Recruits (Keeper of the Water Book 2) (5 page)

“This meeting seems awfully familiar,” I tell the two women now standing in front of me.

They stick out like sore thumbs among the vast emptiness of the grassy plains. Occasionally, my tribe and I encounter travelers in covered wagons heading west but those people rarely stop; most of them rush by as if we’re bloodthirsty savages about to attack. But these two women don’t wear frightened expressions, not even when they see me standing next to a two-ton buffalo I just shot and killed with a single arrow. In fact, they look
exactly
the same as when I last saw them nearly twenty-five years ago.

The woman with the pale skin has hair just as short as I remember, just as fiery red, her spear just as long and sharp. The skull-shaped burn mark remains on her arm and her ears are still lined with golden hoops. The other woman is just as tanned, her twin blades just as sharp, her hair still pulled up high on her head. She still looks annoyed to be in my presence.

Between our first and second meetings, the two hadn’t changed a bit though only a few years passed. But now it’s been several decades and they
still
look the same. There’s no doubt that
some
kind of magic is in play. I
should
be worried about them, especially since my tribe has very strong opinions on those accused of dark magic. I was accepted by my people the moment I arrived in camp years earlier, but I still hear them whisper about the way I can run, the way I can move and shoot and hunt. I’m too much of a provider for them to merely cast me out but their opinion of me might change if they knew I was associating with women known to casts spells by giving a simple sip of water…

But I don’t care what anyone thinks. I’m nearly 50 years old now and I’ve been waiting half of my life for this moment to arrive. Doubt inevitably crept into my mind about whether they’d ever come back to find me but deep down, I always knew they’d return. Besides, the magical women put me at ease right away, at least the woman with the red hair.

“It
was
the two of you that saved my life in the fort, wasn’t it? When you didn’t show up for so many years, I started to worry that the fever was playing tricks on my mind,” I say.

“You wanted to live with your people, to experience the life you always expected,” the red-haired woman says. “We didn’t want to cut that short so we told you we’d find you later.”

“
Now
it’s later,” the other woman says, clearly annoyed. “It
better
have been worth the trouble we’ve had tracking you down.”

I joined a tribe of Comanche soon after escaping Fort Lisa –
and
escaping my old life. The tribe allowed me to become a hunter after witnessing my incredible physical abilities, which have hardly diminished over the years. Many of the tribe leaders fought to take me as their bride but I made it clear I would be nobody’s property ever again. Besides, I was unable to produce any more children due to internal damage I must’ve suffered from the fever. After that, nobody wanted me as a wife but my people still wanted me to teach their young men how to hunt.

Not that any of them could ever keep up with me.

I didn’t miss male companionship as much as I thought I would. My heart still ached for Jean-Baptiste and Lizette but Mr. Clark kept his promise to keep them away from Toussaint. I still had my life on the plains, running free, going where I want and doing as I please. But there’s always been something missing inside of me and the sudden appearance of these two women instantly begins to fill that void.

“Will you join us now?” the red-haired woman asks.

“How is it that both of you have not aged a single day since our last meeting?” I ask.

“For the same reason you’re still strong and fast and youthful despite your age,” she answers.

“The same reason you’re alive for that matter,” the other woman adds.

“The water?” I guess. The red-haired woman nods. Much of what happened during my feverish brush with death remains hazy in my memory to this day but it would be impossible to forget the cold water that quelled my illness. “What was it?”

“It’s the water of life, the life force of our Earth,” she explains. “Its source is protected by a group of the world’s strongest women, the fiercest of fighters, the greatest of protectors. We’ve seen your strength, your bravery, your honor, your appreciation for nature. Throughout your life, you’ve embodied everything we stand for, which makes you an ideal candidate to join us.”

The other woman snorts. Clearly she doesn’t agree.

“I am truly honored to be considered,” I say. “But even though I still feel strong, I’m probably too old to be of much use.”

The meaner woman snickers but the redhead smiles.

“You are still just a child in this great world of ours,” she says. “You’re far younger than me even. I was born almost 90 years ago so there are ways we can help you if you’re interested. The Keeper – ”

“Our leader,” the other interrupts.

“ – has been following your path in life for a long time. She keeps our group small and tight-knit by picking women who are famously strong. You showed integrity leading your crew of men through our lands all those years ago and held up your end of the bargain by not searching us out. As the years went by and your role became well-known in the expedition that opened up more of this country, our Keeper held you in the highest regard. It’s rare that anyone ever rejects an offer to join us but I think she was even impressed by your need to return to the plains and your people. But now we have a need for a new woman to join and we hope it’s time for you to do important things with
us
.”

“I won’t be able to say goodbye to my people, will I?” I ask.

“Unfortunately, no,” the redhead tells me. “Our anonymity is very important to us. I’ve already told you more than I was ever told.”

“Me, too,” her partner says.

“It’s better when people think you’ve died or disappeared,” the redhead explains. “But I suggest you make your decision wisely. You’re the only potential candidate who’s been given a second chance to join us. I highly doubt there will be a third offer.”

I’ve waited a long time for this moment, a long time to confirm that the mystery women and their magical healing waters weren’t just a product of my imagination, a long time for another chance to join the secretive tribe of women. Still, the idea of walking away from a life I’ve known for so long is not an easy choice. I love my people, my tribe, my way of life on the plains; this life has been everything I dreamed about. But really, there’s no decision to be made.

I have nothing keeping me in this life but even if I did, it wouldn’t matter. Without these two women and what they did to save me, my life on the plains never would’ve been possible. I’m embarrassed that I turned them down in the first place but now I’m ready to prove my appreciation, even if it took 25 years.

“Of course I will go with you,” I tell them.

The red-haired woman smiles wide and her green eyes seem to glow, though her companion looks less than thrilled. At least she doesn’t sigh with annoyance.

“Good,” says the redhead, who produces another small vial of the bright blue liquid. “Drink this, it’ll help you run as fast as us. We have a long journey ahead.”

“I’m pretty fast right now,” I say.

The brown-haired woman chuckles insolently; she has a way of making me feel foolish. The other woman also smiles but is a bit kinder.

“Trust me, you’ll need to be
much
faster if you plan on keeping up with us,” she says.

I look down at the glowing water. It might have saved my life the last time I drank it but anything
that
powerful makes me nervous. I still recall the indescribable pain of the healing process from my fever. But I suppose I have no choice. I remove the lid and put the vial to my lips, feeling intense cold before the first drop comes out.

Like the last time I drank, the same refreshing surge of energy rushes through my body. This time, no pain follows. I can feel a momentary tensing in all my muscles, a burst of strength replacing any fatigue or general pains of old age. My mind feels clearer, my ears hear faint sounds in the distance, my eyes focus on every individual blade of grass that sways in the wind. I’m changed somehow and begin to understand that this water holds far more secrets.

“I can’t just leave the dead buffalo lying here,” I tell the women. “I want to make sure this animal died for a purpose, that it died to help my people.”

Now
the other woman sighs. “Didn’t we already go over this? You can’t bring it back to your camp.”

“The younger hunters shouldn’t be far behind me,” I say, backtracking a few hundred feet as the women follow me. “I’ve taught them to follow tracks but they haven’t quite picked up the skill. I just have to make sure they’re easier to spot.”

Normally I’m so light of foot that I leave no marks on the earth. Now, I push my feet into the soft dirt. The young men of my tribe would have to be hunting with eyes closed to miss this. As I move, I already feel a change to my body. I slam my foot in the earth to make a mark and cause the ground to shake beneath me. The strength I now feel is frightening.

“Have you had enough?”

“They should think I’m dead, right?” I ask. “Maybe they need a few clues.”

I tear away a piece of my clothing and drop it along the path leading to the buffalo. I then borrow the redhead’s spear and hold the sharp tip of it against my hand.

My hand! It’s softer than it’s been in years, the rough callousness gone, the wrinkles smoothed, as if I’d lost years off my life. I run my hand along the side of my face and feel the wrinkles and rough skin gone from there as well. I wish I were near a calm lake or a shiny piece of metal so I could look at my reflection. I don’t know
how
this water works – or what sort of magic these women have done – but it’s pretty obvious how they’ve stayed looking so young.

“Can we get on with this?” asks the brown-haired woman.

I slice the palm of my hand and squeeze some drops of blood onto the cloth and the ground around it. It’s not much for my people to go on but wolf attacks sometimes strike this area. Hopefully they’ll assume that’s what happened to me…

I take a deep breath. “I’m ready.”

“It’s about time!”

Without another word, the brown-haired woman turns and runs. Within seconds, she’s halfway across the plains, moving so quick that she looks like a blur. If my eyesight hadn’t just improved, I might not have seen her at all.

“Try to keep up,” the redhead says and turns to follow her companion.

“Wait!” I say, stopping her just as she starts to run. In that split second, she’s run several hundred feet away.

“Yes?” she calls out.

“Will you at least tell me your name?” I ask.

The redhead smiles. Even from so far away, I can see every one of her bright white teeth.

“Sorry, that was rude of me,” the redhead says. “But I haven’t had to introduce myself to someone in years. My name is Anne.”

Anne takes off again, her running blur tinged red.

“Anne,” I whisper before running after them.

My acceleration is incredible. For the first few seconds I feel awkward, like my feet are running too fast for my feet and I might tumble at any moment. But I stay upright and soon gain on the other two women, feeling as good as I ever have in my life.

“I feel something!” I call out suddenly, the words escaping my lips before I know what I’m saying.

Though I was lost in memories, my subconscious recognizes the slightest tingle and snaps me back to reality. The biplane flies low in the sky and when I peer over the side, Boulder Field is nowhere to be seen. I wonder how long I’ve been distracted. There’s so much coming back to my mind – so much about my past – that I wish I had a quiet few days to just sit around and think. But that’s not possible now that the tingling is growing in intensity.

We’re above yet another stretch of highway that cuts through the mountainous forest of the Poconos. A few police cars flash their lights and speed below but there’s no way they can keep up with us. Within minutes, they’re long gone behind us.

“Down there!” Celeste calls out, pointing into the distance.

She must feel the tingling, too. The sensation grows so strong it’s hard for me to sit still. The forest breaks into a wide-open field up ahead and I see a big black dot stopped off the side of the road. When we fly closer, I recognize the big, heavily-tinted black truck owned by one of John’s soldiers. A second, smaller car is also parked askew in the grassy area. But that’s not all. My heart lodges into my throat at the sight of a body lying in the grass beyond the truck. I can’t tell who it is but he – or possibly, but hopefully not,
she
– is not moving.

I look toward Celeste, who remains perched on the wing. She squints while staring down at the ground.

“Is there enough room to land down there?” Celeste calls out to the pilot.

The familiar woman cranes her neck over the side.

“Not for a normal pilot,” the goggled woman calls back.

I don’t even want to consider how else Celeste plans for us to reach the ground – not that there’s time for guessing. We’re already flying relatively low but the pilot pushes her flight stick forward and we speed down, heading straight for the highway. Luckily, this area of the Poconos isn’t so crowded but there are still plenty of cars using this stretch of road. However, this doesn’t appear to dissuade the pilot. Another explosion of worry erupts within me but it has nothing to do with the black truck or Cassie’s whereabouts.

I turn in my seat to look at the pilot, who still smiles broadly. My mind begins to wander back to another time– our paths have certainly crossed in the past – but I force myself to focus on the present, especially since I might not have much present left.

“I thought you said you couldn’t land here,” I yell back to her.

To confirm my point, a tractor-trailer zooms just below us. The wheels of the biplane couldn’t have missed the top of the truck by more than a few feet. The force of blowing wind created by the truck causes the entire plane to shake.

“I said a
normal
pilot couldn’t land here,” she calls back. “You should know that
I’m
not normal.”

She swerves out of the way of another oncoming car, whose driver lays on the horn. The plane’s wing nearly clips the pavement before she straightens back out and touches down lightly on the highway. There’s a momentary lapse of traffic, perfectly timed with the landing. I suddenly realize I’ve forgotten to keep breathing.

No sooner does the plane stop in front of the open field when Celeste jumps off the wing. I don’t need to be told to hurry up and follow. I climb out of my seat and leap to the road just as several cars begin to approach behind us. The biplane taxis down the highway before lifting back into the sky. I want to know more about the pilot, to spend time with her and learn about her role among the Amazons, but now obviously isn’t the time.

Celeste raises her bow and rushes toward the truck and car. Now that we’re on the ground and have a better view, I can see there’s been some sort of accident. But the body is hidden within the tall grass so I can’t see who it is. I can, however, see the outline of two people sitting inside the front seat of the truck, its driver-side door wide open. Upon closer inspection, I see that the other car is an old piece of junk, made even worse by the huge black dent in the side.

The body is behind the truck but Celeste isn’t as interested in it when she recognizes who’s sitting in the passenger seat.

“Cassie’s in there,” she says, her voice filled with relief. “But I can’t see who’s with her.”

We take position on either side of the truck, our bows raised and ready to fire. The windshield might be thick and sturdy but I have no doubt I can fire an arrow through it
and
the person in the driver’s seat.

“Get out of the vehicle!” Celeste yells at the man.

I’m ready to shoot at the first sign of danger but the man puts his hands in the air and climbs out of the truck. It’s
not
the greasy old soldier who terrorized me and attacked my family. This guy is young, probably only a few years older than me – more specifically, a few years older than eighteen.

“Please, don’t call the cops. I don’t have insurance,” he says nervously. “I was only trying to help.”

He hobbles forward a few steps, clearly hurt from the accident. But it’s not his injuries I’m focused on. I immediately lower my weapon as my breath seems to catch in my throat.

“Who are you? What were you doing in that truck?” Celeste demands, keeping her weapon aimed at him.

Apparently, she doesn’t see what I do. I try to calm my pounding heart – to tell myself that my eyes are playing tricks on me – but it doesn’t work. I can’t take my eyes off of his face, can’t stop looking at the shape of his nose and the color of his eyes and the cut of his hair.
I have to stop doing this,
I tell myself over and over but I can’t help it. If you add a moustache and about 25 years to his face, this young man would be the spitting image of my father.

“When I drove next to the truck, I saw the girl in trouble. She looked at me and mouthed the word
help
,” he explains. He speaks quickly, nervously, and I think I hear the faintest hint of a British accent. “I tried forcing the driver to pull over but he smashed into me and we both ended up spinning out of control.”

“Why should I believe you?” Celeste asks, displaying her usual level of trust in strangers. Never once does her bow waver, even though the young man shows no sign of aggression.

“Because he’s telling the truth,” another voice says.

The voice is familiar, yet it sounds more different than I’ve heard it in years. Regardless of what Cassie ever feels, her voice is usually laden with attitude, with confidence, with sassiness, with some type of drama. But there’s no evidence of
any
of those qualities. Instead, she sounds flat, like a bird that’s lost its ability to sing.

During the attack by the soldiers and our escape down the river, I heard Cassie frightened and frustrated. When her mother returned on the raft and told us of John’s death, I even heard her sound truly distraught. But only one word comes to mind when I hear her level tone of voice that lacks any sort of emotion: shock.

And who can blame her? Today’s events have been shocking to me and I’ve had
some
kind of idea about what was going on. As far as Cassie knows, our family was nothing more than a victim of random violence perpetrated by her boyfriend’s two ‘uncles.’ I only hope we’ve reached her in time to curb some of the emotional damage caused by her kidnapping.

Cassie stumbles out of the truck, her hands still tied together. Her hair sticks out all over the place and the sleeve of her shirt is ripped but she doesn’t appear hurt, at least not on the outside. Her eyes are glazed over and she wears no discernible expression.

“Bow and arrows?” the young man asks once Cassie absolves him of guilt. “And was that a
biplane
you were flying in?”

The young man talks to me but Celeste responds.

“No questions,” she snaps at him.

The young man turns to Cassie, who looks back at him. He raises a questioning eyebrow at her and the glazed look in her eyes fades. I fully expect
her
to jump in with questions but she remains quiet for once.

“What happened?” I ask Cassie but her far-off gaze returns. The young man answers for her.

“Like I said, I saw her in trouble and tried getting the truck to pull over. But the driver rammed into me and I skidded off the road; luckily he lost control, too,” the young man explains.

“Luckily?” Celeste snaps. “Do you realize what could’ve happened if my daughter was hurt in the accident?”

“I’m sorry, ma’am. I was only trying to help,” he says.

“Nobody asked for your help,” Celeste says angrily.

“I did,” Cassie intercedes, her voice no louder than a whisper as she continues staring off into nothingness.

“And Cassie is safe now so we don’t have to worry about
what ifs
,” I tell Celeste. I have a strong urge to stick up for the young man, to trust the young man who looks so much like Dad. But then I realize my statement might not be totally accurate. I raise my bow again but don’t aim it at Cassie’s savior. “Where’s the driver?”

“After my car and the truck stopped, I got out and the driver attacked me,” the young man says. “He’s a big bloke and I’ve never seen someone move like that before. But after I subdued him, I – ”

“Wait!” Celeste interrupts. “
You
subdued him?”

I’m just as surprised, especially since I’ve seen the way both soldiers could fight. The young man is not very tall but I now notice that his arms ripple with muscles. If I didn’t have the idea in mind that he resembles my father, I might think he was seriously hot. Once Cassie recovers from her shock and the ‘crushing loss’ of John, I fully expect her to be all over this guy.

“I’m a lot tougher than I look,” he says with a smile. “I have certain skills that make me pretty good in a fight.”

Seeing that the young man is no immediate threat, Celeste lowers her bow and rushes around the back of the truck. I circle the other side, ready for the soldier to ambush us. But no sneak attack happens and we find the burly soldier still in the grass, unconscious, his massive chest heaving up and down. There are no obvious marks or bumps that I can see on his face or head so I wonder how the smaller young man was able to knock him out. His shirt remains bloodied and in tatters from being shot earlier but the arrow wound has apparently healed.

“If he just drank enough water to heal his wound, shouldn’t he have been extra strong?” I ask Celeste.

She nods and looks back to the young man, who’s whispering to Cassie. Celeste rushes over to her daughter and takes Cassie by the arm, leading her away from him. When Cassie joins us near the unconscious soldier, she sneers down at him. I’m glad to see some emotion from her and I certainly don’t blame her for looking so angry. The same kind of rage suddenly flows through me as I think about this man destroying my family, destroying our lives, killing John and my father. I want nothing more than to shoot him in the chest where he lays.

Instinctively, my arms begin to raise the bow and I pull back on the bowstring, an arrow ready to pierce his heart. My pulse races and sweat forms on my brow. Revenge is the only thought on my mind and I zero in on the soldier’s heart, black as though it might be. Somehow I force myself to take a deep breath and step away. My heartbeat steadies and I can’t believe I’ve come so close to committing cold-blooded murder. I lean my bow against the side of the truck, unable to trust myself until I know the murderous anger isn’t about to return.

“He was going to do something very bad to Cassie, wasn’t he?” the young man asks as he joins us near the body.

“How do you know her name?” Celeste asks accusingly.

“I told him,” Cassie whispers.

“Oh,” Celeste says, the closest thing to an apology the young man will get from her. “Well, it’s none of your concern what this monster had in store for her. It’s time for you to move along, you’ve done enough here.”

“How did you take him down?” I ask, ignoring Celeste’s desire for the young man to leave.

“I don’t like to brag or anything but I fight for a living, mixed martial arts,” he explains. “I’m a brown belt in Brazilian Jiu-Jitsu. So when he came at me with the knife, I took him down with a classic chokehold. I held on until he went unconscious, even after he stabbed me.”

“Stabbed you?” I ask. “Are you okay?”

I noticed the young man limping earlier and assumed he injured his leg during the accident. But now I realize he was walking stiffly and grimacing from being stabbed. He wears a black T-shirt so it’s hard to see his wound until he lifts the shirt. A white rag is pushed against the wound – at least I’m sure it was white at some point. Now it’s completely red, saturated in blood. He peels off the rag and reveals a sizable gash. His face turns several shades whiter and he suddenly has to lean against the nearby truck to keep from falling. My heart sinks at the sight of his injury; it’s hard not to compare this with what just happened to my father.

“We need to get you to a hospital,” I say.

“It’s only a flesh wound,” Celeste interrupts. “If any organs were hit, he’d already be dead.”

I didn’t think it possible but the young man turns even paler. He presses the bloody rag back against his wound but he may as well be trying to stop a running faucet with a sponge. His eyes meet mine and he notices my concern.