Somewhere to Dream (Berkley Sensation) (6 page)

CHAPTER
8

Introductions

I went about my daily routine, tending whoever needed me, doing chores with the women, sitting and talking with Nechama. My mind, however, dwelt in the small, silent tent near the centre of the village. They had tossed him in there with nothing but the blanket, and now took turns terrorizing him. I knew they hadn’t allowed him more than a couple of hours sleep. He was going to have to prove himself, and he was going to have to do it with next to no strength. In my opinion, they’d planned a horrible welcome-home party for Soquili’s so-called brother.

I stayed purposefully away from him, though it bothered me how much I wanted to peek into that tent. I fought my curiosity for as long as I could, but I was plagued at night when his yellow eyes glared into my dreams. After a day, I gave in. I lifted the edge of the tent’s flap and squinted through the opening, relieved to see his eyes were closed. He sat straight, facing the tent’s flap, ready to defend himself . . . except his head lolled over his shoulder, long lashes rested on his pale cheeks, and soft snores padded his breathing. The cut on his brow seemed, from where I stood, to be healing all right. The scab was dark, and the purple-black bruises around his eyes were beginning to melt into an ugly greenish tinge. The swelling was mostly down.

He looked younger when he slept, but then we all do. I wondered vaguely what his smile looked like. Then I sighed. Why bother wondering? Another day or so and his pretty face would be pounded to a pulp again. What a waste.

I heard a sound behind me and turned slowly, not wanting to wake him. It was Kokila, and I smiled to see her. She didn’t have a mean bone in her body.

“Does he sleep?” she whispered. I nodded, and she pulled the flap farther, then squatted beside me. I felt exposed, as if we trespassed, but Kokila didn’t seem bothered by it. She tilted her head, studying him, then smiled gently at me.

“Does he eat?”

I shook my head. An untouched bowl of corn and rice sat by him. It had been brought the night before. The water bowl, however, was empty.

Kokila’s pretty mouth quirked up at one edge, and she nudged me with her elbow. “You could do worse,” she whispered.

I looked away. Though I’d said nothing of it, Soquili’s teasing hadn’t left my mind since he’d uttered it.
He is your betrothed.
I refused to make any kind of comment, but what he’d said simply would not happen. Not in this lifetime. I wouldn’t marry anyone. But to even consider pairing me with a white man? Did these people forget who I was? What I’d survived? This new approach was strange and confusing to me. They were usually so caring.

Kokila looked back into the dark tent. It was midday, and the air was still. Sweat trickled down the prisoner’s chest and over the cougar scar while he slept.

“Tomorrow,” she whispered. “He will run tomorrow.”

A sadness swelled in my chest. Not for myself, surely, but for this brave young man who had done nothing but defend himself. I hadn’t spoken with him since I’d cleaned his cuts, so he was completely in the dark about what was coming.

Sometimes I hated the Cherokee with every one of my breaths. I hated their sense of right and wrong, their demeaning perspective that everyone but them was an imbecile, and their brutal methods of declaring superiority.

Superiority. Hardly that. For them to beat an exhausted man almost to death so he could prove something of which he had no idea? How could that be superior? I tried not to dwell too much on this aspect of their society, because I could do nothing about it. They were what they were, and despite what they might believe, I knew they weren’t better or worse than anyone else. They were human. But knowing what was coming for this man made me sick. My throat tightened as I stared at his sleeping form.

The Cherokee were human. White men were human. And yet they were so dramatically different. Their hatred was a living thing, and each wanted nothing less than to annihilate the other.

Somewhere in the middle was me. I straddled both races, terrified to plant one foot permanently in either camp. This man slumped before me was trapped between worlds as well, but he didn’t have to choose one or the other. He knew he was white all the way through. He knew to hate the Cherokee.

I didn’t know who I was anymore. I had once been a quiet middle sister with a skill at sewing. Nothing more than that. I thought of myself as Maggie and Ruth’s sister, not my own person, and I was happy that way. I liked to hover behind others like a shadow, watching but silent. There was nothing special about me. Nothing except for the dreams I despised and ignored.

This man’s presence reminded me that I was a part of two separate worlds, but a member of neither. I was alone. I used to want that. Then everything changed and being alone turned into being lost. Now I wanted, more than anything else, to be found.

Kokila’s soft hand touched mine, and I turned toward her. Her eyes were dark, liquid with mirrored pain. She didn’t have to say a word. Her gaze, deep with the gentle soul of the Cherokee, loving and loyal and beautiful, apologized on behalf of all of them.
It is something that must be done,
said her black eyes. I looked away and tried to remember the caring, healing hands, the songs the women had sung to rid my sleep of nightmares, the lessons Wah-Li had taught me that had come close to freeing me from myself. Remembering their generosity of spirit reminded me of the creatures from whom Maggie and I had been rescued. I had steadfastly refused to remember those monsters or that day again, but just the thought of them helped me to see the prisoner as a white man again. That made it much easier for me to nod and back away from the tent.

In the morning, excitement was as thick as the shrieks of cicadas in the air. Soquili and the others applied fresh war paint and bounced around one another, grinning with anticipation. The women were all outside, the children as well, and their laughter should have lightened my spirit.

Instead, I felt sick. While the preparations were getting under way, the guest of honour sat trembling in his tent, unaware he was the reason for all this noise. I couldn’t stand it. I stomped back to his tent and stood face-to-face with the warrior on duty.

“I’m going in.”

“You are not allowed.”

I narrowed my eyes and tried to give my best impression of an angry Cherokee wife. “Do you have any idea of who I am to this man? It is not your place to keep me away.”

Uncertainty flickered. “Only for a moment,” he said, and I ducked inside.

The prisoner’s eyes flew open, then narrowed with suspicion.

“I’m not allowed to be here,” I said quickly. He didn’t reply, only watched and waited. “But I thought you should know that you are to be tested this morning.”

He closed his eyes and exhaled loudly through his nose, which was still slightly swollen. Something that might have been resignation sagged across his shoulders. I frowned, then knelt on the dirt across from him.

“That doesn’t mean they’ll kill you. In fact, they’ll probably do just about everything
but
kill you.”

He kept his eyes closed. “So I’ll just wish I was dead,” he muttered.

I couldn’t argue with that. “Probably. You just have to get through them all. They won’t let you die, I don’t think. They definitely won’t let you escape, though.”

The golden eyes opened slightly and stared at me. His voice stayed low. “So what’s the point? Why are you here? Just to bring me the good news?”

“All you have to do is make it to the council house. I brought you more water and some meat to help you stay strong.” He didn’t reach to take either from me, only sat in stoic silence. I set them beside him. “It’s better to survive, in case you’re wondering. They don’t kill people nicely around here.”

I sat back, feeling unusually conversational. “What’s your name?”

“Why does that matter?”

“I want to know.” I debated with myself, then said, “I’m Adelaide.”

“Adelaide, huh?” He snorted and stared at his legs, stretched out in front of him. “Adelaide the Injun.”

I ignored the intended barb, and his sneer relaxed. “All right. I’m Jesse. Black. Jesse Black.”

“Nice to meet you,” I said reflexively.

“Why ain’t I dead?”

“They have something else in mind for you.”

A dark flush rose up his neck. “I won’t be a slave to these savages,” he growled. “I won’t do it. I’ll kill myself before that happens.”

Male voices came from outside, and I recognized Soquili’s. I didn’t have time to say anything more before the flap opened and Soquili stormed in.

“Why are you here?” he demanded. “You cannot speak with this man today.”

I frowned at him, fighting the instinct to cower under those eyes. “No? You’d have me marry a man I know nothing about?”

He jammed his hands on his hips and paced, though the tent was only two steps wide. “What did you say to him?”

“What I say isn’t up to you, Soquili. You can’t tell me what to do.” That was true enough. They were a fierce, warlike tribe when they wanted to be, but the Cherokee were mostly ruled by their women. And I was one of Wah-Li’s favourites, so he would have to check his tone. He did. He also gave me a cynical grin.

“It is an important day for this man. He needs his rest.”

“Ha!” I said, shaking my head. “Rest? No one has left him alone for more than five minutes since he got here. The poor man is exhausted.”

“What’s going on?” Jesse drawled. He leaned his head back against the tent wall, trying to appear as if it didn’t matter to him one way or the other. But the tight fists at his sides told a different story.

I looked from him to Soquili. “He deserves to know what’s happening. He needs to understand why he has to go through today’s torture, and why he hasn’t been killed. Don’t you think you should tell him he’s your . . .” I struggled with the word, then finally blurted, “your brother?”

Soquili frowned, but it wasn’t out of anger. The tightness at the corner of his lips gave me the impression that he was nervous.

“So can I tell him?” I asked.

“Hey, Adelaide,” Jesse said. “I asked what you’re talking about.”

I lifted my eyebrows at Soquili, and eventually he shrugged. “Yes. Tell him.”

“Adelaide?”

I turned back to Jesse, who leaned forward now, elbows on his knees.

“I need to tell you something. You’re not going to like it, but it’s better than the alternative.” I gestured toward Soquili. “See this man behind me?”

“Hard to miss.”

I smiled. “True enough. This is Soquili.” I turned toward Soquili and said in Cherokee, “This is Jesse.” The men nodded warily at each other, like big dogs unsure whether to sniff or growl. “Soquili’s brother was killed a couple of weeks ago.”

Jesse nodded, not even blinking at the news. Why should he? What did he care about a dead Indian?

“Soquili believes you are the spirit of his brother come back,” I blurted, and Jesse’s eyes widened. “Yes. He thinks you are his brother.”

“I ain’t no Injun!” Jesse exclaimed.

“Calm down,” I suggested when Soquili tensed beside me. I gestured for Soquili to step outside, and, with a sigh, he did so, leaving me alone with Jesse. “Here’s what you can do,” I said simply. “You can choose to allow them to adopt you in this manner, see how that is, or you can burn on a stake. Soquili has chosen to let you live. Would you throw that away out of stupidity?”

Jesse stared at me, glanced over my shoulder, at the place where he’d last seen Soquili, then back at me. “What would I have to do?”

“You’d be like a brother. Just like that. You’ll share food, friends, family—”

“Family?”

“His parents will be yours. He has no other brothers, no sisters.”

The most exquisite look of repulsion crossed his face. “I ain’t got Injun parents, no how.”

“Maybe not,” I said, trying not to laugh. “But if I were you, I’d pretend.”

I neglected to mention that he was not only expected to be a brother and a son but a husband as well.

CHAPTER
9

The Gauntlet

Outside the tent, the drums began to pound. They were slow, muffled heartbeats, soon joined by warbling male voices. I shuddered, then regretted the movement when Jesse shot me a glance.

“That’s for me, ain’t it?”

I didn’t want to look at him, see hate and fear glint in those beautiful eyes. “Yes.”

“I will send for him,” Soquili said, peeking through the tent flap.

We sat listening to the sounds for a moment. The singing grew louder, until the hair stood up on the back of my neck. The air in the tent felt suspended. Tight.

“So . . . this ain’t gonna be good, huh?” Jesse’s voice had lost its aggressive snarl. He was quiet now, trying to accept what was coming.

“No.”

I looked back and took in whatever progress he’d made over the past couple of days. Other than the places I’d wiped clean, he was still filthy. His wounds were healing well, the long gash on his thigh still inflamed and black with bruising, but nothing oozed out of it. For now, it was all right. Except for his nose, his face had resumed its natural shape. The bruises and cuts were still ugly, and his lip was full but not swollen. But after today . . .

I looked away again. “I’ll be waiting at the other end for you. I’ll tend your wounds.”

He snorted and gazed out through the open flap. “Great news.”

Two warriors came for him, and I rose, backing toward the exit. He still hadn’t touched the food I’d brought, but it was too late now. Anything he ate would only come back up.

“Run fast and fight back as long as you can, Jesse. They want to know that you deserve this honour.”

He looked as if he wanted to spit with disgust. The idea of honour among the Indians was plainly ridiculous to him. But he said nothing, only clenched his jaw and gave me a short nod.

I went to the council house and waited for Wah-Li to invite me in. When she did, I knelt in front of her and bowed my head. I hadn’t been able to meet her eyes since Wahyaw’s death. She was quiet, and I wondered if she waited for me to look up. I didn’t.

“It is good to see you again, Shadow Girl,” she eventually said. “I have wondered at your absence. Was it shame? I asked myself, then thought that maybe yes, that was why you did not come to see me. Shame is a thick wall of smoke, Shadow Girl. The only way to see through it is to extinguish the source.” I looked up and met her milky eyes. “You did nothing wrong. Who is to say the man would not have gone anyway?”

“Now this man will suffer,” I said quietly.

She nodded slowly. “But I have seen he will be brave. And I will meet him when you have healed his physical body. I must see your mate for myself. I believe him to be a good man.”

“He is not my mate,” I snapped.

Her ancient head tilted slightly to the side. “Shadow Girl, you must not be afraid of everything. You must learn to take
ulanigvgv
—take your power into yourself. Not everything that is done comes from punishment or a desire to hurt you.”

“I didn’t say I was afraid. Just that he isn’t my mate. Neither was—” I stopped, remembering. No one was ever to mention a dead man’s name out loud. Never.

“You are not alone in this world.”

“No, I know that,” I replied shortly, knowing my words were more curt than they should have been. She was wrong, though. I was very alone. I shrugged, letting her have the argument. “I have Maggie, and you, and Kokila, and Nechama—”

“And the gods have given you a mate.”

Voices rose outside, and I recognized one of them as Jesse’s. He was spouting words I hadn’t heard for a long time, threats and insults from another lifetime. One I’d hoped to forget. My throat felt thick, but I didn’t want to cry. I clenched my jaw and swallowed.

“He is
not
a good man, and he is
not
my mate. And I do not believe he is Soquili’s brother, either. He is too full of hate.”

She chuckled. “Just so. Go now and send him the strength you carry, Shadow Girl. He needs you there.” I shook my head, but she smiled her toothless smile. “Go now.”

Voices had risen with anticipation, drowning out Jesse’s curses. I stepped into the sunlight, my stomach queasy with dread. I wanted to flee, to hide in the trees and try to forget any of this was happening. A kind of connection already existed between me and Jesse, and I not only felt nauseated by the whole ceremony, I felt protective of the strange, coarse man. Our skin colour and our non-Cherokee upbringings were the most obvious ties. But more than that was the reality of his eyes in my dreams. I’d known the white warrior was coming; it appeared he had arrived.

I looked at the crowd reluctantly, and my eyes sought Jesse. He was easy to find—the source of the most movement in the group as he struggled, giving me the occasional flash of dirty-blond hair. He wrestled their grip, trying to yank his arms free, but they had him. He wasn’t as tall as his captors, but though he limped and was gaunt from not eating recently, he looked as strong as they did. He was dressed in Cherokee clothing, which meant leggings and a breechclout but nothing more. I knew he hated that. Hated anything that hinted at his being a part of this despised society. But I also wondered if maybe, within that sculpted, pale chest, his heart beat with a little more strength now that he knew he was being considered worthy of joining them as a brother.

I wormed between some of the people, wanting suddenly to see, as if maybe my presence might offer a little strength. The crowd roared and my stomach sank when he was shoved into the midst of them. One minute I saw his blond head, and the next it had sunk into a sea of black hair and feathers. I knew he still moved forward with the flow of violence, because I could see arms and legs swinging at him, sticks and rocks pounding, though their quarry was buried beneath. He appeared now and then, bloodied face contorted with rage, teeth bared, eyes on fire. He was like a drowning man bobbing to the surface for air before being dragged under again, but he was determined to take them with him. There were yelps when he made contact, shouts of either rage or encouragement, laughter that didn’t belong before they yanked him away again.

I didn’t want to watch. I was so tired of blood and pain and anger. With a sigh, I turned away and faced the open expanse of the field, watched the lazily twitching tails of nearby horses. I was tempted to walk to them, to lay my palm on a velvety nose and feel warm, wet breath tickle my wrists, but I couldn’t. I was needed here. I was responsible for this man’s care, whether I wanted to be or not. I cursed Soquili for choosing him, for dragging him back here and dropping me in the middle of it all.

Send him the strength you carry, Shadow Girl,
Wah-Li had said.

I turned back to the violence and closed my eyes, willing Jesse to survive.

A tingle flickered across my fingertips, like tiny snowflakes dancing over my hand. I imagined Jesse’s face, focused on his expression when a hint of trust had appeared there. I felt myself being sucked into the vision, and I rode its wave. The sensation grew stronger as it spread up my arms, through my chest, then swirled into my mind. It was similar to what I’d done with Wah-Li, except it was entirely different. I was not in the dark, in the quiet, trembling with anxiety. I was in the midst of chaos, yet my mind was calm. The shouts and shrieks grew muffled, losing their violent edge, but through the quiet din burst Jesse’s furious voice, as clear to me as if he were the only one speaking. I hadn’t expected anything like this—it had never happened before. But as much as I’d tried to ignore my gift, tried to force it from my mind, it was there all the same, just waiting for me to call it.

Soquili waited at the end of the gauntlet as they shoved and kicked his new brother toward him. He was grinning, cracking his knuckles in anticipation, something that filled me with an unreasonable rage. What was it that made me react this way, that made me defend a man I knew nothing about? But by now my mind was buzzing, demanding,
Don’t you dare give up, Jesse. Be strong. Fight back.

All at once, his eyes caught fire within my vision. Somehow I’d reached him. A roar came from deep within the mess of people. Jesse’s roar. I opened my eyes, feeling calm.

Soquili glanced away from the scrum for a moment and caught my expression, reading my disapproval. His smile faltered, then bounced back as he turned toward the crowd. He called to someone, and I heard an answering laugh.

Then Jesse was through the gauntlet, standing two feet away from Soquili. Blood painted half his face like an eerie reminder of Wahyaw’s tattoo. The eye that had just healed was back to the way I’d first seen it. He swayed unevenly on both feet, hunched slightly over a belly I imagined screamed with pain from the pummelling it had received. When he saw Soquili and sensed the easing of other men’s fists around him, he tried to straighten. But I could tell from the twisted expression on his face that he knew the ordeal wasn’t over. Soquili would get the final blow.

Jesse smiled at Soquili as if he were looking forward to this final confrontation. His teeth were gruesome, awash in a bright red stain. He spat to the side and swiped a filthy arm across bloody lips. His glare was completely focused on Soquili.

“All right,
brother
,” he growled. “Let’s see what you’ve got.”

Soquili returned the smile, but his words were in Cherokee. “White brother, I hope you have saved some fight for me.”

In response, Jesse surged forward, slamming the top of his head into Soquili’s stomach. Soquili grunted and staggered back, then swung a fist under Jesse’s bent form and hooked it upward, catching his face. Jesse stood and cupped his hands over his nose, holding back the gush of blood.

“Bastard,” Jesse snarled, and Soquili laughed, though he was still short of breath.

Jesse let go of his face and staggered forward, swiping awkwardly at Soquili, who dodged the punches easily. Finally Jesse’s fist connected with the side of Soquili’s face, and it was a sound hit, one that knocked Soquili two steps sideways. Bellowing with challenge, the Cherokee jumped back, grabbed both of Jesse’s ears and yanked them down so that Jesse’s face connected with Soquili’s knee.

I heard a sickening crunch, and Jesse crumpled. If his nose hadn’t been broken before, it undoubtedly was now. Soquili raised his arms with victory, and the crowd cheered. Life was as it should be. Soquili had won, the challenger had survived and fought well. He had proven the Cherokee were still superior. All was good.

Not for Jesse. He had lost consciousness and lay sprawled flat on his face, blood staining the dirt around him in a rapidly growing puddle. No one went to help him. Instead, they stepped around him, moving to congratulate Soquili. The bloody body was left to the side like a piece of meat. Now that this part of the ceremony was over, the festivities could begin.

Soquili was one of the tallest men in the tribe. He shot me a grin over the heads of the adoring people, and I shook my head with disgust. I would never understand these people.

While the others headed toward the next part of the celebration, I knelt beside Jesse. I pressed my fingers against the side of his neck, feeling for his heartbeat. It was strong, almost aggressive, as if it were angry at the rest of his body for giving in. Moving very slowly, I turned Jesse’s face to the side to take the weight off his nose. Blood spurted, hot and sticky, into my hands. He moaned, keeping his eyes squeezed tight, then slowly cracked open one eye.

“Bad, huh?” he asked, his voice distinctly nasal. I nodded. “And him?”

“Not like you.”

He closed his eye again and tried to frown, despite a deep cut on his brow. It was short and clean. Maybe sliced by an antler horn somewhere along the gauntlet.

“I’ll get him next time,” he mumbled and lost consciousness again.