Chills & Thrills Paranormal Boxed Set (48 page)

The air had grown still by the time he reached the glen, and
Tony's T-shirt close to his sweating body. Accustomed to the harsh summer heat,
he barely noticed. He came often to this place where he'd scattered Tajaya's
ashes—to speak to her, to listen. At first she appeared every time he called
her—either in memory or in a vision—but this last year she'd often failed to
come.

She'd moved on, he'd told himself, renewing the Circle of
Life within All That Is. But his grief had remained, twisting, growing darker,
until it turned into a warped loathing for her slayer. Although it violated
everything he believed, Tony clung to his hatred.

He settled under the shade of a mesquite, plucked a moist
blade of grass from the ground, and chewed on the tender end.

Tajaya had been his light, his beacon. Through her, he'd
learned the mysteries of love and finally the mysteries of the Universe.

And now he was betraying her.

The thought startled him. Betray? What had he done? The
question was answered quickly with images of Lily. Her saucy remark on the
train about her nanny, and his barely suppressed amusement. The admiration he'd
felt for her strength upon debarking the train in Flagstaff. Worse yet had been
the laughter they'd shared when she'd tumbled during her clumsy struggle with
the sleeping bag. And he'd almost enjoyed that tender moment when he'd massaged
her aching feet.

Sharing laughter and tenderness with his wife's killer? He
hadn't just betrayed Tajaya's memory, he'd defiled it!

His misery couldn't have been more intense, and he lowered
his head to his knees, seeking some word, some sign that his wife's spirit
still abided here. Only she could ease his torment.

He almost knew what she'd say. He'd first caught sight of
her when he was still a string bean of a boy hiking in the forests on the
canyon rim. From that first day he'd recognized her gentleness. She'd taught
him to respect the Creepy Crawlers, to kill no more of the Four Leggeds and
Finned Ones than his family could eat, and she followed the shaman's way
without fail.

A cactus wren twittered and Tony looked up. Removing the
chewed-up grass from his mouth, he waited for a vision. The wren grew silent
and he slumped back against the tree.

Yes, he knew what she would say. All creatures had their
place in the Great Spirit's domain. The Circle of Life rolled on and shamans
used all at their disposal, never complaining when they themselves were used.

No! He wouldn't accept that! And wishing that his thoughts
had come from Tajaya's spirit, he affirmed to himself that a shaman's life
should not be plucked just before her final rites. A daughter should not be
robbed of her mother, a husband of his loving wife.

He close to her memory furiously, fearing if he stopped,
she'd be gone forever. If this fueled his hate and anger all the more, so be
it. Bless it, in fact. He would not let Tajaya's spirit die!

With this, he flung the grass blade on the ground and sprang
to his feet. The wolf woman had robbed him of his wife and he'd be damned by
all that was sacred before he'd let her steal his daughter.

"Tell me more about the mechanical world," Shala
begged, splashing water as she swam in the secluded grotto.

Luxuriating in the silky feel of the milky substance Shala
had given her to use as a shampoo, Lily massaged it into her scalp. The girl
stared at her with avid interest, having obviously forgotten sometime during
their walk that she shouldn't look Lily in the eyes.

"What would you like to know?"

"Everything!"

Lily laughed. "All at once?"

"Hmm. Guess that would be hard." Shala scrunched
up her pert little nose. "I know! Tell me about the superbig markets where
you pick whatever you want from shelves! Are there really such miracles?"

A short distance away a group of women also bathed. They'd
been laughing and talking when the two of them arrived, using an odd combination
of English and their own language, but lapsed into silence when Shala and Lily
had entered the water. Now they glanced over surreptitiously, all ears.

Realizing that interest in the mechanical world wasn't
limited to children, Lily was half tempted to change the subject, but Shala was
waiting so eagerly. . . .

"It's not a real miracle, Shala. Many people work very
hard to put food on those shelves and when others take something, they must
give money for it."

"What's money?"

Having never been around children before, Lily had no
experience with these type of questions. At a loss for how to answer, she said
she had to rinse her hair and dipped beneath the water. Feeling marginally
better prepared, she broke the surface of the water with a big splash, sending
drops flying as she shook her head. Shala squealed when the spray hit her face,
and the carefree sound wormed its way into Lily's heart. She smiled broadly and
Shala smiled back.

"Still want to know about money?"

Shala nodded excitedly.

"Well, it's complicated. People have been trying to
explain money for years. Instead of trading—you know, like giving fur for corn
or baskets for venison—we print up paper which we get when we work and give
back when we take things."

"This is really confusing, isn't it?" Shala took a
quick dunk under the water. When she bobbed back up, she said, "I've never
heard of this trading either, Lily."

"Don't your people trade?"

Shala shook her head.

"I mean, if one family has a farm, don't they get gifts
from those who take their food?"

"Oh!" Shala's face brightened. "Some of the
latecomers do that at first, but after a time they stop."

Now it was Lily's turn to frown. "If you don't trade,
how do you exchange what you make?"

"Everyone does what is needed, and everyone takes what
they need. Is that wrong?"

"No. Just different." She turned around, wanting
to drop the difficult subject. "Would you wash my back?"

"Sure." Grabbing the soap, Shala paddled closer
and lifted a spongelike scrubber hanging from a cord around her neck. She
started running it gently up and down Lily's peeling sunburned back. Although
Lily had foreseen possibly three or four strokes before Shala lost interest,
the girl scrubbed with amazing patience.

"Shala," Lily said, rolling her arm so the girl
could reach a particularly itchy spot beneath her shoulder blade, "who are
the latecomers?"

"Most of us are born here." Shala dribbled water
down Lily's back. "But some come from the mechanical world after they grow
up.

"From the beginning of our time," she continued,
her tone and words making Lily think she was reciting something she'd heard
many times before, "others joined the Dawn People—the Utes and the Pawnee,
the Cherokee and the Apache, the Navajo and Cree, and many more. Some sought
refuge from drought or famine or ma-ma . . ."

Glad Shala couldn't see her face, Lily smiled at the
stutter.

"Marauders," Shala said, having finally tamed the
word. "And some came just to live by the old traditions, but each brought
the customs of their own tribe. And still they come, now in greater numbers as
the days outside Quakahla draw to an end."

Apparently tiring of reciting a school lesson, she added
more perkily, "Papa is a latecomer. So is Star Dancer."

"But they're both shamans," Lily responded in
surprise.

"Oh that doesn't matter. Shamans are sent by the Great
Spirit. Mama was a shaman too, and she was a trueborn from the line that came
from Quakahla. She returned to the spirits when I was very small . . ."

Lily heard a small hitch in Shala's voice, which made her
heart twist. What thought had she ever given to the pain her werewolf acts had
caused? None. But here was the aftermath in the form of a small, sweet girl who
was scrubbing her back in an aquamarine pool.

"Werewolves killed my mother, Lily." The sponge
stopped moving and Shala's voice grew very soft. "Did you know that?"

"No, Shala," she lied.

"But you were a werewolf once, weren't you?"

Suddenly Lily wanted to sink under the water and swim away
from the girl who asked impossible questions. She couldn't undo the past, and
she had nothing to be ashamed of — all she'd done was survive according to her
werewolf nature. But she wanted to ease Shala's misery, so she said what she
knew the girl wanted to hear.

"Yes, but I know nothing about your mother."

"I didn't think so." Shala sounded relieved.

When Shala started stroking her back again, Lily looked over
her shoulder, forcing a smile.

"You've done such a fine job on my back, I think you
can stop now." They'd treaded water during their entire bath. Lily's legs
were tiring, and she suspected Shala was also getting weary. "Think we're
clean enough?"

Shala grinned impishly. "Very clean. Much of your skin
is now in the water."

With a laugh, Lily headed toward a floating platform. The
Dawn People valued modesty highly, and the women used lightweight blankets to
cover themselves as they entered the water. These were then placed on the
platform. As she and Shala retrieved their blankets, the other women shrank
back, averting their gazes. Lily quelled a desire to snarl at them as she
covered herself and waded out of the grotto after Shala.

Now at Shala's side, Lily realized she'd responded mostly
from instinct because with this small girl beside her she didn't really much
care what the women thought or did. Glancing down at the top of Shala's head,
she ached to stroke the black water-sleek hair and smooth it around that impish
little face.

Werewolves didn't bear children, at least not in the
ordinary sense. They initiated other adults into their race, as she had done
with Morgan and Jorje, teaching and nurturing them until they came into their
full Lupine powers. But Lily had once dreamed of having a child—a girl much
like Shala, on whom she could shower all her love. After she'd joined the
Lupines, she sometimes felt regret over what would never be.

Shala renewed this half-forgotten dream.

"What a sweet one you are." Lily bent and
impulsively kissed the top of Shala's head. "Thank you for scrubbing my
back."

Shala slid her arms around Lily's neck and gave her a kiss
on the cheek. "You're welcome."

Unexpectedly, Lily's eyes filled with tears. Forcing a small
laugh, she patted the girl gently on the back, saying, "Go dress
now."

As Shala scampered into the shelter of the shrubs and Lily
turned for the place she'd left her own clothing, the tall cottonwoods came
alive with birds. With raucous whistles and trills they rose as a group and
flew away. A moment later a branch sagged and Lily saw a flash of white. She
stared briefly then started forward.

White Hawk blocked her path.

"I told you to stay away from Shala."

Pulling the wet dingy blanket away from her body, Lily
adjusted it before meeting White Hawk's glare. "I enjoy her company. Since
she also enjoys mine, I don't intend to send her away."

"Do you think I care what you enjoy? I'm only
interested in my daughter."

"Papa! What are you doing at the woman's pool?"
Shala stood off to their right, her hands planted scoldingly on her hips.

Immediately White Hawk's expression softened. "I came
to take you to your lessons. You're late, little one."

Shala glanced up at the sun. "Oh dear." She looked
back at her father. "I'm sorry. But Lily and I were having such fun–"

"That you neglected your studies." He moved
forward, reaching out his hand. "Now let's hurry. Star Dancer is
waiting."

Shala took her father's hand and followed him to the trail
leading back to the village. As they started to round a bend, she grinned over
her shoulder and wagged her fingers good-bye.

Lily smiled back so hard her face almost hurt.

* * *

"The wolf appeared to me in exalted form."

Arlan Ravenheart kept expectant eyes on Star Dancer's face,
his pulse racing. He knew what she would think—what he wanted her to think—yet
he had cleverly avoided any falsehood.

She sipped from a cup, her expression guarded. Coveting his gift
from the spirits, he concluded, and unwilling to admit he'd won them.

"White Wolf Woman came to you?" she finally asked.

"I was lifted to the clouds where the wolf came in
human form. Coat of silver. Tall. Strong as many buffalo, yet gentle." He
feigned a catch in his voice and looked humbly into the distance. "So
heavy was my shame for my prideful thoughts, I wept. Then the creature said to
me, 'Ravenheart, lift your head and go forth. You are cleansed.' "

He paused for several measured breaths, then looked directly
at his teacher. "Can you tell me what this means, High Shaman?"

Star Dancer remained silent. Ravenheart heard sounds
outside. The clunk of a utensil against a heavy pot. Children laughing.
Frequent footsteps passing the longhouse door as workers headed for Quakahla.

Filled with impatience, he waited. For three days after the
miracle on the clouds, he'd stayed near the mesa, determined to avoid any
question about his early return. He snared a rabbit, then roasted it over the
embers of the Stone People in the outside pit. Unable to wait until it was
fully cooked, he ripped it from the spit and shoved pieces in his mouth, barely
taking time to chew. When only bones remained, he gnawed them too, until he'd
consumed even the marrow.

That morning he went to the stream below and bathed for his
journey home. He washed and braided his hair, entwining feathers he found
beneath the trees. As a final touch, he added the rabbit's foot.

Now, seated in all his finery before Star Dancer, he
breathed evenly, confident the spirit's powerful sign couldn't be denied even
by this envious one. His next step on the shaman's way was assured.