Soul of the Sacred Earth Page 10

  Pay? Not too bloody likely!

  “Seize him!” Lopez ordered.

  Several of his men stood rooted like damnable beasts of burden, but Madariaga and another sprang at the Navajo and wrestled him to the ground despite his struggles. Madariaga held a knife to his throat and even nicked the dark flesh. The savage bared his teeth in a low growl.

  “Be careful!” Lopez warned as he stood over the still-struggling captive. “I do not want him injured!”

  “But he’s a thief. All of them Navajo are.”

  He’d never argue with that, but he’d be a hundred kinds of a fool if he silenced the blazing-eyed bastard before forcing him to reveal exactly where the emeralds had come from. Once Madariaga had tied the Navajo’s arms behind him and looped a rope around his neck, the savage stopped struggling, proving he was gifted with enough intellect to understand when he was outmanned. Still, he growled defiantly.

  The Hopi stood as close as they dared, muttering in that infernal language of theirs. Although it didn’t appear a one of them carried so much as a cooking knife, Lopez knew he’d be a fool if he allowed himself to be lulled into a sense of safety. Besides, this damnable place made his flesh crawl.

  “Get him out of here. And make sure the Hopi stay where they are, all except for the female. Wait.” Striding forward, he yanked the necklace off his captive’s chest. Why not? It wasn’t as if the savage would need it in hell.

  • • •

  Morning Butterfly. That was her name.

  Feeling invisible, Fray Angelico had followed Captain Lopez, the prisoner, and the soldiers off the mesa. In truth, he was enormously relieved to no longer be anywhere near the kivas and the strange sensations he’d felt during mass. He hadn’t forgotten the hungry look in the captain’s eyes as Lopez stared at the emeralds, but that wasn’t what mattered. When the captain asked the Hopi maiden her name, she’d first replied with something incomprehensible in her own language and then, stumbling a little over the Spanish words, told him “Morning Butterfly.”

  Hearing that, he’d been reminded of the small white butterflies flitting around the multitude of flowers that grew in the well-tended gardens of the Franciscan monastery in Tepeaca. He’d spent many hours meditating and praying there, waiting for the Lord to show him the direction his life should take. It had never occurred to him that those delicate creatures might give their names, their whispered perfection, to a native woman.

  Captain Lopez forced the Navajo to kneel before him. Then Fray Angelico watched him take Morning Butterfly’s arm and squeeze it as he insisted she get the Navajo to reveal exactly where he’d found the precious stones. If the captain hurt her—

  Angelico sucked in what he could of the too-hot air and struggled to find something, anything to concentrate on. His blurred vision finally settled on the captive who, he had to admit, wasn’t groveling before his captors, despite his humble position.

  “So he wants to know if I am going to kill him, does he?” the captain was saying to Morning Butterfly. “I command you to tell him he has no soul and when all the blood’s been run out of his miserable hide, that will be the end of him.”

  The end of him. Without a soul. Springing forward, Angelico clapped his hands on the Navajo’s head and quickly, inadequately baptized him.

  “What are you doing?” Lopez demanded. “Padre, this is not your concern.”

  “But it is! I was sent here to take charge of the savages’ souls, to save them for the Lord God.”

  “Now is hardly the time for a religious ceremony. You had your opportunity earlier, and I dare say you took full advantage of it.”

  “But there were no baptisms.”

  “Why not?”

  The explanation was too complex, too deeply rooted in his distaste, distrust, and, yes, his fear of Oraibi—not that he would ever confess those things to the captain.

  “The Lord is selective in His instructions to me,” he said instead, “as to when to lead the natives into the light of salvation. He did not see fit to have me do so this morning, but He does now.”

  Captain Lopez’s features were still dark with anger. “I warn you, Padre. Do not interfere in military matters.”

  “Military and religious concerns are not separate. You tend to your responsibilities, and I tend to mine which, I do not believe I need to point out, are of at least equal weight.”

  Lopez glared down at the captive, whose athletic frame looked capable of bursting his bonds. “If you think you now have jurisdiction over him, you are mistaken. The miserable beast does not know what you have done.”

  “But the Lord does. And so do your men. Are you going to murder someone who has just received God’s blessing?”

  A muscle jumped in the captain’s jaw. “I warn you—not until he has told me everything, but then—yes.”

  Morning Butterfly had stood unmoving throughout the exchange, but as the captain issued his warning, Angelico heard her draw in a shocked breath. For reasons that escaped his comprehension, she didn’t want the Navajo to die.

  No, he amended. He did understand. She was a compassionate creature after all, fully alive, her heart beating, breasts rising and falling, beautiful dark eyes.

  “Padre?”

  Angelico forced his attention off Morning Butterfly, and if a small, forbidden part of him continued to be aware of her—and it was—that was his burden.

  “Question the Navajo,” he told Lopez. “But I order you in front of your men, do not kill someone who is now under my guidance and protection. If you do, as God is my witness, I will bring the Church’s influence to bear and have you relieved of your post.”

  Chapter Eight

  Cougar’s head pounded and his wrists ached. Beyond that, fury and fear warred inside him, making it nearly impossible for him to concentrate on what was going on. It might have been easier if he’d understood what was being said, but the soldier and padre threw words without meaning at each other.

  Before he could ask Morning Butterfly to translate or ask why the padre had clamped his hands over his head and spoken in a singsong tone, the captain stalked over to her and twisted her arm behind her, causing her to double over. The padre sprang forward and fastened a hand on the captain’s wrist, but the captain only laughed at him.

  The two were speaking again, the captain’s words like thunder, the padre’s voice higher and yet equally hard.

  “What is it?” Cougar demanded of Morning Butterfly. “What are they saying?”

  The captain had relaxed his grip on her, allowing her to straighten but not letting her go. Tears glinted in her eyes. “Fray Angelico baptized you and placed you under his protection. The captain says the padre must choose between your safety and mine.”

  “Baptize?”

  “Do not ask me to explain. I do not fully understand, but it means a great deal to him.”

  She’d barely finished when the captain spun her around and, after shoving his face close to hers, again spoke in that drumbeat way of his. She trembled slightly but didn’t try to back away. Despite his frustration at not understanding what his enemies were saying, Cougar forced himself to concentrate on their bodies’ language.

  He’d heard that a man who devoted his life to the spirit the Spanish called God turned his back on earthly concerns, lived in prayer, and knew nothing of a man’s needs for a woman, but that was clearly wrong, because Fray Angelico’s now hot eyes remained fixed on Morning Butterfly, and he’d positioned his hand so that he covered his manhood.

  Cougar wasn’t the only one who noticed; the captain smirked at the sheltering hand and when he pointed, his laugh was harsh. Cheeks flaming, the padre shook his head so vigorously that Cougar wondered if he might snap his neck. Then, although surely his strength didn’t equal the soldier’s, the padre tried to shove him away from Morning Butterfly. That earned him a barrage of words from the captain.

  “What did he say?” Cougar demanded.

  “That the padre should allow me to be killed so he will no
t be tempted.”

  Mindless of his bonds, Cougar surged forward and used his shoulder to force himself among those he hated. A couple of the soldiers grabbed him, but not until he’d made his presence known, not before he’d been assaulted by their smell and strength. After calling up courage from deep inside him, he demanded to be told why he’d been made prisoner when he’d come offering jewels to appease the soldiers’ anger.

  “I will tell them where to find the stones, lead them there,” he told Morning Butterfly, his tone as calm as he could manage.

  “No!”

  “Yes. Morning Butterfly, please, tell them.”

  Comprehension dawned in her eyes. “But you will not do that thing, will you?” she asked. “You wish my lie to grow until it encompasses both of us and maybe all of my people.”

  “We have no choice. Would you rather they stay until you are an old woman, until they fill your womb with their seed and you give birth to a daughter who is then forced to become their bed slave?”

  “Do not say that!”

  “My silence will not change anything. Can you call me a liar? Can you?”

  “I hate you! Wish they had killed you!”

  Before he could respond, she turned her attention to the others. Although her voice trembled and she looked a heartbeat from bolting, when she spoke, she kept her head high and proud. From the captain’s response, it was clear he didn’t know whether to believe her, but whatever it was he said, she didn’t back away. She’d become a storm, whipped by wind and lightning, perhaps creating those forces. After a conversation that seemed to go on forever, she turned back to Cougar.

  “He has decided to go to the great canyon and will take you and me with him,” she said. “You have what you want.”

  “You? Why?”

  “That is the only way he will know your words.”

  “I do not want you to be part of this,” he told her, self-loathing riding with his words.

  “Neither do I, but it is too late for that. I hate you, Cougar. Take my words into you and know they are the truth.”

  • • •

  From where she stood, Morning Butterfly couldn’t see the Navajo. The sun pressed down on the top of her head and thirst had dried her throat. There was a song in the wind, but she couldn’t search for its meaning because her thoughts trapped her, turned her this way and that, offered no way out. Fray Angelico knelt nearby, his voice part and yet not part of the wind. If she looked behind her, she might have a better understanding of what was happening this afternoon, but comprehension wouldn’t change anything.

  The padre had insisted on having her with him, that was her reality.

  That Cougar had been forced to stay with Captain Lopez was his.

  Although she fought the memory, her mind insisted on replaying what had happened earlier in the day. Whether she’d spoken from the bottom of her heart when she’d told Cougar she hated him she couldn’t say; maybe she’d never know.

  She had learned that the soldier was more powerful than the man of God, at least today; certainly he was stronger, and never without a weapon. Despite that, Captain Lopez walked softly around the padre, and when Fray Angelico announced he would seek God’s guidance about the wisdom of seeking jewels instead of setting up a church, the captain hadn’t objected. He’d also promised to obey the padre’s order that he do nothing to harm the Navajo, at least not now.

  But later?

  “Padre?” she ventured when he fell silent.

  “What, my child?”

  “If I ask something of you, will you give me an answer?”

  He was a long time responding, and she sensed it had never occurred to him that a Hopi might be capable of carrying on a conversation with him.

  “Will you?” she repeated.

  “I . . . of course, my child.”

  She wasn’t his child. “Why did you come here?”

  His mouth sagged, and he stared so intently that she felt as if she’d been burned. “You have to ask? It is not clear?”

  “You want the Hopi to become something different from what they have always been. That I understand, but I do not know why. We have always—”

  “Misguided. Taken down the wrong path by the devil.”

  “The devil? Where is he? I have never seen him.”

  “You cannot possibly understand. You are a simple people, children in need of guidance. I can teach you to follow His teachings. To fear His wrath and seek the light. It may be impossible for you to comprehend any more than that. Maybe . . .” He started to hold out his hand toward her, then stopped and stared at it for a long time before shoving it into the folds of his robe.

  “Morning Butterfly, the captain said certain things about me—about certain desires.”

  “Yes.”

  His body jerked and he clutched the heavy necklace he always wore and often prayed over. “The devils’ influence is everywhere, perhaps tempting me more than most because he knows I would never shrink from the battle. Temptation is a lifelong assault upon a man’s devotion to his Lord and must—”

  “Do you wish me dead so you will not be tempted?”

  “What? My God, no! My child, the captain was wrong. What happened earlier was a function of the flesh. I turn that all-too-human flesh over to my lord and—”

  “Let the Navajo go,” she interrupted. “Make the captain release him.”

  “He is your enemy.”

  “The Navajo are not enemies of the Hopi.”

  “Ha! They are raiders!”

  That was the way of the Navajo; couldn’t the padre understand that? How much easier things had been before she and this man had begun talking to each other. Seeking distance from him, she tried to see where Cougar had been taken. The padre began praying again.

  “She is a child, my Lord. Only a child. I need guidance from You, to be shown how my path should be walked. To atone for the sin of lust.”

  She’d worked hard to increase her knowledge of the newcomers’ language, but although she’d heard the padre use the word sin a number of times, she didn’t know what he was talking about. Now he spoke of something called lust.

  If only the newcomers would leave! If only her people could go back to what they’d always been!

  When she stepped back, the padre ordered her to remain where she was, then closed his eyes and went back to speaking to the blue sky.

  Captain Lopez had tied Cougar’s hands behind him and made the warrior helpless. He might be dead, dying.

  • • •

  The Spanish must fear the night, Cougar thought as he watched the soldiers gather around a campfire not far from where he’d been left, his feet now tied with the same rope that held his hands. He’d never known anything except freedom, and being unable to move terrified him. If he hadn’t forced himself to concentrate on what he’d come here to accomplish, he might have allowed that fear to show. Still, fighting the emotion exhausted him.

  Stop!

  Think of the soldiers’ fear!

  Laugh at them for trying to hide from the night! Refuse to let your thoughts go to what was done to Blue Corn Eater’s body.

  Fighting off that image, he took what comfort he could from the fact that he was far enough away from the gathered soldiers that he couldn’t hear more than a faint murmur of voices. Night hid him from their hate-filled eyes. Night was his friend, his companion, a sheltering blanket. Within its folds he became one with the past and was embraced by his ancestors. As long as he walked the path.

  “Cougar?”

  At the sudden sound, his heart seemed to crash against his chest. Panting, he waited for its beat to return to normal. Only then did he understand that the voice belonged to a woman.

  “Morning Butterfly?”

  “Yes. You—you are all right?”

  His shoulders throbbed from the position they’d been forced into and the ropes had rubbed some of the flesh from his wrists. “Who is with you?” he asked, angry at the darkness the soldiers feared.

&nb
sp; “No one. Have you been hurt?”

  She stood behind him and no matter how he strained, he couldn’t see her. Giving up, he concentrated on her tone. She reminded him of a wild animal that has sensed danger yet stays where it is until it understands that danger.

  “No,” he told her. “Not hurt. What are you doing here?”

  “I do not . . . I . . . are you alone?”

  “Yes.” He’d been lying on his side because that was how he’d been positioned when his legs were confined. Now he struggled to sit up, the effort causing his body to scream out in pain. “The padre,” he whispered when he trusted himself to speak. “You have been with him?”

  “For a long time, while he prayed. I thought it would never end.”

  “That is all he did? Pray?”

  “Yes.”

  “He did not take you?”

  She sucked in a deep breath. “No, he is not like Captain Lopez. Cougar, it is not safe for you to remain here. You must leave.”

  He would have laughed if he hadn’t been concerned that someone might hear. Whispering harshly, he reminded her of why he’d come here, his determination to get the soldiers to leave so his people could take more horses—and be safe.

  “You do not know what the Spanish are capable of. Their cruelty is—”

  “I do know,” he interrupted as an image of what had been done years ago to Drums No More and more recently to Blue Corn Eater filled his mind. Despite himself, he shivered.

  “Then you should want nothing to do with them.”

  “To be Navajo is to be part of a whole. What happens to me is a little thing if it means my people are protected.”

  “He will kill you.”