Time Walkers 2 Book Bundle: The Legend of the Bloodstone, Return of the Pale Feather (Time Walkers 1-2) (2 page)

C
hapter 2

S
omething tasted gritty
and damp when she tried to moisten her cracked lips. She figured she must have slept like a rock if she was waking up with a cottonmouth, but when she tried to swallow all she could taste was…dirt.  Maggie sighed and rolled over, and when she opened her eyes, nothing made sense at all.

The palms of her hands were caked with wet earth when she pushed herself into a sitting position.

“What the hell?” she groaned. She blinked a few times in an effort to clear the sleep from her eyes, and when her gaze finally sharpened, she was dismayed to find she truly was sitting on the ground. It also appeared she had rolled around in the dirt, because as she held each arm extended away from her body she could see the mud slathered on her skin.

A crescent moon was shining overhead illuminating the evergreens in a silver glimmer, the sounds of a busy forest smothering her senses.  She was sitting in a patch of damp earth in the middle of the woods. Her fingers dug into the earth as the heady scent of evergreen needles fell upon her, and she could still taste the bitter blood residue in her mouth from her wound.

Ok, she knew what was going on. She must be dreaming. It was the only explanation. Time to stop acting like an idiot! She closed her eyes again, knowing when she opened them she would be safe in her own bed, snug and cozy like she was supposed to be. Not sitting on her ass in the middle of the night in a forest.

She gave it a go. Eyes closed, she counted backwards in a methodical manner from ten to one. Yup, that should do the trick!

Oh, good Lord Jesus!

It did
not
do the trick. She remained there on her wet backside, just as before. Unease nagged her consciousness, turning into a rising howl as she glanced down at her hand covered with dirt and her own dried blood. Before she could make another attempt to wake from her curious dream, she heard the snapping of branches and could see the brush ahead separating. Something was making its way through the undergrowth, pointed in her direction.

Maggie had never seen a bear before in real life, so it was a bit of a shock to see how immense the creature looked in her dream. Ah, okay! If she was trapped like a dirty little pig in an insufferable dream, she might as well get to see a bear up close! She smiled at her predicament and hoped she would remember it when she woke up.

Walking on all fours, the massive bear was a solid chunk of dense brown fur. He lumbered toward her in a lazy swagger, his enormous head swinging back and forth. The creature’s head stopped abruptly when his deep brown eyes swung her way, and his weight shifted somewhat backward on his haunches, although he did not actually sit down.

Maggie stuck her dirty palm up and waved, as if the bear was sitting behind a fence at the zoo.

“Hey…bear,” she whispered. It seemed odd that she could feel the dampness through her denim jeans as she rolled forward onto her knees. She was fine with ignoring that bit of information, much more interested in getting close to the animal in her dream. As she reached for him, the beast opened its mouth and uttered a snarl, and she scrunched her nose. Rancid breath, indeed!

The beast rose upward on his hind legs, still roaring his displeasure, his front limbs extended outward so close to her head she could see the round pink pads on the underside of his paws. She pushed off with her feet and scrambled backward on her bottom, then turned over to crawl away faster. Dream or no dream, she did not want to be eaten by a wild animal!

Didn’t someone once say if you die in a dream, you die in real life
? 

She was not willing to test the theory. She was still considering that conversation when she felt the blow to her right shoulder followed by a searing pain as she was slammed flat to the ground, the air from her lungs evacuating in one painful rush. Her mouth again tasted the dirt as she struggled to gasp for air.

“
Ikali-a
!” A shrill voice whooped from very near her face. Maggie could not see with her face pressed down into the ground, but she felt the air above her swoosh and the weight of the massive paw was suddenly gone from her back. The bear sounded angrier at the intrusion, his roaring mingled with the sharp rapid cries coming from what sounded like a man. Maggie pulled at the ground with her broken fingernails and struggled to breathe but her crushed ribs refused to expand.  She managed to curl into a half sitting position and backed away from the melee at her feet. Her shoulder screamed in protest with every move and a steady trickle of blood dripped down the front of her parka. 

The scene in front of her was very much like a movie - the brown bear stood on his hind legs, his front paws extended outward, looking as if he were about to give the man standing in front of him a hug. Only the bear was truly, really, there in front of her.  Moreover, crouched between her and the bear was a bronze-skinned man, lithe and quick on his toes, wielding what looked like a rather small knife in consideration of the size of his opponent.

“
Ikali-a nusheaxkw!”
the man roared, as if in challenge to the beast.

The stranger danced away from a swipe by the bear, eliciting another frustrated bellow from the beast. Maggie could see the muscles of his legs flex through the buckskin leggings he wore, and there were colored beads attached to a belt at his waist that bounced when he jumped. She had not gained enough breath back in her lungs yet to scream, but if she had, she would have been screaming by now from the absurdity of it all.

The bear aimed another seeming half-hearted swipe at the man, and then gave his massive head a shake as he dropped back down on all fours. The man remained crouched between her and the beast, his fist extended with the knife pointing at it, the veins on his muscled arms standing out like cords against his skin.  With one last series of groans and roars, the animal tossed his head and then abruptly swung his shoulder around. The beast lumbered back the way it came through the underbrush.  It appeared to have lost interest in the fight.

The man watched the bear retreat. When he was satisfied the animal was gone, the stranger turned to Maggie. She could see beads of sweat sliding down off his brow along his black hair. There was a thin braid down the left side of his face where his hair laid flat just past his bare brown shoulders, but she was perplexed to notice the right side of his head was shaved clean in a crescent shape from temple to nape. She could see the bone-handled knife he still clutched in his hand as he glared at her. His hands were fisted at his sides and his chest heaved with the effort of slowing down his breathing.   Maggie was too stunned to speak, but even just staring at him in return of his sharpened gaze was too much.  She felt her head spinning as if she would vomit, but the last thing she wanted to do was throw up in front of the stranger, so she leaned forward and put her head in her hands.

“
Keptchat!
”

She heard the utterance that sounded like a curse, and felt his presence when he kneeled down beside her.  Uncontrolled shaking coursed through her and she felt she was going to lose her head to a moment of panic. Things were not making any sense. The warm hands on her upper arms sent a shock through her bones, and the man holding her was most certainly not a dream.

Everything that had just happened was real.

The man muttered words she did not understand, as if talking to himself in another language.  Maggie felt fingers grasp her chin and then the wet rim of some sort of container of water as he pressed it to her lips. She took a few sips and then shook her head to show him she had enough.

“Aptamehele,”
he muttered.

He sat back on his haunches in front of her, now an unmoving statue as he surveyed her. Maggie returned his bold gaze this time. She imagined she should feel uncomfortable with the way his eyes raked over her, but she did the same to him so she figured they were on equal footing. Other than his tanned buckskin leggings and
knotted rawhide beaded belt, he was adorned with rawhide ties above each bicep and a pendant necklace decorated with beads and two black feathers.  The necklace hung down his broad chest, banging against his caramel skin when he moved. Some sort of hanging flap was secured around his hips by a narrow cord…was it a breechcloth? 

His features could not be called handsome by the standards she was accustomed, but there was a fierce strength in the sharp lines of his face that captivated her.  When she slowly returned her gaze back to his eyes, she was startled to find they were a luminous deep blue, which seemed peculiar for an Indian.  A corner of his mouth slanted downward as he met her appraisal with his own.

“Why are you here, stupid woman?” he asked in clear, but hesitant English. She did not care for the mocking tone of his voice nor the way he raised his eyebrows to wait for her answer, as if he held some authority over her.

“I—I don’t know,” she managed to stammer. “Why are you here?” she countered. This was apparently a humorous response, and it caused him to laugh aloud and smile.

“Maybe you should be glad I am here. Lucky for you that bear was not too hungry.”

Maggie closed her eyes and shook her head. Yup. Still there when she looked again.  The blasted Indian was grinning as though she had provided him endless entertainment. How on Earth was she sitting in the middle of the woods after being attacked by a bear, with a man dressed in an Indian costume laughing at her? Maybe she had been sleepwalking and stumbled onto…onto what? Wait, Halloween was next month! Yes, that had to be it! An early Halloween party and some adults running around in the woods in costumes, perhaps taking things a little too seriously. Hell, the guy was probably drunk, especially considering the way he shaved the side of his head for one silly costume event!

She could think of no other explanation that made sense.  She knew she was missing something important, but her brain seemed to be in a fog and the self-preservation of denial was controlling her senses.  

“I really don’t know how I got here, mister, but—”

Maggie snapped her mouth closed when remnants of memory began to rush back.  She could recall picking up stones in the barn, and then cutting her hand.

The air surged like an electric charge as she looked down at the ground, and the fine hair on her arms pricked up when she focused on the object. Lying on pine needles beside her was the dark green stone. 

She slowly reached out and picked it up, its weight not too heavy but definitely substantial as she raised it in front of her face. It was still stained with her blood.

The man dropped to his knees beside her and snatched her wrist in his own large hand. His startling blue eyes widened and he drew back somewhat as he slowly raised his gaze to meet her own.  She tried half-heartedly to pull her hand away, but he held it firm as his eyes remained locked with hers, a flutter settling down deep in her belly at the connection.  She could see him swallow hard and his lips closed together in a tight line. Finally he spoke in a low, even tone, but his eyes remained fixed on her own.

“
Sawwehone Shacquohocan
,” he said. “This is a Bloodstone. How did you come by it?”

“I found it in my barn. I was cleaning up. I dropped it, I guess,” she stammered. Her answer was an honest one, but it seemed to incite his agitation.

“You say you found it? Or stole it?” he asked.

“No! I didn’t
steal
it! I just found it,” she tried to explain. “But I didn’t steal it. It’s just a
rock
, for Christ’s sake!” she insisted. She had no idea why she was trying to justify herself to him. Despite the fact that she still felt disoriented and had been nearly mauled to death by a wild animal, she felt like she had to make him understand. 

He plucked the stone from her hand and a hiss escaped from between his clenched teeth when they both saw the burn on her palm. A twist of lines scarred her skin where she held the stone, tender to touch and disturbingly…organized.  As if the strange knot shape had been branded to her skin.

There was no more time to ponder her predicament because the man swiftly scooped her up and stood to his feet, holding her in his bare arms as if she weighed nothing at all.  One hand rested gingerly around her shoulder where the bear had scratched her, and it was only then that she began to feel the sharp burning ache the claws had left in her skin.