The Treasure Hunter's Lady (26 page)

“It is old, but strong. The world is changing and our time has nearly passed. We have long pledged to protect the earth from Uktena. White Elk is weary of watching for threats from the Horned Serpent. There are few men he trusts with this knowledge. None in many years.” The brave turned his eyes to the sky. “Until morning, He Who Seeks.” He offered a brief smile to Romy. “Fire-hair Woman.”

They waited for him to walk away and Abel put his arm around Romy's shoulders. “Seems we lucked into some help. What do you make of it?”

“This all feels like a bad dream. Magical lands, waterfalls, Spirit Roads.” She shook her head. “I'm sure they have the best intentions, but I'm praying we don't find anything more than an old skeleton with a large jewel buried in its head.”

What do I make of it? Your doom, son of man. I shall see you soon.

Abel ignored the chill pressing on his spine. The voice was nothing more than wind and his overtired mind.

Chapter Twenty-one

The three-quarter moon gleamed ghostly white against the predawn blue-black sky. Abel stared at it, trying to take his mind off what was to come. Romy hid a yawn behind her hand and looped her arm around his.

She looked so young in the light of the blazing fire in the center of the village. Her hair was freshly plaited in two thick ropes that framed her face and she'd exchanged the brown skirt for a pair of soft buckskin breeches. Abel's own attire included a new red shirt and a pair of buckskins. He carried the fang in a small leather pouch at his side.

The other faces gathered around the fire looked as serious as an audience in church. A drumbeat pounded the air, the same cadence as a heartbeat. Under that, Abel heard crickets chirping and the crackle of fire, but no voices and very little shuffling. There wasn't so much as a dog barking or a child crying. Edgy silence hung in the air. A band of warriors stood behind White Elk, weaponless and in various states of dress. There was no war paint this morning, just a mingling of men and women about to witness magic that hadn't been performed in hundreds of years—if the stories had any truth to them.

Yellow Knife stood next to Abel so he could translate the chief's words. His dark eyes surveyed the faces of the tribe and the sky, as though he was waiting for something important to happen.

White Elk took dried leaves from a leather pouch and approached the fire. He tossed them in and the drum died away. He spoke in song-like rhythm, his voice loud enough for the whole group to hear. He closed his eyes and turned his face toward the sky as words rolled from his mouth. The other natives raised their faces to the sky as well. A hushed murmur ran through the crowd. The hairs on Abel's neck rose. He glanced down at Romy.

Her lower lip was between her teeth, eyes round as she took in the scene. He leaned down, putting his mouth next to her ear.

“I don't think they're gonna require a redhead to finish the ceremony. You can stop worrying about that.”

Her eyes met his and a look of petulance crossed her face. “Quiet. You'll disrupt the spirits.”

He had to force back a smile. Later he would tease her about buying into hokum. If there was a later. The thought sobered him and he turned his eyes back to the fire. While White Elk sang, the flames seemed to climb higher and higher, lapping against the wood collected to feed it. Little sparks danced in the air, swirling like fiery snowflakes.

“He sings to call the Great Spirit and the ancestors walking the Spirit Road. The ones who called the Horned Serpent to battle Mother Sun,” Yellow Knife whispered. He reverted to his native tongue, closing his eyes and lifting his arms shoulder high, palms up.

Abel looked at Romy again. He wondered if they ought to be absorbing some ancestral advice or communing with the Great Spirit. Just as he was getting ready to close his eyes and pretend he understood what was happening, White Elk stopped singing and the crowd fell silent.

The old chief came forward, his eyes on Abel. A tingle of fear grabbed him by the throat. Strange light glowed in the old man's eyes. He clutched a turtle shell decorated with painted symbols and mounted on a deer antler handle. When he shook it, it rattled. He spoke, his voice sharp and harsher than before.

“The Great Spirit has turned his ear to the People. He speaks through White Elk and demands to know of the warrior Abel Courte, also known as He Who Seeks, what it is that he wants with the Horned Serpent?” Yellow Elk's voice sounded flat compared to the older man's.

“To defeat it so that it will never harm another living creature.” Abel hoped he sounded braver than he felt.

Yellow Elk gave the answer to his people. Some nodded and made grunts of approval. White Elk waited for the noise to die and spoke again.

“The realm Uktena commands is not like any other place you know. It is a barren land, full of bad medicine. You are aware that to cross into this place and see the Serpent is to invite death into your lodge and all who live there?”

“I'm not afraid of death.” He felt disconnected from his surroundings except for the fire that glared against the dark backdrop. The heat from it seemed to curl at his skin, charging him with energy.

There was a long pause after Yellow Knife translated the words. The light in White Elk's eyes shimmered. The dark, disarming brown of his iris had turned bluish-white. Romy clutched Abel's arm, but remained quiet.

“Many warriors have sought the Serpent's jewel for greatness. All have been devoured by greed. Do you give your oath that you will not use the Great Spirit's medicine for your own selfish purposes?”

“You have my word,” Abel promised.

“Come forward, He Who Seeks. Accept a token of goodwill from the Great Spirit and begin your journey to destroy the Horned Serpent. The demon called Uktena.”

Romy's arm slipped from his as he took two big steps toward the chief. Behind White Elk, the fire roared like a hungry beast.

White Elk's gaze was on the rattle in his grasp. “This is a mighty weapon, used by Chief Ten Horses and his council, the elders who raised Uktena from his bed of earth and water.”

For the first time in days, Abel felt hopeful. A weapon was exactly what he needed to defeat the Serpent. The situation was looking better by the second, even if it was unusual. Maybe a rattle could be used to lull the Serpent asleep. He could approach and stab it with a war lance, then remove the Diamond.

White Elk continued. Yellow Knife filled the silence spaces throughout the speech. “Uktena's heart beats with jealousy so long as Mother Sun rises and sets. Terrible things happened when Uktena rose from the earth. Things worse than famine and death. Those who set the Serpent free are doomed to guard it until someone returns Uktena to the ground. We cannot destroy him ourselves. Many warriors from many lands have come before you, only to be stricken with greed by the Diamond. He Who Seeks, by the power of the Great Spirit, you are now charged with undoing Ten Horses' wrong.”

The turtle shell fell away without White Elk so much as touching it. The separate pieces landed on the ground, scattering a handful of fat shiny pebbles. The handle was left and at its end a stained flint knife lay looking harmless against his palm.

A rush of disappointment flooded Abel's chest. These people couldn't expect him to use a tiny knife to kill a big snake.

“The knife of Ten Horses calls for the blood of the Serpent who betrayed man. It also sings for a blood sacrifice to seal the bond between itself and a new warrior. Present your hand, He Who Seeks. Become friend to the knife and possess its hunger.”

Still stunned, Abel offer his hand as the tribe watched intently. He didn't think the blunt blade would cut him. White Elk raised the knife and brought it across Abel's palm so fast Abel didn't see it. For a few seconds, he thought the rough edge had grazed him without so much as breaking the skin. Then a thin line of blood welled up from the joint of his pinkie to the base of his thumb.

White Elk flicked the blade at the fire and the flames rose toward the sky, blood red. “It is done. You must leave for the Horned Serpent's canyon, before the beast can learn from the whispering wind that another warrior hunts it.”

The chief shuddered and Yellow Knife rushed forward to take the old man by the arm as his knees gave away. In a voice as dusty as Texas during a heat wave, White Elk protested. His eyes, clear now, bore into Abel's.

“Take the weapon, He Who Seeks.” Yellow Knife nodded at it. “Hummingbird has replenished your supplies and you must leave at once. There is no time to spare. It is nearly two sunrises to the gateway where the Serpent stays. Little Hawk will guide you, but he is not permitted to enter. His English is not good, but he knows the way.”

Abel took the bone-handled knife and stared at the glistening edge, fresh with his blood. It trembled in his hand. Like the power of a steam engine or the quivering flesh of an anxious horse, it hummed with energy of its own. Bloodlust.

“Abel,” Romy whispered. Her eyes were crinkled with worry at the corners.

White Elk untied his own knife sheath from his breeches, passed the steel blade to Yellow Knife and offered the leather to Abel. Romy took the sheath from White Elk, holding it out to accept the knife.

He tried to smile, but couldn't find the strength. “Suppose we better do as Yellow Knife says.”

Romy raised her hand to touch the knife, but he jerked it away from her. She drew back, looking hurt. “I was only going to help secure it to your belt.”

“It's—”

Recognition dawned in her eyes. “Like the fang. It's calling to the Serpent. Or seeking it.”

“I don't even know what to think anymore. Fangs wanting to go home to the mouths they fell out of. Knives that want to bite serpent flesh. Serpents that want to destroy mankind. It can’t be real.” He shook his head, hoping to clear some of the confusing thoughts away. It didn’t help.

“Just put it away for now. You have plenty of time to get your mind around it.”

But she sounded skeptical and he didn’t blame her.

****

Little Hawk led them away from the village. Soon the smell of morning fires and the sounds of activity faded into the distance. A memory and nothing more. Again, Romy caught the scent of metal—scorched copper. Or blood. The flat land around the river gave away to more hills and the trio wound its way through a valley that had very little plant life.

Their Indian guide seemed to have no end to his energy. He said nothing and made almost no noise as he walked. Not unlike a ghost. She had to suppress a shudder despite the heat clogging the valley. She felt like an intruder and realized immediately that it was true. These people had inhabited this land for hundreds of years. Far longer than the Europeans had. What they must think of strangers like her and Abel. If White Elk and Yellow Knife were to be believed, they weren’t even in the same world Romy knew.

By the afternoon, she had new blisters and within an hour they'd burst. Sweat burned her eyes as it dripped from her face. Yellow Knife had declared their destination two days away, but if they kept up this pace, surely they'd arrive in the middle of the night.

Little Hawk had started out stoic, but when the shadows grew long, he appeared nervous. Or at least cautious. He cocked his head at noises she could only pretend to hear. He halted in his path, eyes darting toward a lizard as though it would leap on him and fight him to the death. More than once, his hand flew to his knife, ready to unsheathe it and tear some unknown foe to bits.

Romy was dying to ask a thousand questions about Uktena, but even if Little Hawk understood her, she doubted he'd be willing to answer them. So she voiced them to Abel instead.

“Do you think the wind will really tell him we're coming?”

Beads of sweat dotted Abel's brow and his shirt was wet and dark at the neck. “Why not? He knows we're in Dakota anyway.”

“How can you be sure?”

“I hear,” he paused and licked his lips, “a voice. It's not one I recognize and it's not in a language I understand. Maybe the wind. Maybe the knife. Maybe Uktena.”

Little Hawk sent them a wary look. “No say name too much. Bring bad spirits.”

He nodded once, indicating that they should travel on then turned away. Long legs carried him several feet before Abel drew in a breath and followed. Romy shifted the straps on her pack and trotted after them.

“You're not telling me something,” she pressed. “No more secrets, remember?”

Abel's face was grim. Without speaking, he held his hand out, palm up. The one White Elk had taken the blood sacrifice from. Romy was so surprised, she couldn't even gasp. A thin cut traced across his palm at an angle. The flesh around the wound was shriveled and gray. It looked dead.

“The magic of the knife is fighting the Serpent's poison.”

Abel's no-nonsense tone chilled her to the core. She grabbed his wrist and forced the sleeve of his shirt up. The veins along his arm were dark gray beneath his skin.

“But the knife was meant to kill Uktena, not you.”

Little Hawk looked over his shoulder, his gaze sharp. There was annoyance on his face when he saw the distance between them. Romy didn't care. All this way with Abel dying and now he was dying faster. It wasn't fair.

“Guess it kills what it recognizes.” Abel pulled his sleeve down. “Sorry, darlin'.”

Romy planted her fists on her hips, glaring at the direction they'd come from. “I have half a mind to go back to that camp and tell White Elk that he'd better find a way to fix this. It's his doing. He's the one who gave you the knife and insisted it needed blood. Why, that's the most ignorant thing I've ever heard and I've heard quite a lot these last few days!”

Anger didn't do anything to solve the issue, but her vision was red. Damn that irresponsible chief for hurting the man she loved! Besides, the anger enveloped the bubble of fear growing in her chest. A deadly knife wound explained Abel's sudden pallor. If only she could have convinced him to stay behind in Hummingbird's care while she fought the Serpent for the Diamond. But he'd never agree to that. She chewed inside her lip, mentally calculating the distance they'd covered versus the rate the knife's damage was doing. If they didn’t arrive at the lair soon enough, she feared the poison would destroy Abel.