Lakota Honor (14 page)

"Then I will take you." He gripped the door handle as lightning cast the room in yellow shades. "I will be back." He opened the door and took off into the storm.

She glanced down at Pal beside her. The wind howled outside, and the rain banged against the cabin walls. Two gunshots drown out the storm. Without thinking, she opened the door and ran out into the pouring rain. Pal darted past her and around the corner of the cabin. She followed him while the rain pelted her, soaking her dress. She stopped and the blood rushed from her head to her feet.
Oh no. Not him. Please not him.

Pal sniffed Otakatay's body as it lay in the mud. He'd been shot. She ran over and without examining him, she reached underneath his arms and pulled him toward the cabin. He was heavy, and she didn't know if she'd be able to get him inside.

Rain ran down her face and dripped off of her nose. Her hair was drenched, and she couldn't see it was so dark. She pushed her bare feet into the mud and pulled Otakatay another foot closer to the door. Pal whined and stared off into the blackness behind the cabin.

She huffed and tugged on him once more, moving him another two feet. If it wasn't for the mud, she didn't think she'd be able to move him at all. The wet dirt offered a slick path so it was easier to pull him. Pal came around, bit into Otakatay's shirt, and helped Nora drag him into the house.

She lit the lamp and carried it to the door. Pal stood outside on the porch and when she called him inside he took off, disappearing into the darkness. She yelled after him, but he didn't return and she needed to help Otakatay.

She knelt beside him and ripped open his shirt. Nora gasped when she saw the scars embedded on his chest, stomach and arms.
What happened to him?
The bevelled lines marked his skin in a criss-cross fashion, and her heart broke for him and what he must've been through. Her hands heated and her fingers pulsed. She clenched them and held them at her sides.
No. I will not do it. I will help him without using my gift.

She put a pot of water on the cook stove to heat and gently washed his muddy chest. One of the bullets had gone clean through his shoulder. The other was still lodged in the center of his chest. She searched the house for a bottle of whiskey. She knew Pa stashed one around here somewhere. She removed the blanket from the basket beside the sofa and found the half-filled bottle nestled inside.

She dipped a clean cloth into the whiskey and blotted at the wound on his shoulder. Blood trickled down his arm, and she knew it would need stitches. She'd tend to that later, for now she needed to get the bullet out of his chest.

She felt Otakatay for one of his knives and pulled the large blade from his leg. She dipped it into the liquid. The water boiled, and she removed the pot and placed it beside her on the floor. His chest rose and fell in uneven breaths. She could taste the fear on her tongue.
I will save you.

Nora's hands throbbed with urgency. She opened and closed them a few times before she pressed the tip of the knife into the hole in his chest. She stopped to see if he could feel anything, but he laid still, an ashen color already beginning to settle over his skin.

She dug the knife deeper and moved it around, trying to locate the bullet. Blood poured from the wound. Nora's hands shook wildly, and she dropped the knife. She squeezed her eyes shut, willed her hands to stop—to let her be normal, to save him without the power.

A lone tear slid down her cheek and fell onto her hand. She gaped at him. The ripped flesh was swollen and bloody. She didn't have a choice. She couldn't save Pa, he wouldn't let her. Otakatay was unconscious, there would be no fighting.

She couldn't remove the bullet with the knife, she didn't know how. She needed to save him and soon. She couldn't watch another person die without trying to help them first.

She blocked all reason from her mind and placed her hands over the wound. Strong blistering pain slammed into her and almost knocked her backward. The wound was deep, and she needed to work fast. She pressed both hands, one on top of the other over the hole again.

The nauseous feeling filled her belly as a fire exploded in her chest. She wheezed as the force sucked the air from her lungs. A piercing spasm radiated up and down her arms, zigzagged across her breasts and into her back. She bent forward and tried to ease the burning in her muscles.

When she inhaled, her lungs pinched as painful tremors rippled through her body. The enormity of it was too much. She didn't know how long she could hold on. Mouth dry, she tried to focus on his face as the room spun around her.

She pushed up onto her knees and forced her body to press into his. The heat in her hands intensified as she healed the deadly wound. Everything around her grew fuzzy, and she swayed to one side. She grew weaker and struggled to keep her hands on his chest. Her stomach lurched, and she held on until she felt the skin close underneath her palms. She removed them just in time to crawl to the basket she'd found the whiskey in, and vomited until she had nothing left inside of her.

Sweat ran from her forehead, and she trembled from the damp sensation. Her stomach convulsed a few more times. She laid her head on the blanket. The rain hitting the cabin was the last thing she remembered before she passed out.

CHAPTER NINETEEN

Nora woke with a start. Her chest ached, and her arms were numb. She flexed her hands to get some of the feeling back. She remembered Otakatay and crawled toward him. The room was still covered in shadows, but she knew it wouldn't be long before the sun rose.

The wound on his chest was no longer visible, and she laid her palm to his forehead. He was warm. She removed the cloth from his shoulder and shivered. Red and swollen, the wound was infected. There was no way she'd be able to heal him after closing the chest wound a few hours before. Her hands ached, and her arms were useless. She was drained and would have to wait until her body had recuperated.

"Otakatay." She nudged him. "Otakatay, please I need you to wake up."

He opened his eyes.

"I need your help to get you to the bed."

He nodded, and by the glossy look in his eyes, she wasn't sure he knew where he was.

She placed her arm under his and helped him to his feet. Her muscles cried out in agony as she ushered him toward the bedroom. He lost consciousness just as she sat him on the straw filled mattress. She eased him onto his back and propped a pillow under his head. She went to work removing his muddy pants and boots. As she unbuttoned his denims, she realized he was naked underneath.

Oh, no.
Her hands hovered above his groin. She shook her head and frowned. She didn't have time for this nonsense. She threw the blanket over his middle and pulled the pants off. She was being ridiculous. This was a life and death matter. But she couldn't bring herself to steal a peek at his private area. She straightened the quilt the best she could. She picked up his dirty clothes and boots before she left the room.

She threw the pot of bloody water out into the yard and bolted the door, sighing when the wooden latch slid into place. She hadn't forgotten why Otakatay had come. Nora shivered and peeked through the curtain.
But who?

There was still some water left in the bucket on the counter, and she dumped it into the pot to heat. She searched the cupboards for the lye soap and wrapped it in the wash cloth. The floor was a mess, with mud and blood smeared into the wood. She stared at it for a moment, deciding to come back and clean it later.

Nora dunked the cloth into the hot water and lathered the soap. She ran the cloth along his hard body, trying not to gape at the defined muscles on his stomach and chest. Nora's fingers skimmed the slashes on his shoulders and arms. There were so many she wondered how he lived through them all. She took the whiskey bottle, squeezed her eyes shut and poured it over the shoulder wound.

Otakatay bolted upright, knocking her backward, and yelled out in Lakota.

"I'm so sorry, but I have to clean the wound."  She pressed him back down onto the pillow.

Amid red cheeks and clammy skin, glassy eyes gazed back at her. She laid her hand on his arm. He was sweating.

"One more time," she whispered.

He nodded and lay back down. She watched as his jaw clenched, and he closed his eyes. She leaned in and quickly tipped the bottle sloshing brown liquid onto the hole to run down his arm and chest.

A guttural moan came from his closed mouth, and his whole body tensed.

She took the whiskey soaked cloth and dabbed at the wound.

A strong hand gripped her wrist. "Burn it. Heat the knife and close it."

Was he insane? She couldn't do that. "I will stitch it instead."

"Do as I say," he growled.

"It is infected."

He squeezed her wrist, and she thought he was going to get off the bed and cauterize the wound himself when he passed out instead.

She sighed, doused the cloth in whiskey and placed it on the back of his shoulder, where the bullet had exited. She needed to stitch the torn flesh before he woke and demanded she melt it together with the blade of his knife.

Waves of nausea rocked her stomach causing her face to lose all color.

He was still too warm. She finished cleaning the area, pulled out her needle and thread, and dipped both into the whiskey.

Black eyes glared at her, and she jumped.

"Why do you not listen? Burn the damn hole."

"I...I don't think I can."

"It will get the infection out."

She held up the needle and thread. "But I cleaned these so I can stitch you."

He shook his head.

She wanted to brush the black strands that clung to his cheeks and neck.

"Where is the knife?"

"Please, Otakatay. Please don't make me do this."

He watched her for a long while before he said, "I will show you. Get my knife."

With no other choice, she grabbed the large blade sitting on the bedside table and handed it to him. He struggled to sit up and winced when he moved his arm. With his good hand he gripped the knife.

"You must build a fire and heat the end until the blade glows red."

She swallowed and nodded.

"Then you will place it over the hole until the skin is closed."

Nora's cheeks flushed.
How am I going to do this?
She glanced at Otakatay.
What if I throw up all over him or worse yet, pass out?

He handed her the knife.

She willed her legs to walk into the kitchen. It wasn't more than a few minutes before the flames had grown, pushing heat into the room. She placed the blade into the fire and watched as it turned a bright orange-red. She wrapped her hand in the apron she was wearing, so she didn't burn it and pulled the knife from the heat. She hurried back into the room where Otakatay lay and stood over him.

"Do it. Quickly, do it now." He closed his eyes and clenched his jaw.

She focused on the bright tip of the knife as she moved closer to the swollen flesh.
I can't do this.
She chewed on her lip, and her hand shook.

Otakatay opened his eyes, and before she could pull away he grabbed her hand and pressed it into the wound.

His face contorted, and he let out what sounded to her like a warrior's cry before he passed out.

The smell of burning flesh filled her nostrils, and her stomach reeled. She swallowed past the bile in her throat and pushed the knife into his shoulder. The skin around the blade bubbled, and she closed her eyes. She inhaled before removing the knife and opening her eyes. The skin was red and rigid over the hole. She took the whiskey-doused cloth and laid it against the closed wound.
I have to do this one more time. Oh, dear God.

He watched helplessly as his brother Little Eagle struggled to carry a bucket of rocks down the narrow path to the opening of the tunnel. He was six, tiny for his age, and not strong enough for this kind of labor. Throughout the dark, wet mountain deep holes were used for discipline, and digging. Little Eagle was edging his way around one that had been blasted yesterday. It was a fresh hole, and it was deep.

He wanted to go to him, to help his brother. He struggled, trying to loosen the ropes tied around his feet and wrists. He was his protector, his shadow. He yanked on the rope again.

He stopped hammering and watched Little Eagle take careful steps around another hole.

A loud crack echoed throughout the cave, and he didn't have to turn to see what it was. The leather whip the guard held flew high in the air and snapped.

He flinched.

"Get back to work," the man yelled.

He couldn't take his eyes of off his brother until he'd passed the hole—until he was safe. The whip lashed out biting into his flesh. He dug his teeth into his bottom lip and refused to look away.

Little Eagle glanced up at him, and he watched in horror as his brother lost his balance. The heavy bucket pulled him toward the hole. In an instant he was gone.

"Noooo," He screamed, and grasped at the air around him. He tried to yank free from the rope that tied him to the others, but he didn't move.

Otakatay woke to Nora pressing a damp cloth to his forehead. The dream was so vivid, so real it was as if he were there in the mountain all over again and saw his brother fall.

"You had a bad dream," she said. "Are you okay?"

He didn't answer. He didn't know what to say. If only it was a dream and not true. If only he'd been there to help him—to save him. He closed his eyes. He was a failure. Sorrow filled him, flooding his senses, and he couldn't see past the shame he felt to look at Nora's face.

He took her hand from his forehead and moved it onto the bed.

No longer a boy, he was an assassin with a vengeance. He killed to keep a promise. It was what kept him sane all these years. He pushed rational thoughts from his mind and brought forth the animal he'd come to know. The beast, who craved blood, thirsted for money and valor. He snarled and growled plotting revenge on those who'd done him wrong.

He looked into Nora's blue eyes. She shouldn't be near him—in the same room as a killer who slaughtered so many.

"Otakatay, are you okay?"

Concern etched her pretty face, and he closed off any feelings he might have for her. He needed to go. He needed to leave here and kill the man who had shot him last night.
Two times. I was shot twice.
He inspected his bare chest.

The sun shone through the bedroom window, bright and welcoming. He didn't know if it was morning or afternoon. The single thought that plagued his mind was where the other bullet had entered. He was sure it had gone into his chest, but when he searched his chest all he saw were old scars.

"I was shot twice."

He watched as her eyes darted about the room. She was nervous. The warrior within him came alert, and he scrutinized her every move.

"I was shot two times. Where is the other wound?"

"I think you need to rest." She tried to stand, but he grabbed her wrist.

"Sit."

She slumped back down.

"Where was I shot besides my shoulder?"

"Umm. You were...uh...you were shot once."

He didn't believe her. He remembered a burning pain in his chest, the first place he'd been hit. The shoulder had been the second.

"No, I was shot here." He placed his palm over the center of his chest. The room dipped. He shook his head and focused on Nora.

Her face was white, and she chewed on her lip. She knew something, and he was about to get it out of her.

"Why is there no hole in my chest?"

He shook his head, battling the darkness that wanted to overcome him.

"You must be mistaken. You were shot once."

"You're one of them. You're the witkowan
.
"

She was silent.

"I know I was shot here." He patted his chest. "Tell me what happened, now." His tone changed from calm to intense, a predator stalking his prey.

"You need to rest."

"You need to tell me what the hell is going on. Why is there no damn hole in my chest when I know I was shot there?"

The pain in his shoulder radiated down his arm causing his fingers to ache. He blinked trying to focus on her face, but his eyes wanted to close. He felt her hand on his forehead as her soothing voice faded into blackness.