War Woman (4 page)

“Where were you?”

“Scouting. Looks like we’re clear. Nothing before or behind us that we can see.” Merks looked at the prisoner. “What happened to him?”

“None of your business, Private.” The sergeant came up behind Merks. “Get ready to go, we leave in five minutes.”

As the men cleared the campsite and saddled their horses, Jonathan searched his saddlebag for some rations which he held near the Cherokee’s mouth in order for him to eat.

“What do you think you’re doing, Private?” The sergeant walked briskly towards him and knocked his hand away from the warrior’s mouth.

“I was providing a small amount of food for the prisoner, sir.” Jonathan maintained a neutral tone, not wanting to aggravate the sergeant further. “We don’t know the last time he’s eaten.”

“I don’t give a damn when he’s eaten. The army does not provide rations for you to feed them to savages. He can get something when we arrive at base.” Scowling, the sergeant headed to his horse and mounted in a smooth, easy movement. “We’re heading out now. Wilson, since you’re so attached to him, the prisoner will ride with you.” The men mounted up, with Jonathan assisting the Cherokee onto his horse, before they rejoined the route that would take them back to the base. Cantering swiftly, they maintained a steady pace for half an hour, keeping a lookout as they went.

They would be back at base in less than two days and though they still had a fair way to go, the closer they came, the more relaxed the men appeared. Their pace lessened, they didn’t glance back or around as often and the looks of tension that had been visible to some degree on all their faces were starting to fade. They continued onwards for several hours, the sun now bright and welcoming in the sky. Approaching a river that they had paused to rest at the day before, the sergeant directed his horse to the spot they had stopped at previously. Pulling his horse up, he dismounted and led it to the river’s edge to drink. The other soldiers did the same, taking an opportunity to stretch their legs, sip from and refill their canteens and eat some of their rations. The shade from the trees lining one side of the river bank was welcoming and the men stood or sat beneath it as they rested for five minutes.

The speed with which the Cherokee warriors surrounded them was as if they had emerged from thin air, though in reality they had been carefully concealed within the shadows and branches of the trees. The soldiers were so shocked that they just stared at them for a couple of seconds, before a few attempted to make a break for their weapons. However the warriors moved swiftly, cutting them off and forcing them into a group within the circle of Cherokee. Some of the soldiers had kept their weapons nearby and aimed these now at the Cherokee, though neither side made a move to attack. The prisoner had been brought to the shade with the soldiers and was currently being gripped firmly by the sergeant as he pointed his pistol at the prisoner’s head.

“They must have been waiting for us all this time. Tracked our trail or figured we’d probably stop here to rest.” Merks spoke quietly, scanning the Cherokee as he held his rifle steady.

“We are part of the United States army and you will stand down now!” the sergeant ordered in a loud voice, his anger apparent. The Cherokee warriors remained where they were, poised to strike. However, one of them spoke in Cherokee, addressing the sergeant.

“I don’t know what you’re saying. Learn to speak goddamn English,” the sergeant spat out.

“Black Crow say release me and you can go.” The prisoner translated his fellow warrior’s words.

“Like hell I’m releasing you. Tell him to back down or you’re dead.”

The prisoner translated the words and Black Crow replied in a neutral, calm tone, a contrast to the sergeant’s irate voice. “They refuse. Release me, no blood shed. Not free me, you all die.”

“Not before all of you,” the sergeant snarled, looking around the group of Cherokee as if weighing his chances. Jonathan noted the sergeant’s actions and decided it was time to intervene before he got them all killed.

“Sir, we may outnumber them eight to ten, but we’re down three weapons and they all have their weapons. Those arrows could down the men without weapons before they could even charge the Cherokee. They’re offering us a way out that benefits everybody.” Jonathan eyed the sergeant warily, noting the indecision on his face. “Think about the men, sir. This isn’t worth their lives.”

The sergeant said nothing, continuing to glare at the warriors, but eventually he lowered his pistol. “I’m going to release you. Take your men and leave. Nobody gets hurt.” He let go of the prisoner’s arm and nudged him forwards. Walking slowly, the prisoner made his way towards the warriors. When he reached them, they encircled him and cut his restraints before retreating together towards the trees where their horses were concealed.

“Prepare yourselves, boys. We can’t let them reach those trees. You’re going to need to be mighty quick getting to your weapons but those with weapons, make sure you cover those without until they can reach them.”

“Sir? I don’t understand – ” Jonathan looked towards the sergeant questioningly but broke off at the sight of him raising his pistol to fire. “No!” He lunged for the sergeant’s arm in an attempt to stop him firing, in the process knocking his aim off, but the shot rang out and hit the warrior who had been taken prisoner. The Cherokee warriors dispersed into battle formation and attacked, causing the soldiers to retaliate. Shots and cries intertwined as the soldiers without weapons scrambled frantically to retrieve them and those with weapons tried desperately to cover them while defending themselves. Arrows and tomahawks flew fast and true, the Cherokee fierce in battle as both sides clashed. Screams from the wounded and the dying ripped through the air, the struggle vicious as both sides fought for their lives.

Jonathan saw the sergeant fall, courtesy of Black Crow’s tomahawk, before an agonizing pain caused him to look down in shock at the arrow protruding out of his side. He cried out as a second arrow lodged itself into his shoulder, before sinking to his knees, gasping for breath. Though the Cherokee had suffered casualties, he could tell that the soldiers were losing. One by one they fell until only Cherokee were left standing. Losing blood quickly, Jonathan felt himself going lightheaded and the strength draining from his body. Black Crow advanced upon him and came to stand in front of him. The ex-prisoner called out to him in Cherokee and Black Crow nodded before bringing the butt of his tomahawk down upon the back of Jonathan’s head. Slumping to the ground, he welcomed the oblivion as an end to his pain and a final embrace as he left the world.

There was heat…and smoke…though not nearly as intense as he imagined Hell would be. In fact it was rather pleasant. Perhaps the Devil himself had taken a personal interest in him, creating a false sense of comfort before ripping it away from him. It wouldn’t surprise him after all the blood he had shed.

That chanting…what was it? Were the demons summoning him, luring him? It held an ethereal appeal that soaked into his very soul, urging him to follow it. Was this how the Devil took your soul, willingly offered? Something wasn’t making sense…this didn’t feel like Heaven but it didn’t feel like Hell either. Was he in some sort of purgatory?

“Wake now.”

The chanting ended as the voice pierced through his thoughts. Struggling to rise through the layers of exhaustion and weakness that beckoned him to remain as he was, Jonathan’s eyes opened slowly, slit-like at first before adjusting quickly to the dim light and opening fully. Oh, he was in Hell for sure. Soft brown eyes stared down at him, eyes that held a wisdom far beyond his own, a wisdom of otherworldly things; lips that were full and inviting moved quietly, uttering words with a gentle, lilting quality that were unintelligible to him but mesmerizing nonetheless.

Tresses blacker than midnight cascaded down the Cherokee woman’s shoulders, thick and luxurious. He felt the almost overwhelming temptation to raise his hand to those tresses and feel them slide smoothly over his fingers. The Devil had chosen well. How fitting that this Cherokee seductress be the demon who would torment him in Hell, an eternal punishment and reminder of a needless clash that had killed so many.

“You will live.”

The woman stood up from her sitting position next to Jonathan and made her way across the structure they were in to retrieve a cup. Returning to his side, she knelt down and held the cup to his mouth.

“Drink. This will help.”

The liquid had a trace of wood smoke to it, with a slight bitterness, but he took a few sips before resting his head back. Scanning his gaze slowly around his surroundings he noted the structure appeared to be some sort of wattle and daub dwelling, rectangular in shape with a fire inside which was the source of the smoke and heat. As his thoughts began to clear, a realization set in that he wasn’t dead. Though he suspected he already knew, Jonathan asked the question that was foremost in his mind.

“Where am I?”

“In the Cherokee village where you captured Running Bear.”

“I didn’t capture…” Jonathan’s words trailed off. He was as much to blame as any of the others for not standing up to the kidnapping. The words he had told Haville were a lie. They were all guilty.
God, Haville and the other men
…

He stared hard at the woman. “Are all my fellow soldiers dead?”

She met his stare. “Yes.”

Jonathan closed his eyes, offering up silent prayers for them. He cursed inwardly, his fists clenched, as he recalled the screams and the violence.
Damn you, Jefferies…

“How long have I been here?”

“A day has passed since our warriors returned with you.”

“Why was I spared? Are you going to torture me for information on my camp?”

The woman stood up, a neutral expression on her face. “That is not our way. Enough blood has been shed on both sides.” She moved to the fire and returned shortly with what Jonathan judged to be bean stew and some type of corn flatbread. “You must eat to regain your strength. Can you raise yourself up?”

Jonathan slowly pushed himself up, wincing at the discomfort in his side and shoulder. His shirt had been removed and he could see that his wounds had been tended, though he had no idea what kind of medicine had been used on him. Laying the food on the floor, the woman leaned forward and supported him until he was sitting relatively upright. Handing him the food, she stood up and turned away to focus her attention back on the fire.

Jonathan’s mouth watered at the smell of the food. Taking a bite, he swallowed appreciatively at the food that was infinitely better than what the soldiers – well the lower ranks at least – got back at the base. He noted there were woven rivercane mats on the walls and floor. They were attractive to look at but he also suspected they served as insulation. Sleeping mats with animal skins over them were visible near the one he currently sat on. A few baskets and various pieces of decorated clay pottery were also visible, a few of which held a selection of vegetables waiting to be cooked and some of which held water.

However, his attention kept being drawn back to the woman in the center of the dwelling. Her slim figure was clothed in a mantle and skirt made from leather. Her hair reached down almost to the small of her back and swung ever so gently as she busied herself with cooking. Who was she? Why was she looking after him? Had he been assigned to her as just one more task to carry out in her daily duties for the village? A thought suddenly occurred to him which sent a wave of trepidation through him. Was she related to any of the warriors who had died fighting him and the other men? Maybe a husband or a family member? If that were true she must loathe him. She would probably want him dead…

Jonathan looked down at the food, half of which he had already eaten, as thoughts of poisons went through his mind. No, that didn’t make sense. She wouldn’t have said those words about enough blood having been shed, or be tending to his needs if that were true… God, he hoped that were true.

“I’m sorry for your loss. It was an unnecessary and stupid fight. Good men died that day, I’m sure not just on my side.” He spoke loudly enough to draw her attention away from the food preparation. She paused and turned to face him.

“It is a loss for the whole village, not only me.”

“Yes, you’re right…” He faltered, unsure what to say.

“Our world is changing but people will always resist change to some extent. These are precarious times, so that resistance may lead to violence. And treachery,” she added after a few seconds. She stared at him with a neutral expression but for some reason he couldn’t understand, it made him want to throw himself at her feet and beg for her forgiveness. She paused, as if contemplating something, before she resumed quietly, “There is a great change coming. I don’t know what but our village will survive – if we accept the change and adapt.”

Jonathan got the sense that she was talking from some inner, intangible knowledge, the likes of which very few possessed, though he couldn’t explain why he felt this way. Looking down at his food, he took a deep breath. “So were you close to any of the village warriors in the fight?”

She gazed at him as if the answer was obvious. “Of course. We are all connected as part of the village.”

“No, I mean…um…were any of them direct family?”