Nicholas pulled the stiffened corpse into the shallow grave he’d dug within sight of the cabin, crouched beside it, gazed at the young man’s face. Youreh had been a boy of twelve or thirteen summers when Nicholas had been held captive. Nicholas had never spoken with him, had never shared a hunt or a meal with him. Still, Nicholas remembered him.
At the onset of manhood that summer, Youreh had been called upon by the warriors to show his bravery the night Josiah and Eben had been tortured to death. More than once it was he who had pressed the lit torches to their skin.
Nicholas, for God’s sake, help us!
Nicholas stood abruptly, dropped Youreh’s gear in the grave, along with the things Mattootuk had left behind, shoveled dirt on top of it all. Then he cursed Mattootuk and Youreh to everlasting hell.
***
Bethie served Nicholas a second helping of stew, picked the biggest chunks of venison from the pot for him. “After this, you should get some sleep.”
He shook his head. “I want to scout for tracks once more, make certain he hasn’t been stalking the cabin.”
She swallowed her objections, sat, picked at her dinner.
He’d barely spoken a word to her all day, and when he had, his words had been cold or gruff and angry. She wanted to believe it was just the strain of having gone all night and all day with no sleep and precious little food. But she knew it was more than that.
She had learned more than he wanted her to know about his life, and he was pulling back.
She supposed she should be grateful. ’Twas far better to learn the truth now than later. Had things continued as they were going, she might have found herself smitten with him. She might have become willing to overlook any fault to taste more of his kisses. She might even have hoped to marry him.
You’ll be rid of me soon enough, and then what I told you or failed to tell you will no longer matter.
Oh, but it did matter! ’Twas one thing to learn he had dark secrets in his past. It was quite something else to think he had deceived her, kept something so important from her.
And yet, what did he owe her? Why should he tell her? They were little more than strangers to each other, two people whose paths happened to cross in a vast wilderness. Besides, didn’t she have secrets? Had she not knowingly kept from him a truth as dark and terrible as the one he had kept from her?
Aye, she had. She had accepted his protection, enjoyed his many acts of kindness, received his kisses—and kept from him the shameful truth. Would he have kissed her so sweetly had he know of her taint?
She watched as he ate his last spoonful of stew, noticed the lines of fatigue on his face.
He pushed back his chair, stood. “Pull in the string once I’m out. I’ll see you in the morning.”
“It’s still daylight, Nicholas. Will you no’ get some sleep before you go back out? You cannae go forever without it. If he really is still out there, it would be better to face him well rested.”
But Nicholas was already gone.
***
On a hilltop to the northwest of the cabin, Mattootuk fell to his knees. So much of his spirit was now gone that it was all but impossible to stand. But he had a task to complete before he was willing to die. So he struggled to his feet again, took several more staggering steps, spilled a thin trail of black powder on the forest floor.
The Sa-ray-u-migh’s bullet had gone deep into his shoulder, made it hard for him to breathe, made blood well up in his throat. But neither the Big Knife nor his woman nor their daughter would escape his vengeance. Already the wind was shifting. Soon it would blow steadily from the northwest. Then Mattootuk would light the powder and watch.
He laughed, ignored the spray of blood and spittle that issued from his mouth.
Fire.
It consumed. It cleansed. It purified. The Big Knife had been pulled from its embrace once, thanks to Lyda’s lust, but he would not be so lucky again. The powder would ignite, and the flames, pushed by the wind, would race headlong toward the cabin, reaching it so quickly that the Big Knife and all that was his would perish in a matter of moments, a delayed sacrifice to the gods, a gift to a sister long dead.
I am dying, but I will conquer my enemy.
His powder gone, Mattootuk spat the Big Knife’s words from long ago back at him. Then he sank to the ground, watched the sun slip below the horizon, felt the wind—and waited.
Chapter 13
The leather cords bit painfully into Nicholas’s wrists.No matter how he twisted or turned, he could not free himself.There would be no escape.
From nearby came the sound of weeping.
