The River's Daughter (The Soul Survivors Series, Book 4)

The River's Daughter

The Soul Survivors Series

Book Four

by

Vella Munn

Award-winning Author

THE RIVER'S DAUGHTER

Reviews & Accolades

A beautiful love story; sensitive, hard-hitting on the emotions, with a unique compassion for Indian tradition.

~Catherine Anderson, New York Times bestselling author

A powerful, and unusual love story told with grace, authority, and compassion.

~Susan Wiggs, New York Times bestselling author

Published by ePublishing Works!

www.epublishingworks.com

ISBN: 978-1-61417-742-5

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Please Note

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

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Copyright © 2015 by Vella Munn. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions.

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Dedication

To my agent Natasha Kern, for believing

Chapter 1

Fear, taut and honest, coiled itself around Dark Water until she was no longer aware of the tiny presence nestled in her belly. Soon she would go back inside the house she and Running Wolf had created out of sugar pine and hazel fibers and tend the fire, but until she could no longer see her husband, she would stand in the winter fog.

Three braves were heading toward the pale skins' camp, and as a head man it was Running Wolf's duty to lead. Even now he stood tall and proud with his brother and White Clouds, bow and arrows ready. Running Wolf and the others wore no white paint on their foreheads; they hadn't tied their hair into tight knots at the back of their heads. There was no need since they weren't on the warpath.

Dark Water was a Yiwiyawa, the keeper of the People's stories and legends. She knew of the centuries when the People roamed free over the valley fed by the great river. For as far back as stories had been told, this was their land. The herds of deer and elk, the fish, wolves, rabbits, and birds had always been theirs.

That was before the pale-skinned ones with their powerful weapons and magnificent horses rode into the valley. Now nothing was the same.

Last night, after covering her stomach with his big, strong hands, Running Wolf had told her of his fears. This one. He indicated their unborn child. His world won't be the one we and our parents and our parents' parents knew. He will have to learn the white-skinned ones' ways. If he doesn't, I fear he will never live to hold his own child.

Dark Water pressed against her husband's side. You can't see the future, my husband. Owl Calling says the People will make the white-skinned ones leave.

My brother dreams of yesterday. The newcomers' rifles are much stronger than bows and arrows. If this one— Again he rested his powerful hands on her stomach. If this one is to become a man, he has to change. The old ways are gone.

No. She wouldn't believe that. She couldn't. This valley has always belonged to the People. It is as it should be.

What is and what should be are not the same.

This morning she thought of her husband's words as the old men gathered around giving the young braves advice. She hadn't wanted to marry Running Wolf. She'd barely known the brave her family had chosen for her. But because it was unthinkable to defy her parents, she'd put on her wedding gown of softest buckskin, colored beads, seashells, and transparent pebbles, and spread her legs for a stranger. Running Wolf hadn't known any more than she about what they were doing, but he had been advised by the same men now telling him he should put an arrow in the heart of a pale skin. They might not be right today, but they'd guided Running Wolf well in the art of pleasing his bride.

Now she understood the meaning of love as she'd never believed possible. She also understood fear for the tall, handsome, compassionate man whose greatest joy came from feeling the tiny life he'd placed within her.

She wanted to believe, as the old men did, that Running Wolf and Owl Calling and White Clouds would be back in a few suns with greater knowledge of the pale-skinned ones' ways and weaknesses.

But it was gray and cold this morning. The only sign of life came from the moss hanging from the winter-quiet trees. Dark Water's heart felt as still as the fog. Even the memory of the gentle lovemaking she and Running Wolf had shared an hour ago couldn't take away the fear. Maybe she would never see him again.

Running Wolf came toward her. His great black eyes had been filled with confidence as he made his plans with the others. Now only Dark Water could see what was in his eyes and heart. Gently he placed his hands on her slender, strong shoulders and bent his head toward hers. Take care of our child. If he has to grow up without a father, teach him the People's stories. Owl Calling can show him how to hunt and fish and be a warrior, but only you can make him truly understand what it means to be one of the People. And if he must learn the language and ways of the pale skins to survive, walk that path with him. Let him know that his father's last thoughts were of him.

Dark Water shook her head and buried her face in Running Wolf's warm chest so he wouldn't see her tears. He smelled of the forest, of wood smoke. She wanted it to be last night. She wanted back the world that had existed before the pale-skinned ones. And she didn't want her husband to be carrying weapons. Don't, she whispered. Don't talk of Owl Calling. You're my husband.

And if I die, he will take you into his home. You won't be without a man.

Dark Water pulled herself erect. They weren't alone. Others would see if she showed weakness. "This is your child. Our child. We will raise it together."

Do you believe that?

She would give up a great deal to deny his question, but she couldn't. If she never saw her husband again, at least he would die knowing she had spoken the truth. I had a dream last night. I was in the river. My spirit. I was alone. The water was cold and fast. I couldn't get to shore.

She waited, half expecting him to dispute the meaning in the dream, praying he would. But he only nodded. Be strong, my wife. I will take you with me. He touched his chest. You will be here as long as I live.

Grateful that the others didn't know what was going on inside her, she took her husband's hand and held it against her full breasts. I love you, she whispered. Take that with you. I will always love you.

Running Wolf was no longer with her. For a moment the loss was almost more than she could bear, but she knew how to face life's realities. She might have known only nineteen winters, but she'd held her father's broken body until the breath went out of him after he had fallen from a cliff onto ungiving rocks. She'd wrapped him in blankets to hide his wounds and had then gone to tell Whispering One that the man her mother had slept with for more than twenty winters would no longer warm her bed.

If she could help her father find his way into the other world, she could tell Running Wolf good-bye.

* * *

There wasn't enough for Dark Water to do to fill the next three days. If it had been earlier in the year, there would be camas root to dig and cook in stone-lined pits, and if deer had been driven into a deer fence there would be meat to dry. Pine nuts and manzanita berries had already been gathered and pounded and mixed into mush. In another two moons the acorn would again be plentiful. Now there were none to shell and grind. She could only look into the faces of her family and think ahead to the time when all the families of the People would leave their separate gatherings in the sheltering trees just above the great valley and live close to each other in the summer places near the river.

Although she could have waited until closer to the time for her baby to be born, Dark Water gathered hazel twigs and willow and began work on a basket cradle. So she could keep an eye on the fire pit, she worked inside the rectangular, earthen-floor home built to withstand the winter, both welcoming and resenting the almost constant presence of others.

When the People go to war... were the words she heard again and again. No one questioned that the only way the valley would once again belong to the People was by killing or chasing away the newcomers. A few rifles and horses had been stolen from those who traveled through the valley or stayed to build houses, dig into the earth, and care for livestock. Although she'd seen the pale skins' weapons and horses, there were none in her family's winter place. If Running Wolf and the others were able to take enough rifles to give all of the People great strength, the strangers would truly understand that this wasn't their land.

Dark Water listened. She wanted to believe the words of the old and the boasts of the young. She also remembered what Running Wolf had told her.

At night she lay alone on the raised bed made of dry grass and pine needles covered by a mat of woven cattail and skins, waiting for her child's movements to give her diversion from her thoughts. She pictured Running Wolf sleeping under a tree with his bow and arrows clutched in his fingers. Like her, he would wake in the middle of the night and reach for the warmth that wasn't there. He would stir and turn and look up at the stars.

Running Wolf wouldn't be afraid. He feared a charging bear, illness that the shamans couldn't cure, too much snow for hunting. He didn't fear sleeping alone in the valley that had been invaded by those who didn't belong. Maybe, when—please make it when—he returned, he would have learned things that would make him fear the pale skins as well. As befitting a head man, he wouldn't tell the others, but he would tell her. And she would keep his secret.

On the morning of the fourth day, Dark Water was awakened by the shouts of children. She hurried out of the house, praying they were announcing the return of the warriors, but their excitement had been caused by a change in the weather.

Snow. Fat, wet flakes melted almost as soon as they touched the ground, but the hills around had been coated white. Dark Water pulled her elk-skin blanket close to her but didn't shiver. There was little wind; the past few days of fog had been colder than this.

It's a good sign, Owl Calling's wife Little Song said as she joined Dark Water. Our husbands will be able to move silently in the snow. And the pale skins will think they're safe.

Dark Water didn't know whether Little Song really believed what she was saying, but it didn't matter. Little Song was still barely more than a child. She and Owl Calling had been sleeping together for three moons, and unless Little Song kept a secret, she wasn't yet with child. For that Dark Water was grateful. Little Song needed more time to understand what it meant to be a woman before she became a mother. Still, the way Little Song looked at her swollen stomach told Dark Water that motherhood was on her mind.

They didn't take much food, Dark Water said more to herself than to the other woman. They'll have to come back soon.

Today. Little Song looked up into the snow and opened her mouth for a cold taste. I dreamed that Owl Calling came with many of the pale skins' weapons. Your husband had captured a horse. It outran the deer.

Nothing could outrun a deer, except, Dark Water thought, sometimes the wind. Still, Little Song's dream gave her reason to hope. I've thought about the horses. From the top of Table Rock I watched a wagon train last summer. The pale skins were so careful of their oxen, but I would rather have a horse. To be able to travel faster than a man can run—

Little Song giggled. Remember when we were children. You were faster than the others. And now— She indicated Dark Water's stomach. Now you need a horse.

Dark Water giggled back. The sound reminded her of how long it had been since she'd felt like laughing. After the baby comes I'll run again. Maybe, if Running Wolf comes home with a horse, I'll try to outrun it.

Did you have a dream?

Dark Water wished she had. Her nights had been so restless, a time of thought and very little sleep. She shook her head, the sleek black mass Running Wolf loved to touch sliding over her shoulders. She felt old and helpless. She'd watched the women of the tribe growing heavy with child and told herself she wouldn't become awkward when it was her turn. But the growing child had changed her body. Her arms and legs were still long and slender, her face thinner than it had been before. But she couldn't outrun a child too young to gather its own berries. She was still strong, still fast, but trapped by her baby's need of her. I wish—I wish I could have gone with Running Wolf.

Oh, no. Little Song looked around to assure herself that no one was listening and then went on. Owl Calling asked if I wanted to come with him. He said I could stay in the hills when they went down to the pale skins' camp, but I would be too afraid.

Of what?

I might make noise. If they saw us and used their weapons and Owl Calling was killed—

You can be silent.

Not if I'm afraid.

Dark Water couldn't believe that. If her life, and the life of the man she loved, depended on silence, she would move through the forest so quietly that even the deer and birds wouldn't hear.

I think it's better that only three of them went, she said softly. If the pale skins see them, they won't be alarmed. They will think that three braves won't attack.

But three braves can't fight as well as twenty...

The day passed more quickly than the others since the braves had left. The snow continued to fall, and the children carried strips of bark to a hill and slid down, their carefree cries lightening the burden Dark Water carried in her heart. She gathered wood and stoked her fire, but she was too restless to go back to her cradle basket. Instead she climbed the hill and watched, envious, as the children exhausted themselves. Twice she settled herself on the sheet of bark and slid to the base of the hill where one of the older children eased her to a stop.

Her mother didn't say anything, but a couple of the older women looked at her reproachfully. A married woman who was soon to become a mother should no longer act like a child. As it began to grow dark, Dark Water left the children to their play.

Was Running Wolf's stomach growling, she thought as a woman called to her children to leave their game. She told herself he would be warm, that the deerskin moccasins she'd made would keep his feet dry. His shirt and cape would protect his shoulders. Buckskin leggings would cover his heavily muscled legs. But he might sleep hungry tonight.

Dark Water didn't hear the first call of alarm. But when it was repeated, louder this time, she forgot her clumsiness. Someone was stumbling through the snow toward the village. One of the old men hurried to the newcomer and helped him walk.

It was too dark and the men too far away for her to recognize the newcomer, but his halting gait told her what she didn't want to know. He'd been injured.

Inside, the old man barked. Bring the shaman.

Dark Water desperately needed to join the others, but for a moment she couldn't remember how to make her legs work. She heard a child-woman's shrill, terrified cry and watched as Little Song raced toward the men. A moment later Little Song wrapped her arms around the newcomer, and Dark Water wanted nothing more out of life than to step into her home and curl into a tight, unthinking ball.

Owl Calling had returned. Her husband hadn't.

The baby kicked. Dark Water pressed her hand against the movement. Her mouth opened. She breathed deeply, sucking iced air into her lungs. Somehow she forced her legs to work. Others were pressing their way into Owl Calling's home, but when they saw her, they made room.

Owl Calling had already been stretched out on his bed. Dried blood caked his clothing at the shoulder and hip. Little Song and Owl Calling's mother were trying to soak the buckskin shirt in water so they could free the clothing from his shoulder. Another woman removed Owl Calling's moccasins and began rubbing his feet. Then the shaman entered and the women moved away.

Dark Water dropped to her knees beside Owl Calling. She might be preventing the shaman from reaching the wounded man, but she didn't care. There were questions she had to ask, answers she had to hear.

Running Wolf? Where is he? Where is your brother?

Had everyone stopped talking? Silence pressed around her, making it nearly impossible for her to breathe. Still she had to stay, stay and hear. Owl Calling's face was tight with pain. Exhaustion turned his eyes into the darkest night; still he focused on her. Dead.

Dark Water's heart skittered over the word. Quickly, before a black pit enveloped her, she made herself speak. Running Wolf is dead?

White Clouds. The pale skin aimed their rifles at him, and blood flowed from him.

Dark Water didn't care about White Clouds. His wife and children would have to deal with their loss. Running Wolf, she repeated. Where is he?

I don't know.

That can't be. Her voice belonged to someone she'd never heard before. She began to shake. One of the other women placed a blanket over her shoulders, but she paid no attention. You have to know where he is, she whispered in that stranger's voice.

I don't. So many miles. So many. Owl Calling's eyes drooped. Still, he managed to reach out and grip Dark Water's hand. In a voice that was both strong and baby weak by turn, he told of an entire day spent reaching the small collection of tents where the pale skins were staying. The three braves waited through the night, and then at dawn, slipped closer. White Clouds had come within a few feet of one of their rifles, but he could hear movement inside the tent and didn't dare crawl closer. Through the day, the braves lay hidden in brush watching the pale skins. The strangers concerned themselves with a deer one of them had brought in the day before. The next day there was much laughter and drinking of a dark liquid.

This morning three of the pale skins began working on their weapons. The braves paid close attention to everything that was being done, so close that they didn't notice when a dog woke and began exploring its surroundings. The wind blew in the wrong direction; the dog caught the braves' scent.

When the pale skins fired, White Clouds fell as if a great rock had been dropped on him, Owl Calling explained. He and Running Wolf ran in different directions with the pale skins in pursuit. Again and again Owl Calling heard rifle shots. I felt a great pain. I wanted to lie down, but I knew I would be killed. I kept running. Dark Water? The young brave's eyes filled with an agony that had nothing to do with his wounds. I wanted to call for my brother. There has never been a pain greater than the one I felt when I had to leave without him. I prayed to my spirit that he would somehow be here. But—

Dark Water felt a dozen pairs of eyes on her. A child would cry. A weak women would collapse. But she was the daughter of a goya-shaman, the wife of a head man. She had been chosen for the honor and responsibility of carrying on the People's legends. For them, for herself, she would not scream.

You saw nothing of Running Wolf after White Clouds fell?

Owl Calling shook his head. I ran toward the setting sun. My brother—he went in the direction of the winter wind.

Dark Water couldn't stay in the suddenly too small house. Owl Calling needed to be tended to, and she needed to think, at least to try. Other braves would have to be gathered from distant winter camps. They would talk and make their plans and then go to the pale skins' village. The presence of many braves was dangerous. If other rifles were aimed at her people, if another brave was killed while trying to find Running Wolf-

Dark Water couldn't finish the thought.

But her husband had been alive when Owl Calling last saw him. He might be wounded, unable to make his way through the winter night to her side.

Only half aware of what she was doing, she stepped inside her house and began wrapping blankets into a bundle. She was reaching for the healing sumac and blackberry root when her mother entered. For a heartbeat she simply stood and watched. Then, her face sober, she came closer.

Don't. Please don't. Whispering One touched her light hand to Dark Water's shoulder. The braves will go after your husband.

Dark Water dropped to her knees. She had to be strong for the others, but she could allow her mother to see her near panic. They'll go with their hair tied tight. There will be a battle and more death.

And if you go, I fear I will never see my daughter again.

Whispering One's words stopped Dark Water. She might have been sleeping in her husband's house for moons, but she was still first of all her mother's daughter. I will be careful.

Running Wolf was careful. White Clouds had eyes like the hawk and still he was killed.

What do you want me to do? If he is alive—If he needs me—

Whispering One dropped to her knees beside her daughter. Despite the powerful mother's instinct that had brought her to Dark Water, Whispering One remained silent. This one had always needed more from life than a full belly and a warm place to sleep. She should have been named for the wind, not the river that fed the People's valley. A strong wind, a brave wind. An untamed wind. As a child, Dark Water had asked endless questions. When her time came to pass from childhood to being a woman, she had refused to have her chin tattooed. She had no quarrel with the rest of the womanhood ceremony, the five days of morning fasts, the cutting of her bangs, the dangling of jay feathers over her eyes to keep her from gazing at the sun, but because tattooing was done to make women ugly to the pale skins, Dark Water wouldn't submit. Never, she'd told her mother, would she live with a man outside the tribe. The decision had been made in her heart; she would not be disfigured.

Listen to me, Dark Water, Whispering One said as her daughter went about preparing to leave.

These pale skins aren't like the men who hunt in the mountains. The mountain men want a woman of the People to keep their beds warm. Maybe, as long as they are good to the woman, that is how it should be. But the newcomers who stay in the valley, they won't care that you are with child. They will see only that you are young. They might kill you. Whispering One dropped her eyes. And they might make you into their passion slave.

Dark Water shuddered but kept on working. She felt so warm in here; Running Wolf might be lying, cold, in the snow. We have had slaves, Mother. They come in ropes, but we are kind to them, and they stay to become one of the People.

Most of us. But some of the People have hate in their hearts and if the slave is a pale skin, alone, without weapons, a child... There was such a child when you were a baby. He became the slave of Dog Killer. Dog Killer was not a good master. The boy escaped, but not until Dog Killer had taken his hatred out on him. Whispering One took a deep breath. Listen to me. These pale skins who are here now, they will make you do things no brave would ever ask of a woman. Running Wolf came to you in love. They will come in hate and force themselves on you in hate. I would rather you be dead than a slave to one of them.

Dark Water pushed herself to her feet and gripped her elk-skin blanket close to her, remembering Running Wolf's pride when he gave her the coveted skin. She had heard the stories about women slaves. It was almost more than she could comprehend that a pale-skinned one would tie a woman's hands and force her legs apart. If they capture me, I will kill myself.

And your child? Whispering One said in a voice that trembled. Will you kill your child too?

Dark Water reached for her mother. She held her close, praying Whispering One would understand what she had to say. Mother, if Running Wolf is dead, then I am half dead myself. And if I can't be free, if I am nothing but a slave to the pale skin, then it is better that both I and my child not know another sun.

She expected her mother to shake her head. Instead Whispering One pulled out of her arms and bent over to retrieve the blanket that had slipped to the ground. She held it close, her work-worn fingers brushing soft fur. You might never find him, my daughter. It might be better if you don't.

Dark Water knew what her mother was talking about, but no matter what the pale skins had done to Running Wolf, she could never again close her eyes if she had to wonder if he'd died waiting for her to come to him. I don't have any choice. This one— She indicated her unborn child. The day will come when he will need to know his father. I can do nothing less than what I am.

* * *

The snow continued through the night. Because Dark Water had taken care to dress warmly, she was able to walk through the dark and gently rolling foothills for hours without feeling the cold. Although she had to move slowly, she made her way without the moon or sun to guide her. On her back she carried everything she thought she would need if Running Wolf was alive. In her heart she carried hope and fear, not for her own safety, but because her mother might be right.

What if she never saw her husband alive again? And—and this was the most terrible possibility of ail—maybe he had been captured.

At dawn Dark Water stood on a sloping hill overlooking the pale skins' camp. The sight of their flimsy, snow-coated tents nestled in the middle of a grove of pine trees came as no surprise. These pale skins didn't know how to protect themselves from winter. All summer, travelers had come into the valley on foot or in their great, clumsy wagons. Those on foot had paused to plunge strange-looking baskets in creeks or quiet pools in the great river, but they hadn't set up shelters. Those who came burdened with their belongings stayed a few days and then, after their livestock had rested and eaten the grasses meant for the deer, they'd continued south. Only the handful of pale skins who lived far from each other and tended cattle, chickens, and pigs remained. But the snows of winter had plugged up the passes, forcing these latecomers to remain until the sun once again revealed the way the others had gone.

In the direction of the winter wind, Owl Calling had said. That was where Running Wolf had run. Lowering her head against the wind, Dark Water turned her back on the hated encampment and started walking with the wind slapping her chilled cheeks. Every step she took called for raw self-control, but she'd come too far. She couldn't turn back. The hill now in her path was dotted with oak trees and thigh-high grasses. The fresh snow barely covered her ankles. Although the pale skins might be able to track her, that wasn't what mattered. Behind the next tree, tucked into the next clump of grass might be her husband. Because she wasn't sure where the three braves had been when they'd been discovered, she could only guess at the path Running Wolf might have taken. His legs were long and powerful. And if he was running from an enemy whose weapon put his bow and arrows to shame, his speed would be great.

It was so hard to think, so hard to make her legs and eyes do the work they needed to. She hadn't eaten since early yesterday, and then only a little because her stomach was too tight with worry. She felt as if she'd swallowed something living that now clawed at her, trying to escape. The clawing had come and gone through the night. She'd been able to dismiss it then, but now the discomfort became a pain that forced her to pause with her hands pressed tightly against her body. Although it was cold enough that she could see her breath, she sweated. Was her fear hurting her baby? It was too soon for the child to be born, but what she felt now she'd never felt before.

There were so many trees. The hill was broad and yet dotted with deep wounds cut into the earth, each one capable of hiding or sheltering a man. Because the pale skins had dogs, Dark Water moved slowly and carefully, hoping not to draw attention to herself. A few minutes ago she'd been able to hear the strange sounds the pale skins made when they spoke to each other. She could no longer hear them, and that made her even more uneasy. Were they hiding, watching, waiting for her to walk into their traps?

The baby moved. Only it wasn't like any other movement she'd ever felt. Dark Water dropped to her knees, breathing deeply, trying to think. It was a minute before she was able to do so. If the pale skins had wounded Running Wolf while he was on this hill, the strangers would have seen him fall. Wouldn't they come after him to see if he was dead, to do—but maybe he had made it to the top of the hill. Maybe he'd found a place to hide.

Her mind working in fits and starts, Dark Water scrambled upward. The effort exhausted her, and it was all she could do to stop herself from flinging the bundle off her back. Somehow she made it to the top, but it was a minute before she could gather the courage to look down. What if what remained of Running Wolf was nestled there? If she spotted a snow-covered mound, brushed away the snow and found her husband, would she be able to silence the screams that even now clawed at her throat?

She shouldn't have come here. She should be in her warm house while the braves prepared for war.

No. Even if she died in