WINDWALKER (THE PROPHECY SERIES) (11 page)

Chapter Seven

Once again, Layla and Niyol were speeding through the gorge, racing against time for a safe place to hide. All of a sudden, Niyol turned the motorcycle into a spin and braked, nearly throwing her off.

“What are you doing?” she screamed.

He pointed up.

The plane was just a tiny speck in the sky, but it was visible and coming their way.

“Oh no, no, no.”

She grabbed Niyol’s shoulders and shook him. “Don’t stop! Go! Go!”

The engine was still idling as he dropped the kickstand and got off the bike. He yanked off one of the bedrolls and when he untied it, the bow and the quiver of arrows fell out.

Layla jumped off the bike. “Are you crazy? You can’t shoot down a plane with a bow and arrow?”

“But you can,” Niyol said.

Layla stared at him. “I’m not the one with magic,” she muttered.

“But you are. You just haven’t accepted it yet,” he said, and handed her the bow. “Get your arrows, Singing Bird. It’s time to step into your own.”

Layla was shaking so hard she was sick to her stomach.

“I can’t shoot down a plane. You turn the wind into a storm and knock it out of the sky.”

Niyol stopped. “No. This is your task. Look at me!”

She looked straight into his eyes. She tried to look away, but she could not. Something was happening inside her head. She was seeing things and hearing voices chanting, and once again, in words she didn’t understand.

They stopped as suddenly as they began. As always when she felt his magic, she staggered, like someone had almost pulled a rug out from under her feet. She dropped the backpack from her shoulders and replaced it with the quiver of arrows.

“Move out into that open space,” Niyol said, pointing to the widest part of the gorge. “He will come low to verify it is you. Aim at the bottom where you think he would be sitting.”

“I can’t shoot an arrow that hard or that far,” she said.

“You can now,” Niyol said. “Go now, and hurry. He is already descending.”

“Whatever,” she muttered, and held tight to the bow as she moved in long, angry strides, pissed that this was happening, and beyond pissed that she’d become the target for a variety of fools.

****

Maurice was smiling as he came in low. This was exactly what he’d hoped would happen. The first pass had scared them out of hiding, and the second pass would be a verification of target. After that, all he had to do was follow overhead until they got to a place in the gorge wide enough for him to land. The plane was rigged for crop dusting. He would spray them with a little of his special concoction and they would be flat on their ass unconscious in seconds. Then he could land, load up the woman, and fly out the same way he’d come in. Her guard, whoever he was, would wake up with a headache, but by then they’d be gone, and he would be five million dollars to the good and ready to begin a well-deserved retirement.

When he saw the motorcycle go into a spin, he thought they were about to wreck. He cursed anxiously. His fee depended on a living breathing woman, not a body. But to his surprise, they dismounted on the run.

“What the hell?” he muttered, watching as they suddenly separated.

The woman was running out into the middle of the gorge, and the closer he got, the clearer it became what she was about to do. He had to give it to her. She wasn’t going down without a fight, but she damn sure needed to update her arsenal with some twenty-first century weapons, not the wild-west bow and arrow he saw in her hands.

He waggled his wings at her as he swooped down. He knew it was a taunt, but even from up this high he could see she was a tasty piece of tail. She was stripped down to what looked like a bra and long pants and had her hair in a braid. All she needed was a horse between her legs and a feather in her hair.

He was less than a hundred yards from where she stood when he saw her notch the arrow. He laughed as he swooped down, intending to knock her on her pretty ass.

“Give it your best shot, Pocahontas, because you’re already mine. You just don’t know it yet.”

He didn’t see the arrow fly, but he heard a scrunch of metal as it tore through the plane’s belly. When it shot up through the floor into his thigh, he was so startled by the sight that for a second, he didn’t feel the pain. And then it hit him in a hot, searing jolt, ripping through his brain and out his mouth in a high-pitched scream.

He was reaching for the arrow when the plane went into a dive. He’d fallen forward on the controls, and by the time he saw it, he was only seconds away from impact.

“Well fuck.”

****

Layla saw the arrow pierce the shell of the plane as he flew over her head, and spun on her heel to see what happened next.

The plane wobbled, then went into a dive so fast that she didn’t have time to run. She knew it was going to explode and she was going to get burned. In a frantic effort to save herself she fell down on her belly with her arms over her head, and prayed for a miracle.

The plane went nose first into the narrow ribbon of water running through the gorge, shaking the ground beneath on impact. The air above her turned into an inferno as the plane exploded, and yet Layla never felt the heat.

When she looked up, Niyol was at her side and pulling her to her feet. She looked over his shoulder in disbelief.

The fifty-foot flames still burning had incinerated the plane and pilot upon impact.

“What happened?”

“You happened,” he said.

“But how?”

“Your aim is true. Your heart is pure. You have work yet to be done.”

“What did you do to me?” she whispered.

“It does not matter. Just know that your arrow will never miss a target again, your life will not be taken, and your journey has just begun.”

Layla wanted to cry. This was happening too fast. She was losing herself and she didn’t know how to stop it. Fear choked any words she might have spoken as she picked up the bow and quiver of arrows, but by the time they were in her grasp, the emotion had passed.

“Is this all that will come?” she asked.

“No.”

A muscle jerked at the side of her jaw. “Then take me somewhere safe, at least for tonight.”

He led her back to the still idling motorcycle. She handed him the weapons, which he rolled up in the blanket, picked up her backpack as he handed her the helmet. She tossed it right back out into the sand.

“I do not need it. I cannot die.”

He laughed. Humans were funny, even at the strangest of times.

“That’s not exactly true.”

“As long as you’re with me, it is. I thought that I would die and I didn’t. I need to feel the wind on my face.”

He toed the kickstand up and revved the engine. They raced past the burning plane without a glance and rode until sunset was only minutes away.

Layla was worrying about camping out in the open in the dark when he heard her thoughts.

Not in the open. With the Old Ones.

She couldn’t see over his shoulders and had to bide her time to see where he was taking her. When she began hearing drums again and saw ruins up against the canyon walls, she realized where they were. The Anasazi ruins – where an entire civilization had disappeared without a trace.

They are
not lost.

Then where did they go?

He didn’t answer, but the drums were loud in her ears as the bike rolled to a stop. She got off, and then helped him push it up against the wall of the canyon.

“We make camp here,” he said, and began carrying their bedrolls inside the nearest crumbling structure.

“Why go inside? There are only two crumbling walls left and no roof.”

He sighed. “Come inside before the last light is gone. They are waiting.”

“Who’s waiting?” she asked, but he didn’t answer.

She trailed him past the broken doorway without comment, and dropped her backpack into the dirt.

“I’ll see if I can find some wood,” she said.

He stopped her with a look. “There will be fire. There will be food.” He pointed. “We are their guests tonight.”

Layla stifled the scream at the back of her throat. They hadn’t been there before, but now there were two men standing but a few feet away, watching. One beckoned her to sit. Layla dropped where she stood, too shocked to do less than was asked.

All of a sudden there was a fire between them, and then Niyol was sitting cross-legged on the ground beside her.

“They have food. Eat what they give you.”

One man came toward her and yet his feet never moved. When he stopped to lay food in her hands, she looked up to say thank you, only to realize she could see stars where his eyes should have been.

He wasn’t real, and yet the food in her hands was hot. She looked at Niyol for answers, but he was already eating, scooping up a big bite with his fingers. She did the same, and although she didn’t recognize the dish, the taste was familiar. Something made of masa… ground corn… and something stirred in it, something small and sweet.

It is a berry. They do not grow here.

Layla ate until the bowl was empty. The other man came toward them, carrying tortoise shells filled with water. She didn’t look up, but said thank you when he put it in her hands, and felt the night wind suddenly surround her in a circular breeze.

“Am I dreaming?” she whispered.

Niyol looked at her. “Do you want to?”

“Will I get answers?”

“You have asked no questions.”

She sighed.

Niyol took the shell from her hands and laid it by the fire, then led her over to her bedroll.

“Go to sleep without worry. They will stand watch.”

Layla looked toward the broken doorway again. A half dozen armed warriors stood between them and the night, and the drums were still beating in rhythm to her heartbeat. She rolled over into Niyol’s arms, laid her head on his chest and closed her eyes.

When she opened them next, it was morning.

****

Washington D.C.

Emile Harper had a location, and thanks to an earth orbiting military satellite, he also had a photo of Layla Birdsong and the man with her that was clear and suitable for framing.

He was getting pressure to escalate this and didn’t understand why. It was making him antsy, like the people in the White House inner circle knew something he didn’t. With his security clearance, he should be briefed on whatever they knew. It was time to get serious with his superiors. Make them understand that the only way they were going to get to this woman was by flying onto the reservation and taking her by force, which would cause an incident of epic proportions between Uncle Sam and the BIA.

He wanted to talk to Lydia Foster one more time and see if there was anything she could add to the situation that might help, and was pouring another cup of coffee as he made the call.

“Professor Foster’s office, Becky speaking.”

“I need to speak with Lydia. Could you put me through? Tell her Emile Harper is calling.”

“I’m sorry Mr. Harper, but Professor Foster has taken a leave of absence.”

He frowned. “We spoke just the other day and she said nothing about this.”

“It was a surprise to everyone. She came in the other morning, turned in her request to the Administrator and left. She didn’t even wait to see if he would grant it. We had to scramble some to find a substitute for her classes at the university, as well.”

“Do you have a number where she can be reached?” he asked.

“Only her cell phone, but she wasn’t answering. We didn’t realize until yesterday that it’s here in her desk. She didn’t even take it with her.”

The hair rose on the back of Harper’s neck. “I see. Well, thank you for the information.”

“You’re welcome. Have a nice day,” she said, and disconnected.

Emile heard the click and felt like someone had pulled down the shades, as well. What the fuck was happening here?

He hung up and strode out of his office. He knew everything the CIA knew, but there was one person more informed in international info than he was and that was the President. He needed a one-on-one and he needed it now.

****

Emile missed lunch and he wasn’t so sure but what he was going to miss dinner tonight as well. Not only had the President ordered him to find Layla Birdsong and bring her in for questioning, but had also okayed the mission to send in a Blackhawk. They were referring to the soldiers as a retrieval team, but they were going in with assault weapons, which was insane.

Without actually saying the words, Harper realized the President was acting on something less than factual information. He believed there was an imminent physical threat to the country, and he believed Layla Birdsong had information pertaining to their safety. This puzzled Harper, because he was the head of Foreign Intelligence and was unaware of any such issue. It wasn’t until the President’s Chief of Staff was walking him out that he began to understand what was going on.

****

“Hey, Will, thanks for getting me in to the see the President in such a pinch,” Emile said.

William Schulter’s position as Chief of Staff was an honored one, and one he’d been proud to hold. But there was something going on with the President that was freaking him out and anything he said could be construed as criticism – even treason. However, at the moment, it was his honest opinion that the President had lost his fucking mind and he needed to tell someone. Harper was the nearest man he thought he could trust.

“So, Harper… what’s your read on this Birdsong woman? Do you think something paranormal is going on with her?”

Harper frowned. “Personally, no, because I don’t believe in that stuff, but I know people who do and they’re convinced that whatever saved her from the gang is not of this world.”

Harper laughed then; slightly embarrassed he’d even said that aloud. It took a few moments for him to realize Schulter wasn’t laughing with him.