Witch Dance (33 page)

“We won’t speak of this again.” Eagle’s face was tragic, his eyes shattered, as if a giant hand had smashed all the light from them.

“No,” she said, for no amount of argument and pleas would get him to turn his face from fate. Moving with purpose, she put her hands on either side of his face. “Come inside, where it’s warm.”

He was in her before the tent flap closed behind them. With her arms and legs wrapped around him and the snow from his clothing melting on her skin, she knew that whatever happened, she would have this—a wild winter mating on a desolate mountaintop that would sustain her for years to come, just as their summer affair of five years past had sustained her.

“Make me fly, Eagle,” she whispered.

“
Waka
,
Wictonaye
.
Waka
.”

 o0o

High above them, hidden by trees and boulders, the avenger arose naked from his tent. Leaving behind the steaming rocks that purified him, he dressed in buckskins and carefully painted his face. With the clay streaked on his nose and cheeks and forehead, he was as fierce as the bear, as agile as the panther, and as cunning as the fox, for he knew he must be all three in order to subdue the eagle.

He filled his war pipe with sumac leaves and tobacco, lighted it, and drew it deep into his lungs. The smoke circled his head, and the power of the warrior filled his body. When he had finished, he set the pipe aside and ate a sumptuous feast, one he had prepared with great care and hauled up the treacherous face of the mountain.

By the time the war feast was finished, the moon had risen. The avenger’s long knife glittered in the dark, brighter than the stars that studded the black sky. He swung it in a huge arc then lunged at the war pole. Metal clanged against wood, and a chunk of red fell to the snow and lay there like blood. Again and again he lunged, until sweat poured off his face and the pole was riddled with gouges.

The imaginary song of women rose up to cheer his victory. Bowing deeply to his audience, the avenger sheathed his long knife then began a slow circle around the pole, taking up the victory song. The circles became tighter and faster and the song louder, until the night was filled with the chant of war.

 o0o

Kate slept curved against him, exhausted from three days of tension and lovemaking. With her hair spread across his naked chest and her lips pressed against his neck, he watched the first pale light of dawn filter around the tent flap.

It was time. The enemy would be waiting for him, honed to the sharpness of a steel blade by three days of preparation . . . and armed to kill.

Gently he disentangled Kate. Softly he kissed her cheek and covered her. She would be safe. The red war pole had made it perfectly clear what the order of battle would be. First Eagle, then Kate.

He dressed lightly so clothes would not impede him. His knife lay beside their pallet, its blade catching a shaft of light. As Eagle took the knife up, he remembered the first one he’d owned, a twin to Cole’s, and how they’d raced around their backyard, whooping and fending off the imaginary hordes that attacked them, and how, later, they’d tumbled in a heap in the sunshine, laughing.

The sun would not shine on them today, and there would be no laughter. Quietly he slipped from the tent, going to meet his enemy.

His brother.

 o0o

Cole stood on a bluff overlooking the Blue River, his feet planted wide apart, his painted face fierce, and his arms uplifted to the rising sun. He didn’t have to turn around to know his brother was there; he felt it in his bones. It was as if the other half of himself had crawled beneath his skin.

“You’ve come,” he said, turning.

“Yes. You knew I would.”

Eagle was not painted for battle, and yet Cole knew he was ready. There was tension in the way he stood, raw strength held in check by the sheer force of his will.

“It will be like old times,” Cole said. “Just the two of us.”

“No, Cole. Not like old times.” A sadness fell over Eagle as he held out his hand. “Come back with me. It’s not too late.”

“Never.”

“I’ll help you.” Eagle moved closer. “Please let me help you, Cole.”

Cole threw back his head, and the canyon walls tossed his laughter back into his face.

“Traitor! You with your white witch whore. Would you help me face a white man’s justice, a white man’s jail? I’d rather die!”

As swift as the eagle that circled the bluff, Cole’s twin moved in on him. Exultation filled Cole, and beyond the horizon he saw the white buffalo thundering upward toward the rising sun. It burned a white hole in the sky, and the whiteness spread until it surrounded Cole, bathing him in purity and righteousness. And out of the great burning center came the voices of his children, crying to him for vengeance.

His knife arced upward as he pulled it from his sheath, and the sun glinted against the long blade. Soon it would be red with his brother’s blood, and then the white witch would die and his children would cry no more.

 o0o

Kate jarred awake and sat bolt upright. Eagle’s side of the pallet was empty. Panic pushed at her chest. He would never have left her without a word except for one reason: he had gone to do battle with the avenger.

“Eagle,” she called, knowing there would be no answer.

Her hands shook as she threw on her clothes. Scrambling on hands and knees, she looked outside the tent. Eagle had made no attempt to cover his tracks. She grabbed her gun and followed them, running. Snow sucked at her boots and cold winds burned her lungs.

Overhead, an eagle screamed at her, and voices drifted down from the bluff above.

“I won’t fight you, Cole.”

“Fight, damn you. Fight like a Chickasaw.”

“
Eagle
!” she screamed.

Her feet slipped in the snow, and terror gripped her as she clawed her way up the side of the bluff.

“Stay back, Kate! Don’t come any closer.”

“
Fight!
Fight for the witch woman!
”

Kate topped the bluff just as Cole’s blade flashed toward Eagle’s throat. He sidestepped and saw her, crouching with the gun in her hand.

“Kate! No!”

Cole took advantage of the diversion, and in one swift move he had Eagle on the ground, the long blade at his throat.

“You’re too easy, brother. Has the witch woman stolen your powers?”

Kate leveled her gun at his back, but her hands were shaking so badly, she couldn’t hold it still. What if he moved suddenly and she killed Eagle? What if she didn’t miss and killed Eagle’s brother?

Eagle caught Cole’s wrist and forced the knife away. Panting, they struggled. The brothers were evenly matched, and it seemed they might stay on the bluff forever, locked in mortal combat.

Holding back her screams, Kate lowered her gun and leaned against a rock, sick with fear and regret. She’d set brother against brother.

With a mighty heave Eagle shoved Cole aside then rolled into a crouch, his knife still sheathed. Cole glanced from his brother to his brother’s woman. His blade made slow, menacing circles in the air.

“Who will it be, Eagle? You or the witch woman?”

Kate hardly saw the movement of Eagle’s hand, but suddenly his blade flashed in the sun. Cole lunged at him. Steel clashed against steel.

She couldn’t watch, and yet she dared not turn away. Kate covered her mouth with her hands. But some small sound must have escaped, for Eagle turned toward her, leaving himself vulnerable.

Cole’s knife slashed his buckskin shirt, and the blood bloomed from his chest.

“
No!
” Kate screamed. “
Stop it!
”

With terrible face and eyes Eagle lifted his knife and scored along the side of his brother’s cheek. Cole’s laughter filled the canyon, and Kate covered her ears against its madness.

Their battle raged while the sun climbed upward, and slowly it brought them to the edge of the cliff.

“Give up,” Eagle said.

“Never.”

“You can’t win against me.”

The truth was so obvious that even Cole could see. Panting, he lowered his knife. Fierce and protective love glittered in Eagle’s face as he held out his hand.

“Come with me. I’ll get help for you.”

For a moment the madness left Cole’s eyes.

“Come,” Eagle said once more, softly.

“To live forever in a place that has no sun? Kill me,” he begged. “Put your knife to my throat and let me die with honor.”

Wind and snow swirled around them as the brothers faced each other.

“Are you a coward?” Cole screamed. “
Kill me
.”

An eagle soared above them, its screams echoing Cole’s. Eagle’s hand tightened on his knife. Anguish filled his face as he hesitated. Then slowly, ever so slowly, he lifted the blade.

“No!” Kate screamed. “Don’t let him do this to you.”

Cole turned toward Kate, and for a moment she saw the kindhearted, loving man who had once been her friend and her champion.

“I never meant to do harm,” he whispered. His eyes swung back to his brother. “I love you . . .” He took one backward step. “
Eagle!
”

His plaintive cry echoed off the canyon walls. For an instant, shock and horror held Kate in place, and then she was running, running toward Eagle and wrapping her arms around his chest.

Together they looked over the precipice. Cole lay at the bottom of the ravine, his neck at a crazy angle and his left leg folded underneath his broken body. Already the falling snow was beginning to cover him.

“It’s over,” Eagle said.

His face was terrible as he led her away, as frozen as the blanket of ice that would soon cover his brother.

“Yes, it’s over,” she said, knowing it was so, for Cole would always be between them, lying at the bottom of the ravine.

Chapter 36

Martin Black Elk twirled his pencil in his hand as he listened to the governor’s story.

“You have proof of all this?”

“None,” Eagle said. “Only suspicions.”

“Did Cole confess to Deborah’s murder? Did he confess to ransacking Kate’s house and burning her clinic?”

“No.”

“Then I have nothing to go on.”

Black Elk picked up Deborah Lightfoot’s file and scrawled “Unsolved” across the front.

“What about her family?”

“Her father doesn’t even know she’s dead, and if her brother is capable of grief at all, it’s enough without wondering whether a dead man killed his sister.” Black Elk put a hand on Eagle’s shoulder. “I’m sorry about your brother. I can’t make any promises, but we can try to retrieve the body.”

“No. He belongs to the mountains. That’s the way he would have wanted it.”

o0o

Anna couldn’t grieve for Cole. When her children had died, she’d wept for days, weeks, but she had no tears for the man who had died on the mountain.

An accident, Eagle had said. Was it only two weeks ago? Cole had slipped and fallen into the ravine while he was hunting.

At odd moments she thought about how it must have been, about the surprised look on his face when he tumbled to the rocks. Had he called her name? Had he thought of her at all?

Sweat broke out on her forehead, and she rushed to the bathroom, sick. She closed the door so the rest of Eagle’s office staff couldn’t hear. Holding the sides of the commode, she lost her breakfast.

When she washed her face, she saw herself in the mirror, gaunt, hollow-eyed, somebody she didn’t even know. A wave of nausea overtook her again, and she bent like a willow sapling and leaned her forehead against the cool washbasin.

Was this her body’s way of grieving for Cole? Suddenly she remembered him as he had been the last time he’d held her—tender, virile, loving. And she knew the truth.

She found Eagle in his office. Every time she looked at him, she remembered the way Cole had once been.

“Anna, come in.” His smile didn’t touch his eyes. He had been that way since the day he’d returned from the mountain.

“I need the rest of the day off, Eagle.”

“Take as much time as you need, Anna. Is it anything I can help you with?”

He’d been a rock for her, settling Cole’s financial affairs, arranging memorial services, seeing that the ranch continued to run smoothly. Like Anna, he’d shed no tears. But in unguarded moments she could see the grief etched in his face.

“Not this time. This is something I must do alone.”

Anna drove carefully, avoiding the ice patches on the road. The sign on the clinic door said CLOSED. Anna knocked on the door anyway, and when she got no answer, she tapped on the windows.

“Anna?” Kate came from the direction of the stables. Bits of hay clung to her parka and her tumbled red hair. “I’m sorry I was saddling Mahli and didn’t hear you.” She folded Anna in her embrace, then stood back to gaze at her. “How are you?”

“I’m pregnant.”

“You’re sure?”

“Yes, I’m sure. I’ve counted back. Nine weeks.”

“Come inside and let me make you a cup of tea.”

Kate’s kitchen was cozy and cheerful. A bouquet of dried paintbrush stood in a pottery pitcher and a small flower-garden quilt was tossed across the back of an antique wooden bench. Anna sat on the bench and folded her hands, waiting.

“I’m sorry I didn’t come to the memorial services, Anna. But I thought it best, under the circumstances.”

“Yes. It was best.”

Kate sat beside her and handed her the tea. Steam rose from the cup and warmed Anna’s cold face.

“I need your help, Kate,” she said.

“I’ll help you any way I can. You know that.”

“I want an abortion.”

Kate set her cup on the table and walked to the kitchen window. Outside, the winds howled against the eaves. Rigid, she watched the snow blowing across the road, and when she finally turned around, there were tears on her cheeks.

“I won’t abort your baby, Anna.”

“You said you would help!”

“I will . . . but not that way.” She sat on the bench and took Anna’s hand. “Have you thought this through? Do you know the psychological damage you’ll inflict on yourself if you do this thing?”