The Man From Forever. Dawn Flindt

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ of the man. Out of the corner of her eye, she spotted distant Mount Shasta, the rising sun painting it gold and red. She became aware of closer landmarks, such as the rocky outcropping to her right, where armed Modocs had hidden while peace talks took place in the flimsy tent General Canby and the other peace commissioners had set up.

      The army’s headquarters, a hastily erected tent city, was several miles away. Even farther away was Captain Jack’s Stronghold. From what she understood, the site where she now stood had been chosen because it had been seen by both sides as a neutral location.

      But appearances were deceptive. The land lay in desolation all around her, perfect for friend and foe alike to conceal themselves while the principals argued and postured and tried to find grounds for compromise.

      It hadn’t worked. The Modocs, led by their chief, Captain Jack, and the young killer, Hooker Jim, had ambushed the whites. In a matter of minutes her great-great-grandfather and a minister had been murdered, and former Indian superintendent Alfred Meacham left for dead.

      Not sure of her emotions, Tory turned in a slow, contemplative circle, trying to imagine what the general had seen and felt during the last morning of his life. She couldn’t recall when she’d first heard of his role in history. As a child, she’d thought that being killed during an Indian war was a noble way to die. As she grew older, she occasionally thought of him with a sense of sadness because he hadn’t lived to see his grandchildren. But most of the time he never entered her mind. Standing here now, she knew he would always remain a part of her.

      Although she’d brought her camera with her, it dangled from her fingers. Taking a picture would reduce the experience to something one-dimensional when she wanted to keep her senses alive and alert.

      Once again she turned to take in her surroundings, this time not so she could gain a greater perspective on her ancestor, but because that feeling had returned.

      The wind blew across the grasses and flattened them until they reminded her of a vast gray carpet. Dark lava rocks punctured the carpet and created the only contrast in color. A faint gray haze coated the sky and made it difficult for her to gauge the height of the hills surrounding Canby’s Cross. Still, driven by something she didn’t quite understand, she imagined she could hear the impatient sounds of waiting horses, the clang of weapons, men’s angry or nervous voices.

      And through it all she knew she was being watched.

      Chapter 4

      Crouched behind a boulder, he watched the young woman run her hand over the white cross. When he’d first seen her car, he thought she might be leaving. If she did, he would be able to dismiss her from his mind, his thoughts, and think only of staying alive and safeguarding his people’s legacy. If she did, he would never know what she smelled like, sounded like, felt like under him. Never know her name, or why his life had been linked with hers.

      She hadn’t left. Instead, she’d come to where the army leader had lost his life. More of the enemy than he could count had walked to the cross to aim their cameras at it, but she was simply standing beneath it, alone, looking sad and cautious, her eyes taking in her surroundings.

      She sensed he was here. Everything about the way she moved and looked told him that. He could walk away from her, leave her with nothing except her suspicions. Or he could approach her and see if she again ran in terror.

      Instead, he simply watched and absorbed and learned as she crouched at the cross’s base and ran her fingers over the dried grasses growing there. She looked, he thought, almost as he must when he touched his son’s blanket. Knowing that twisted his heart in a way he didn’t want. She was the enemy. It was his right to hate her. But how does a man hate a woman who has crawled into his dreams?

      Confused, he moved a little closer so he could study her features without being watched in return. As he did, she sprang to her feet and looked warily in all directions, her long, straight, shiny hair floating on a breeze. She was like others of her kind, stupid in the ways of the wilderness. If she had spent her life hunting, she would know to watch for birds or rabbits frightened from their hiding places. The birds and small creatures always told when something dangerous was about.

      Still, he didn’t ridicule her for her lack of knowledge; her body’s language told him that she sensed something few did. Yes, many came here, but instead of letting the land tell them what had happened that cold morning, they read the talking leaves they’d brought with them or the plaques that had been placed in the ground back where they left their cars. As a consequence, they knew nothing.

      She understood that yesterday waited in the wind, and for that he admired her. He wondered what she heard, whether everything was being revealed to her or whether she knew only the army’s side. For her to truly understand this haunted place, she needed to hear the beating of Maklaks’ hearts, feel their fear and anger. There was only one way she could know all that; only one person who could tell her—him. In his mind he imagined himself looking into her soft, dark eyes while his words brought his people back to life.

      What was he thinking? She was evil! Muscles taut, he touched his hand to the knife strapped to his waist.

      He’d been here that long-ago day, a silent and somber shadow among other shadows that had come to watch this meeting between his chief and the army leaders. Keintepoos had had no faith in the words the army men spoke because those men were ruled by their leaders who lived far away and made decisions about things they didn’t understand, who hated and feared the Maklaks, who they had never shared meat with. His voice hard with anger and frustration, Keintepoos had agreed with the shaman Cho-ocks and the killer Ha-kar-Jim that if the army lost their leader, the others would flee in disarray. That was why Keintepoos had killed the army man, but instead of going back to where they’d come from, the army’s strength had grown until there was no escaping them.

      Why did today’s enemy grieve over the army man’s death? General Canby was one of those who’d helped bring destruction to the People.

      The woman was still looking for him, her attention split between the cross and whatever she was trying to find in the horizon. With her every movement, his awareness of her grew, until it was as if she stood beside him, her hand extended to him in invitation and challenge. He felt his body weakening, knew that if she placed her fingers on his flesh, he would forget everything except his need for her.

      Sucking in sage-sweet air, he gripped his lower thigh with all the strength in his fingers until hunger for her was replaced by pain. Still, he knew that once the pain was gone, she would again crawl inside him. For a moment of awful and total weakness, he wanted nothing else in life.

      Then, because he was a warrior in a world where it was a lonely thing to be a warrior, he pulled hatred from deep inside him and fed upon it.

      “Blaiwas! Eagle! Hear my cry. I seek your wisdom. Should the woman live?”

      Although he scanned the sky, he saw nothing. Again he sent out a plea, secure in the knowledge that the wind pushed his words behind him where she couldn’t hear. “Blaiwas. Eagle. You are my spirit and the truth lives within you. This woman beats upon my body with fists I do not understand. I must know. The owl call I heard last night. Is it the cry of a mortal bird or Owl himself sending his warning? Am I to die? Is she?”

      The sky remained clean and clear, hazed only slightly by the morning, but as he continued to study it, he saw a small, dark and familiar shape. Closer and closer the shape came until he had no doubt that his spirit, Eagle, had answered. Directly overhead now, Eagle rode the wind in large, graceful circles until it was so close that he easily made out the knife-like tips of its talons. It flew with its head lowered, not СКАЧАТЬ