagle knew there was no mercy. Sometimes
there was not even justice. There was only courage.

“Your family needs you,” he said.

“Go to hell.” His brother didn’t even turn
around.

“You’re a coward, Cole.” Leaving his place by
the stall, Eagle towered over his brother with his hands balled
into fists. “You’re a yellow-bellied coward!”

Cole launched himself upon his brother. His
fists were hard and deadly. Eagle let himself become a punching
bag, taking blow after blow in the stomach without flinching.

“Take that back.”

“
Imilha
!” Eagle said. “Coward!”

Grunting with effort, Cole swung repeatedly,
until finally he sagged. Eagle wrapped his arms around his brother,
and together they fell upon the hay. Lying side by side, staring up
at the silver sunlight sliding through the barn’s rafters, the
brothers drifted backward to a time when they could bend over the
creek and see their twin reflections in the sweet water singing
over the rocks, a time when dreams were as high and bright as the
kites they flew on the March wind.

“Remember that dog I had?” Cole said.
“Sally?”

“Sally was mine.”

“Ours.”

“She was the best squirrel dog in Witch
Dance.”

“They don’t breed squirrel dogs like that
anymore.”

“No. They don’t.”

“Bucky loved dogs.” Cole began to cry.

Eagle comforted his brother as if he were a
child, and Cole’s tears wet the front of his shirt. When the
racking sobs ended, Eagle pulled him to his feet.

“There is a grief counselor in Ada you and
Anna should see, Cole.”

“No. No doctors.”

“Do it for Anna, Cole. I’m going in the house
and tell her to set up an appointment.” Eagle started toward the
barn door, then turned and held his hand out to his brother.
“Coming?”

“Not yet. But soon, Eagle. Soon.”

Eagle pulled his coat collar close as he
walked through the snow Lights beckoned from the windows of Cole’s
house, and inside he could see Anna, bent over her sewing with the
graceful sweep of her hair hiding her face.

What would he tell her about her husband?
That he didn’t want anybody’s help? That the dead were more
important to him than the living?

She looked up and smiled when he entered the
room. Eagle decided he would temper the truth with mercy.

o0o

When Kate saw the note slipped under her
clinic door, she recoiled. Instinctively she pulled her coat collar
close and swiveled her head, searching the area for intruders. It
was only five o’clock, and shadows still lay on the land.

Was that movement behind the silver maple on
the hillside? Kate shrank into the clinic doorway, partially
hidden. A flurry in the nearby treetop made her jump. Lifting her
gaze, she saw an owl climbing toward the rising sun, beating its
wings on the air.

“By all the saints, I’m going to have to do
better than this.”

If she didn’t get control of herself, she’d
be such a bundle of nerves that she’d be of no use as a doctor. She
took a deep, steadying breath, then bent and picked up the
note.

“Please help me, Doctor Kate. My husband
won’t let me bring Adam and Rachel to you. Come to them, please.
They are very sick from the Witch Creek. Marjorie Kent.”

Kate leaned against the door, weak. She’d
thought the war was over, but it seemed she’d won only the first
battle.

She grabbed her black bag and went into the
stable to saddle Mahli. The Kents lived in back country. Her car
would never get through the rough terrain, and her old mare would
be hard pressed to make it.

“It’s just you and me, old girl.” Kate rubbed
the mare’s velvety nose. “I hate to ask you to do this, pal, but
it’s the only way”

Mahli whinnied and tossed her mane. A
high-priced Thoroughbred would never have lasted as long as Mahli,
but she was a Chickasaw horse, built for endurance as well as
speed. Mahli’s speed was no longer anything to brag about, but she
would go until she dropped in her tracks.

Kate set a sedate pace, saving Mahli’s
strength for the rough terrain near the Kent place. Cold winds
whipped her hair and reddened her cheeks, but Kate was oblivious of
the weather. She was remembering summer winds and summer stars and
Eagle Mingo waiting on a rainbow-colored blanket.

You will come to me
, he’d said, and
she had, riding the back of her mare as pale as moonlight.

When Mahli was gone, her last fragile tie to
Eagle would be dead. Kate shivered, chilled to the bone by wind and
memories.

At the foot of the Arbuckle Mountains, Mahli
balked. The road leading upward was hardly more than a faint trail
through huge boulders and thick scrub brush.

“Come on, girl.” Leaning low, Kate rubbed
Mahli’s neck. “You can do it.”

Mahli started upward, gingerly finding her
footing among the rocks. Clouds obscured the sun, and thunder
rumbled like the distant beat of war drums. A flock of ravens,
black as night, rose upward, crying their discontent.

Mahli sidestepped, her ears flattened.
Shivers ran through Kate once more, and she glanced over her
shoulder. Was someone hiding behind the rocks, or was it merely a
shadow? Suddenly she wished she hadn’t come alone. There was
nothing for miles around except rocks and scrub brush and patches
of trees. She could vanish, and it would be days before anyone
found her.

Instinctively she reached toward the black
bag hanging from her saddle. It contained more than medical
supplies; inside was her .38 Smith and Wesson.

Behind the rocks, the man laughed without
sound. Did the white witch woman think he was afraid of her
gun?

Thunder crashed, closer now, and jagged
lightning streaked across a sky as gray as death. As the man lifted
his face upward, the awesome power of Father Sky filled him and a
vision of the sacred circle almost blinded him. First the darkness,
then the light. First the storm, then the calm. Out of the gray
skies would emerge a rainbow whose light would fall upon the land
until all the people knew, and knowing, they would remember, and
remembering, they would sing. Their songs would lift upward on the
wings of eagles, and bending down, he would hear them and be
blessed. He, the avenger.

Kate’s horse turned into the dark pathway of
trees, and the man knew where she was going. There was only one
family who lived at the end of that trail, and Kate Malone was
taking the long way around.

Clinging to the sheer face of huge rocks, the
man climbed. Almost, he could spread wings and fly like the
eagle.

Below him, the witch woman’s skin glowed in
the dark woods, as white as death.

o0o

Lacey Wainwright was fit to be tied. His
lawyer sat in a fat chair across from Lacey’s desk, talking nothing
but pure bullshit, and that rat-faced little pipsqueak he’d hired
to cover up all this mess was nowhere to be found.

He punched the intercom and bellowed to his
secretary, “Get Hal Lightfoot in here.”

“I’m sorry, sir. Hal is out.”

“Well, when he comes
in
, you tell
him his ass is fired.”

The overpriced lawyer cleared his throat and
adjusted his glasses. Paper-shuffling sonofabitch. Didn’t they ever
bring good news?

“Now, about this class action suit against
Witch Dance Tool and Die. The parents are charging wrongful death
as well as intentional infliction of emotional distress.”

“I’m not interested in what a bunch of
disgruntled Indians have to say. What I want to know is what you’re
going to do about it?” It was all that Kate Malone’s fault. If
she’d kept her nose out of his business, he’d be kicked back in his
chair right now, smoking a cigar and dreaming about a vacation to
the Bahamas. Hell, he’d even be willing to go to New Jersey.
Anywhere would be better than this stinking rat hole.

“I’m not certain you understand the
seriousness of this charge—”

“I don’t have to understand. That’s what I’m
paying you for. Now, what in the hell are you going to do about
it?”

“There is a procedure I will follow, of
course. I will put together an irrefutable body of evidence proving
that there was absolutely no intention on the part of Witch Dance
Tool and Die to dump toxic chemicals into Witch Creek.” The skinny
lawyer leaned toward Lacey with his squinty eyes watering. He
looked like a damned long-necked, nearsighted turkey. “You
do
have company policies listing correct methods of
disposal, don’t you?”

He had policies running out the wazoo, thanks
to that damned nosy governor. It had cost him a fortune to clean up
Witch Creek, and he’d had to put every damned move he made on
paper.

“Hal Lightfoot’s got all of that.”

“The man you just fired?”

“Don’t you know a joke when you hear one? Hal
Lightfoot is my right-hand man. When he gets back, he’ll explain
everything to you.”

Lacey clamped down on his cigar. Hal had
better explain everything. If he didn’t, he’d be back in the
basement so quick, his head would swim.

o0o

Marjorie Kent was a large woman with a sweet
smile, a tendency toward hives, and rheumatoid arthritis. Kate had
been treating her for three years, and now Marjorie stood in the
doorway, wringing her hands.

Kate looped Mahli’s bridle over the porch
railing.

“I thought I’d never get here. How are the
children, Marjorie?”

“I shouldn’t have asked you to come.”
Marjorie glanced anxiously over her shoulder.

“Nonsense. You know I’m always willing to
make a house call.” Kate unhooked her medical bag and strode toward
the porch steps. She was cold and glad to be out of the woods. The
smoke coming from Marjorie’s chimney was the best thing she’d seen
all day.

“Maybe it would be best if you just go on
back.”

“Marjorie, what’s wrong?”

Marjorie glanced over her shoulder once more,
and that’s when Kate heard it, the distinctive sound of the gourd
rattle.

“You called in the shaman?”

“No. My husband did.” Marjorie continued to
block the doorway. “The medicine man just arrived.”

“It’s all right, Marjorie.” Kate put a hand
on the woman’s arm. “The shaman and I understand each other. I’ll
cause no trouble.”

Reluctantly, the woman stood aside. The room
was dark and smoky, with all the blinds drawn and the ancient
chimney malfunctioning. Rachel and Adam lay on quilted pallets in
the middle of the floor, and Kate’s old nemesis danced slowly
around them, waving his rattle and chanting in a singsong
voice.

Even without checking, Kate knew that her
worst fears had come true: Witch Creek had not yet claimed all its
victims. Fever burned in the eyes of the children, and a faint
yellow cast tinged their skin.

She hoped it was not too late. Approaching
the shaman, she tried for the right combination of authority and
cooperation.

“I came to help,” she said.

The shaman continued to dance as if he had
not heard her.

“
Oo’ole
,” he chanted, invoking the
eagle to dart down as quick as lightning and hide his children in
the protective lee of his wings.

“I have powerful medicine,” Kate said,
refusing to give up.

The shaman was so old, the whites of his eyes
were yellow, and when he turned his face toward her, Kate had the
sensation of looking into the eyes of a snake. Pure venom radiated
from him.

She tightened her hold on her medicine bag.
The lives of children were at stake: She would not back down.

“For many years you have provided healing for
these people, but you are like the great oak tree whose dry leaves
rattle on dead branches. I am a sapling, strong and fresh, with new
ways of healing in my magic bag.” Kate entreated him with her right
hand extended, palm up. “Let the circle spin itself out to
completion.”

His eyes glittered with hatred and confusion
as he stopped his chanting. He glanced from Kate to Marjorie, then
lifted his face toward the ceiling and invoked his deity in a
tragic voice.

Chills ran along Kate’s spine. On the
pallets, the children drew rasping breaths. If they didn’t get help
soon, it would be too late for them.

But Kate dared not step into the shaman’s
sacred circle. Finally his terrible voice faded, and the old shaman
tucked his gourd rattle into the folds of his buffalo robe and
slipped out the door.

Kneeling beside the children, Kate said a
prayer to her own God that she would be equal to the task
ahead.

o0o

Hidden among the trees, the avenger saw her
leave. She’d been in the house a long time, and she was mounting
her white mare with the black medicine bag clutched in one
hand.

“It won’t be long now,” the man thought. Or
did he say it aloud? He must have, for the hawk circling above his
head suddenly darted upward.

The slow clip-clop of the horse’s hooves
echoed off the rocks. With her head slightly bent, the white witch
woman appeared drained of all energy. An overhanging tree branch
caught the sleeve of her coat, and she didn’t even brush it away,
but instead let it take hold and tug until the forward momentum of
her horse pulled her loose. Moving along on a parallel course high
above her, the avenger saw the ragged hole torn by the tree
limb.

A pity. He liked his opponent fiery, at the
top of her form.

Had the children died? Another sin to add to
the witch woman’s long list of transgressions.

Briefly the trees hid her, and then she came
into view once more, holding on to a saddle horn tilted slightly to
the left. The rocks beneath her horse’s hooves were cold and gray
and deadly. Kate swayed a little as the horse rounded a treacherous
curve.

Empowered, the avenger stood on the rocks and
lifted his hands toward the heavens. As if the Great Spirit had
been waiting for his signal, Mahli’s girth snapped.