Coyote: The Outlander (with FREE second screen experience) (10 page)

The Wea people watched the two visitors go. The Outlander shaman shed wet, hot tears as the stone of his people was taken farther and farther away from his heart, but a faint smile indicated that he did not regret making it a gift.

TOKALA

Fatigue played with his senses, but Tokala wanted to speak to his own spirits before the day was up. Being tired would work in his favor, make him more susceptible to the message he needed to hear. He stripped off his long, colorful robe, its beads banging together in the dull melody of hollow wood. The air was crisp and made his skin break into goose bumps. He still marveled over the workings of the human body, even after all these years. He was a shape changer, just like all his kind, and he enjoyed the subtle changes of the vessel he’d crafted for himself. It was a perfect replica. Everything worked exactly the same way as a human body did, well . . . almost everything. Tokala still had very keen senses—and two hearts, which were pounding rapidly.

The cold nipped at him as he made his way through the village. The air cleansed his body, and the walk was a part of the ritual he was about to perform. The people, his people now, looked at him with silent understanding. They knew he was different, though only the chief knew Tokala’s real face. To them, he was a man of magic, a mystical being. He was sure that even if he were to show them his true self, their view of him would not change. It didn’t matter what world he came from; they were his people and he belonged to them.

The sweat lodge smelled strongly from the night before. Tokala picked out the sweet scent of Coyote’s sweat and the heavy masculine smell of Caesar’s. He wouldn’t need a fire, not this time; the lingering scent of smoke was enough for his purposes.

Tokala walked to the ashes, lowering himself in the center to sit cross-legged in the remains of the previous night’s fire. A sob escaped his lips, and he needed to take a deep breath to collect himself.

The face he had seen stare at him from the flames, together with the name Coyote had mentioned, made his blood run cold.

Qu’arth Slevanko

The memory encased his hearts with ice. He hadn’t told Coyote that he knew this Quavar personally, he just couldn’t. After all these years, he walked the same earth as the creature who’d ruined his life. It didn’t come as a surprise to him that the Quavar’s journey led to this plane. He had seen this in his visions many times . . . but he never knew
when
it would happen.

Calm yourself,
he thought.
Your foe is not here for you. He is here for a different reason. Our paths will never cross again.
Still, the mere presence of the Quavar unnerved him.

Qu’arth Slevanko had been one of the three men who had killed his family, and he was personally responsible for driving Tokala through the rip that led him to this world. Now he was here himself, and Tokala could not avenge his mother and father. It was not part of his path.

No, his path was to send someone, someone he held very dear, to do his dirty work for him, a friend who was at her own crossroads. The idea of Coyote facing his old enemy made Tokala queasy.

I should have told her all I knew,
he thought with regret. He had wanted to keep her close to him for a few days more, knowing what she would have to face.

She’s different than I was,
Tokala thought,
she’s prepared. A bounty hunter. I was too young, too afraid.
He closed his eyes and relaxed his muscles, concentrating on every part of his body. He wanted to speak to his spirits with his own face, so he focused on reshaping his body to its true form. His skin rippled, changing from a deep caramel color to a soft grayish lilac. Bones cracked as they found their original place. His body stretched, becoming thinner.

The change wasn’t painful. His body was meant to reform, and it only took several seconds to settle down into its new—or rather, old—shape. Once the transformation was complete, he sighed deeply and stayed very still for several seconds, then he opened his many eyes and looked at his surroundings with clear vision. The hut was alive with different colors, tints only his Outlander eyes could see. The familiarity made him homesick. Tokala opened his mouth as wide as he could. His fingers, topped with thick black nails, reached for the back of his throat, searching the soft flesh for a hard lump. When he found it, he dug his fingers into the skin and forced a small, seven-pointed gem from its hiding place. The pressure of his fingers made him gag, and one of the points had wedged into his throat, but after a few tries, he managed to loosen it.

His trembling hand held the stone in front of his six eyes. Each eye viewed the stone in a different color, seeing distinctive meaning. The colors would be triggered by the right sounds. He smiled. It had been too long since he had used the gem.

Tokala spoke the words of his true people, calling forth his bloodline. An image appeared, not quite transparent, but not quite solid either.

“Hello, Mother,” Tokala said in the tongue of the Shinnon. “I have missed you.”

“I am here whenever you need me, my son. All you have to do is call me.”

“The journey between where you are and here is taxing on you, Mother.” Tokala’s voice was heavy with the sadness he felt. “I can’t demand you waste your energy to come and console me whenever I need it.”

The figure floated closer and extended a long arm to him, its face filled with love and kindness. “You are the last of our bloodline, Cueltor. There is no one left for me to console. We have all passed on to our second life.”

She knelt by him, her ethereal body not really touching the ground, but she mimicked his body language. Her eyes held his, and he knew what she was going to say.

“Cueltor . . . ” The words drifted forth with a sigh of pain.

“I know.” He nodded his head, a very human behavior. “If I die here, I will not join you in the life beyond. I will become lost in the limbo of this world.”

“My vision can’t reach into that plane, Cueltor. For all I know, you will be destroyed.” Her voice trembled, and he saw the four slits on her temples, through which she breathed, flair open, a sign of grief.

“What would you have me do?” Tokala asked, his fists clenching.

“Come back to us, Son. Come back home.”

“My destiny is here, Mother.”

“Destiny has given you a second chance. The Quavar is there. It’s not an accident that he came to your plane. He controls his path.” Her eyes glimmered in the darkness of the sweat lodge. “He’s looking for something in your world. Qu’arth Slevanko has found a way to pass through the rips. He could take you back.”

Tokala waved her words away with his hand. “He killed you, Mother. He killed everyone, and he tried to kill me. Why would he help me?”

“Because you can offer him something that he wants. Back in our world . . . in my secret place . . . is the
Quishu
he was looking for. That’s why he murdered us. If you offer him that, he will take you with him.” She looked at him with hope, her skin shifting to a darker shade of purple. For a moment, Tokala considered her words. He knew his mother’s secret place well. If the Quavar hadn’t chased him through the rip, he would have visited it and retrieved his mother’s treasures. But destiny had dealt him a different hand.

“I’ve lived most of my life here, Mother,” he said. “I’m happy here.”

She tried to touch him. Tokala felt a cold breeze as her digits ran through his skin. As always, he appreciated her effort even though it only increased his loneliness.

“Don’t be foolish. This world only guarantees one mortal life. With us you can live on forever. Be with your family.”

“My tribe is my family too.” His hearts beat in an uneven rhythm, like two tribal drums. “They have taken me in, made me who I am today. My destiny lies with them.”

“Your destiny is to be with us. You belong with your ancestors.” Now frustration mixed with his mother’s sadness.

“No, Mother. I will not make the enemy of our people my ally just to get home. I will not abandon my destiny because it would be easier. There is a life for me here, and I have responsibilities to those around me. My fate is intertwined with others here, and if I disentangle myself, it could mean disaster for those I care about, possibly this whole world.” He picked up the seven-pointed gem between his fingers and placed it on the palm of his hand, then he folded his fingers around it. “I’m sorry to disappoint you.”

She opened her mouth to speak, to plead with him, and Tokala knew that if he allowed her to say the words, he would falter.

“
Nuava’ah
,” he whispered, severing the last connection, and with a scream on her lips, his mother disappeared. He knew he could never call on her again, that this was the last time he would ever see her. A faint light pulsated in the core of the gem and faded to a dull darkness. It would serve another purpose now, one that would keep him disconnected from his bloodline. He felt truly alone, but he knew that he had made the right choice.

CONTACTS

The intersection formed a perfect cross, the roads extending out in all four directions, disappearing from sight.

“If this particle beam pistol is difficult to come by, we might as well either go to Savage Sam’s, Sunshine Mary, or the Romani camp.” The sun’s bright light made Coyote squint as she peered at the different paths. “They’ll be our best bet. The little guys won’t have one; they don’t offer rare Outlander weapons.”

“I agree.” Caesar rubbed his mare’s neck. “Where would you like to go first?”

“Let’s try Mary first. Sam’s definitely last. I can’t stand that man.” She couldn’t hide the disgust she felt. “He’s a despicable individual.”

Caesar shrugged and turned his horse to the south, toward Boone County.

They arrived in Sugar Creek in the late afternoon, their stomachs growling. They hadn’t taken any rest during their journey due to Coyote’s eagerness to get to her destination. Sugar Creek was a pleasant enough town; the residents were friendly but kept to themselves. The townspeople didn’t pay them much attention as they rode to the Hoop residence, the home of the woman everyone called Sunshine Mary.

Sunshine sat in a rocking chair on her porch when they pulled up, her husband Philip right next to her, but he had dozed off. She was a homely woman with a short, squat figure. Though only forty-seven, she looked much older. Her long, grey hair appeared a bit greasy, but not completely unkempt, and she had it curled in a loose bun at the nape of her neck. The woman’s face was a patchwork of wrinkles, and the corners of her mouth hung low, as if permanently chagrinned, earning her the nickname Sunshine Mary.

“Coyote, is that you, my girl?” The harsh voice, a bit like a bark, cut through the air, but Coyote knew the woman wasn’t unfriendly. Sunshine pushed her plump body out of the wooden chair, which rocked violently as she stepped away, giving forth a melodic rhythm of creaks.

“Sunshine Mary, I hope I find you in good health?” Coyote slid off her saddle, her hand running across Shenanigan’s warm body before giving her horse a reassuring pat. The older woman let out a long sigh and shook her head.

“My knees have been acting up,” she said, her scowl deepening, “which doesn’t help my back problems. I’m suffering, child. My age does not treat me well.”

Coyote nodded with sympathy. A pleasant scent tickled her nostrils, and she looked toward the picturesque wooden house and inhaled deeply.

“Something smells nice . . . ” A mischievous grin played on her lips, and she waited for Sunshine’s response. The woman’s face remained a scowl, and she placed her hands on her hips.

“I notice that all your little visits are around dinner time, my girl.” She opened her mouth and laughed, the corners of her lips never curling up.

“You’re the best cook I know, Sunshine.” Coyote winked and pulled Caesar forward. “Besides, look at my partner. He’s skin over bones . . . this needs to be fixed.”

Mary laughed again, her voice loud and so deep it could be mistaken for that of a man.

“He does look a fright.” She beckoned Caesar with a pudgy hand. “Come here, my boy. Let us put some meat on those bones. I’ve got a good chicken stew with dumplings on the fire and an apple pie in the oven. Some nice biscuits too. I’ll give you some wholesome home cooking.”

Caesar walked forward, and Sunshine pulled him close, pinching the flesh on his waist.

“Let’s go fatten you up.” Sunshine’s smile was little more than a grimace, but there was a good heart behind that stern face. Caesar shot her a grateful look and followed her into the house.

The inside was spotless; Sunshine Mary, a very house-proud woman, made Philip help her around the home. Knitted doilies were scattered around, and the bright red and white floral curtains matched the table cloth.

“Sit, sit,” Sunshine commanded, walking to the stove where she commenced stirring a large, black pot with a wooden spoon. Coyote sat down on top of the embroidered cushion of one of the wooden chairs, which smelled of green soap. Caesar slid on to the chair next to hers, looking small and a bit uncomfortable. Sunshine grabbed a few plates and ladled generous helpings of chicken stew onto them. The plates made a loud noise when she set them triumphantly in front of her guests.