Destined to Fall (An Angel Falls Book 5) Page 18

  When I don’t answer he says, “That’s what I thought. My father is always trying to make me into a man. He’s been telling me since forever, ‘Commit, Steven. Grow up and act like a man. Stop being a child. Take responsibility for your actions, Steven. The world doesn’t need more losers’.”

  His hurtful, angry words slice the night in two. Letting him vent and listening without judging is as much therapy as I can offer.

  “I chose Dominic as my family because my real family sucks. They don’t care about me. They want me to be someone I’m not. They’ve never accepted me for who I am. I’m going to be there for Dominic because he would do the same for me. It was a mistake to leave them.”

  Steven jogs across the sloped bank of a shallow ravine. I don’t keep up with him. He needs a few minutes alone with his thoughts and emotions. He’s expressing himself, which is progress.

  Most people think healing feels good. And it does, after a time. But the process of healing isn’t only slapping a band-aid over an open wound and waiting for it to get better. That’s only covering up the problem. Sometimes, healing can only begin by ripping off the band-aid, exposing the wound to sunshine and fresh air, cleansing the area, and finally letting the injury renew and grow. Steven is in the process of ripping the band-aid off. It can hurt like hell. This stage of healing often causes people to cower, hide, and remain in the familiar emptiness of denial. After my clients pass over, most of them are able to let go of past hurts. It’s a much harder process for living clients.

  I thought this is what I wanted. To make a difference. To give my support to someone who is confused and not thinking clearly, but Steven is challenging my earlier notions. He makes me believe some people choose their misery and wallow in it.

  After a few moments of needed solitude for both of us, I appear by Steven’s side. His anxious steps blindly tramp over everything in his path.

  “Don’t start on me,” he says with a stiff jaw.

  “Wouldn’t dream of it,” I say tersely.

  “Just because you think you’re right doesn’t mean you are, asshole.”

  “Yep,” I agree.

  His tension increases when I agree with him. I fall into step behind him once more. We’re silent as we weave through a stretch of thigh-high brush. The place where we last saw Dominic and Arrio is just ahead. The incline in front of us is littered with loose stones and jutting hazards to trip over. Steven is forced to move at a slower pace. I wonder if he’s lost his flashlight, but don’t mention it as we make our way around and over the hill.

  “What was the plan before you took off?” I finally say.

  “Get our horses back.”

  “Have you considered talking them out of it?”

  “Why would I? It’s what we do,” he hisses at me in the dark.

  “Maybe you’re here to change their lives for the better.” I throw the idea out there with the hope he’ll bite.

  My optimism earns me a disgusted grunt.

  We round the north side of the hill and step into deeper shadows from a group of mature pinons and cedars. Steven moves as if driven by an internal compass. No hesitations or changes in direction.

  “How do you know where you’re going?” I ask.

  “Shut up,” he says.

  I tap him on the shoulder to get him to look at me.

  “If this were your last night on earth, is this really what you want to do?”

  “Yes,” he snarls. “Stay and help, or get away from me.”

  His decision sounds final. I’ve done what I can. Now, I wait to see where this twisted adventure leads.

  Steven stops, leans forward on the balls of his feet, and tips his head into the night as if listening and searching for his friend. A murmur of voices teases my ear. There’s a louder call, but I’m unable to make out the words. I shift to the left, trying to locate their position. The night falls silent again. The urge to find out if we’ve caught up with Chris and his dad is strong, but my client holds my attention and I don’t want to leave him yet.

  Steven lowers to one knee and searches inside his backpack. He removes a piece of cloth and stuffs it into his pocket before untethering the bow from his pack. Steven releases an arrow from the quiver and sets it aside. Leaning the bow against his leg, Steven uses the flame from his lighter to examine the bow more closely. He runs his fingers over the strings and makes a fine adjustment on the bow. Satisfied, he rises to his feet and settles the pack over his back. Silence stills even his breath as he listens to the night. Without a glance my way, he sets off again, knife handle sticking out of its sheath, and bow and arrow in hand.

  ∞

  Juliana

  “Were you bonding with a bear this morning?” I ask White Wolf.

  “Bear? No. I won’t travel inside a bear. He is to be left alone,” Wolf says.

  I sense the reverence in his words and I wonder if I asked something I shouldn’t have.

  Chris rides next to me on Vannah, the bay mare, and asks, “Did you see a bear?”

  “This morning. It was a first for me. I’ve been in the woods more times than I can count and I’ve never seen one until today.”

  “Bear is our brother. I would not ask to share Bear’s body like I wouldn’t ask it of you.”

  Sharing one body makes my skin crawl with the memories of being possessed, and the one time I was used by Star’s sister.

  Chris interrupts my memories. “Tell me about the bear you saw, Jules.”

  “Jared and I were awake early this morning. We were on the hill behind my house. The bear didn’t even notice us sitting there. He was huge and looked sleepier than I felt. I’ll never forget it. He was spectacular.”

  “Tell me what you were doing on the hill,” Chris asks.

  The beam of my flashlight crosses Chris’s face. He flinches at the bright light in his face, but I want to see what he’s really asking. His features don’t express much other than dead seriousness, but I’ve become somewhat of an expert at reading the subtle nuances of his frowns.

  “We watched the sun rise and ate cinnamon rolls at five in the morning. It was only the two of us.”

  “You were thinking about the great circle of life,” Chris says, as if he already knows what we were doing.

  “You’re not a shapeshifter too, are you?” I ask. “Were you with the bear?”

  Chris’s horse veers around another sagebrush. He guides Vannah close to me again so we can speak quietly. I’m only leading one other horse. White Wolf has two behind him and Chris has two. My inexperience with riding at night and the fact that I’m uncomfortable leading a horse I don’t know leaves me feeling like an insecure rider, but I’m doing the best I can. We’re riding down the opposite side of the mountain from their little camp and the truck should be in sight soon. The horses had to take a slightly different path than I did on foot, but we should be loading them into the trailer shortly.

  “Bear only appears when you are seeking answers from the Great Void. Your vision and time spent sitting with your brother brought the bear into your space. The bear wants you to spend time in introspection. It is a good totem, Ant. You ask many questions, but the answer is in the void within.”

  Chris’s observation brushes the depths of my soul, kind of like hitting home on a first try. However, before I can fully digest his comment, White Wolf adds his own token of wisdom.

  “My son is full of serious jibber-jabber. The bear wanted your cinnamon rolls.” The old man smiles at me. “If you were eating smoked salmon, you wouldn’t have made it out alive.”

  The pale outline of the truck rises from the distant clumps of sage and rabbitbrush. My mood lightens with every passing yard. Only the remaining concern of whether or not the trailer is large enough to hold all the horses, dwells in my bottomless pit of worry and anxiety.

  “I’m a vegetarian,” I say, playing along with the old man.

  “Oooohh,” he draws it out as if it is a crucial part of the tale. He says with a straight face, “Tha
t’s a Native word, you know.”

  “Really?” I ask.

  I glance at Chris for his reaction, which is almost always disapproving of his father’s words. His eyes are trained on the distance.

  “It means, ‘can’t hunt’.” White Wolf giggles quietly in his saddle and turns his attention forward again.

  Chris suddenly reaches a hand toward me, palm open.

  “Shhh,” he hushes.

  Chris reins in and I follow suit. White Wolf must not have heard us because he continues down the shallow slope toward the truck. Chris’s gaze holds steady on the trees to his left.

  “If you see anyone, get out of here as quickly as possible,” he says. He nudges the horse with a heel and starts walking again.

  “I thought you said the horse thieves ran off with their tails between their legs,” I say in as low a voice as possible.

  “I did. Just in case I was mistaken,” he adds.

  He sets his shoulders back, eyes on the horizon, refusing to look at me.

  “Did you hear something?” I ask, feeling concern creep over me like a ghost at my back.

  Chris clicks his tongue and urges Vannah on. Mika, my horse, — who doesn’t talk to me and yet Vannah still does — follows and we begin to trot. He’s much faster than Chris and Vannah. In part, because they have the two other horses tagging along behind, and because Mika is tall and powerful. We pass Chris and approach White Wolf’s train. White Wolf turns in his saddle as I near. He sees me, but his eyes quickly focus on Chris. With a single nod to his son, my senses shift into overdrive. Something very real passed between them and the tone of their silent exchange sets the nerve endings of my hair on edge.

  Mika passes the others and I don’t hold him back. He may not be speaking to me in English, but the animal is clearly alert to the changes in my chemistry. The truck isn’t far and the muted white paint in the night may as well be a beacon of safety in this vast high desert.

  I dismount next to the trailer and whisper to Mika. “You made it, boy. This is your ride to food and water.”

  He watches me, but his ears are back as if he’s listening for Vannah and the others. I stroke his neck with a reassuring hand — for his peace of mind and my own. I murmur reassurances to the other horse tied to Mika and give her a scratch before shirking off my backpack and lowering it into the truck bed. Anxiety likes to be my annoying friend, but I didn’t want her hanging around tonight. The sooner we’re loaded, the sooner I can ditch the stress witch.

  At the back of the stock trailer, I swing the metal door open and shine my flashlight inside. There’s a non-slip surface for the horses and not much else. It’s nothing fancy. I cross my fingers and take a long slow breath. The trailer appears large enough to hold all of the horses. I glance over at Mika and hope beyond hope every horse loads without trouble. This type of trailer doesn’t have a ramp like the one my grandmother uses. The horses have to step up to enter the trailer. One simple step can be a nightmare for horses who don’t care to ride inside enclosed spaces.

  Chris, his dad, and their band of horses come to a halt within range of the trailer, but leave enough space to keep the horses comfortable. Dust fills the air with their arrival. The scent of dry desert clogs my nostrils and stings my eyes. White Wolf is oddly quiet and this only serves to heighten my alarm. Chris swings out of the saddle, moving faster than I thought possible with an injured leg. My imagination creates movements within every long shadow. Eight horses suddenly become a symphony of sound obstructing my straining ears. Any unexplainable sounds put me further on edge.

  Chris brings Mika around to face the back of the open trailer. “Juliana,” he says. “Get inside the truck and lock the doors.”

  I glance around, trying to pinpoint what has Chris so urgent. White Wolf is busy releasing the knots that are keeping the other horses in line.

  “I can help,” I say.

  “But you won’t,” Chris says as an order.

  Not one to take orders easily, I’m about to argue my point when White Wolf slips into our midst, holding a tomahawk.

  “I’ll wait for them over there,” he tips his head at two trees near the trail, which is our road out of here. “Can you manage the loading? Otherwise, Jules will need a weapon to help look over us.”

  “Wait for who?” I ask.

  Chris doesn’t acknowledge my question. He says, “I can manage. Juliana will be inside the truck waiting for us to finish.”

  “Just like my son to exclude the woman,” White Wolf whispers. “His views about women aren’t as modern as his old man’s.”

  “This isn’t a game, Wolf.” Chris’s warning tone is almost sends me scurrying to the cab to wait, but I hold my ground for another second.

  “I won’t take her first raid from her. Don’t you remember your first time, Chris? Give her a chance to do it right the first time around.”

  “This isn’t the same,” Chris says again, and focuses on Mika.

  He directs me out of the way with a raised hand. Chris clicks his tongue and leads Mika toward the trailer.

  “We’re playing some kind of game?” I ask incredulously.

  “No, it’s not. Shine your light on the door,” Chris orders. “They need to see as much as possible.”

  The beam moves to the bottom of the trailer just as Mika pulls his head back and stops in his tracks.

  Chris clicks his tongue again, runs a hand over Mika’s flank, and says, “Load up.”

  Mika snorts once, but heaves forward and steps into the trailer. The clip and clop of hooves and his heavy body moving forward echoes from the metal trailer. Chris climbs in with the huge animal and he settles Mika in the front.

  “Best game of all my years,” Wolf says to me. His penetrating eyes are black as coal but his excitement is obvious.

  Chris’s footsteps come up next to me. “Horse raiding is as serious as it gets. Now, get in the truck and wait. If you need to run, then run. With or without us. I won’t let you get injured in my father’s enthusiasm.”

  White Wolf raises his tomahawk and yips and howls like a coyote. He grins and slips off into the shadows by some trees.

  “You need the light. I drove this trailer all the way out here to help you with these horses, now let me do what I can."

  Chris growls under his breath, but I don’t back down.

  “Hurry,” I urge, as if it’s his fault we’re taking so long.

  Chris leaves me standing next to Vannah, holding the flashlight. I place my hand near her hip, absorbing her warmth and taking comfort in her strength and size.

  She stretches her long neck around to look at me. Her eyes reflect a bit of the light from the beam.

  Climb on, she tells me.

  Her voice is pure and direct. The fact that I’m hearing voices in my head again should be my first concern, but it’s not. I want to hear her say something again.

  I run faster, she says.

  Reaching for Vannah’s reins, I actually consider climbing back on, but my mind is slow as I try to understand why she’s telling me she runs faster.

  Chris moves the second horse into position behind the trailer. I drop the leather reins and turn back to my duty of holding the flashlight. The horse enters without hesitation. Chris retrieves the blue roan and she refuses to load into the trailer. The filly backs away and throws her head instead of stepping into the stock trailer. Chris tries again, but the horse will not cooperate. The third try, the young horse rears and twists slightly to the side. Before she stamps off, Chris grabs her harness and strokes her neck. He whispers calming words to her in his native language and she settles.

  Not me, though. Already on edge, the stress from the horse has my hands shaking and my back muscles screaming with tension. Vannah decides this is the perfect time to whinny like a storm siren. The sound surprises me and I jump nearly out of my skin, which causes the filly to startle. Chris has a good hold on her, but no one is holding Vannah. She flinches and stomps her hooves in protest. My instincts
are fast and I take her reins before she bolts. One of the horses answers Vannah with a deep, chesty neigh.

  Before I realize what’s happening, Vannah lunges to her left. The reins zip through my hands. I manage to keep ahold of one. Not a person to stay calm in a moment of excitement, my heart leaps into my throat and I choke out a shaky, “Whoa there, girl.”

  Vannah rears, hooves flailing. I manage to hold on and pull her back to all fours. That’s when it dawns on me there’s chaos going on behind us.

  I whip my head around and see White Wolf’s snowy hair shining in the dimness of the night. His arm swings at the shadowed outline of a man. There’s a heavy grunt followed by the nightmarish sound of bodies colliding and falling to the ground. Chris is nowhere to be seen. The filly is leashed to the trailer door. Excited by the commotion, the filly rears and breaks free of her lead rope.

  The horse blocks my view of White Wolf. As she runs free, I see Wolf kneeling on the ground next to his attacker. He raises his tomahawk and is getting ready to bring it down once again. The man under him isn’t moving. The violence, Chris’s warning, and Vannah’s suggestion to get on is enough to make me launch myself into the saddle and race to get away.

  Vannah picks the direction. Even if I knew where I wanted to go, I wouldn’t be able to convince her to go my way. My body lunges forward and back as I hang onto the saddle like my life depends on it. Dark shapes speed up to us, and I realize almost too late it’s the other horses. I notice one of the horses has a rider.

  The other horse swerves left and Vannah follows. The abrupt change in direction nearly hurls me out of the saddle. I clutch to the horn and call out. “Chris!”

  I lean forward for a better view of the rider, but Vannah takes my cue as direction to speed up. I don’t know how she can go any faster, but her powerful rear quarters bunch and dig in, propelling us forward. We gain a few yards and I recognize Chris’s silhouette. He’s galloping toward the outline of three horses, head to tail, running due north. We’re gaining on them quickly. Without reins in hand, I have no control to stop or change Vannah’s direction. I’m helpless as I hang on and pray my horse’s footing is more secure than my doubts. Suddenly, Chris gallops alongside another rider who I hadn’t noticed before. He launches himself onto the man and I scream in terror as the two bodies tumble to the ground and disappear from sight. Groans and grunts mingle with the sound of galloping hooves.