The Dove (Prophecy Series) (17 page)

She moved quietly through the palace halls on bare feet like the ghost she already was, setting certain things to memory because it was the only way she could take them with her.

The guards standing along the hallways maintained their posts as she passed, but she knew they were looking at her, wondering what would happen to her and where she would go.

It was nearing sundown. The long shadows were already showing on the floor beneath her feet. There was a place she wanted to visit, a secret place from her childhood and she had a need to see it one last time.

Finally, she came to the end of a dark, dusty hall. Once a woman who had been a weaver in the palace had called the room her home, but after she died, it became a place of storage.

Tyhen stepped inside the doorway and was struck by the sight of so much stuff: old benches, bent serving bowls, broken spears, damaged shields, things that should have been repaired but had been put in here and forgotten.

Then she remembered why she’d come and began counting off the tiles from the doorway until she came to the one that was loose. She dropped to her knees and, just as she’d done many times before, lifted it and set it aside.

Even though the light was dim in the room, Tyhen could see her little treasures. A braided piece of leather that Yuma had one day taken from his hair and tied in her hair instead, a tiny piece of hammered silver that had broken off of his shield, a small chunk of turquoise he’d given her after she’d fallen and scraped her knees. There were tears in her eyes as she went through the stash, remembering how dear they’d been to her then, and how small and insignificant they looked to her now. She put each item back as reverently as she’d taken them out, replaced the tile, and then pushed it down with the flat of her hand. It was cool to the touch and she wondered if, when the mountain died, the river of fire would come this far. Finally, she stood up and walked out. Those were pieces of the child she’d been, and since she was leaving that life behind, it was best they stayed with it.

Her steps were swift, her stride long as she moved through the palace. Guards were beginning to carry lit torches to their stations, lighting the halls as she made her way back to her room where Yuma would be waiting. The thought of him made her heart leap and she lengthened her stride.

****

Yuma had said his good-byes to the twins over an hour ago, then stopped by Singing Bird’s room but she wasn’t there. Instead of going to look for her, he went into their room to wait for Tyhen.

He’d spent a good part of the day down in the city with the New Ones, making sure everything and everyone was ready to leave tomorrow, then saying good-bye to the old ones among them who had chosen to stay with Singing Bird.

He stepped out of his sandals and took off his loincloth, then went to a large bowl of water and began to wash. Once he was finished, he tossed the water out of the window and laughed when it sent a trio of monkeys scattering in three different directions. They were still screeching and scolding him when he walked away.

He picked up a banana from a bowl of fresh fruit, then changed his mind and put it back. The bed looked far more inviting.

He lay back with his hands behind his head, staring up at the ceiling. This time tomorrow night they would be sleeping under the stars and the thought made his pulse skip.

He stretched, and when he did, his long legs went off the end of the bed. Without traditional measurements, he had no idea how tall he was, but his father had been a big man, and Yuma guessed his final height was over six feet, a perfect match for the Windwalker’s daughter.

He was thinking about the pond behind his father’s house and the big mouth bass he used to catch there when he closed his eyes, and he was still thinking about home when he fell asleep.

****

Singing Bird had spent the day in isolation, strengthening her resolve for tomorrow. She would not shame her daughter or herself by weeping at their parting. Some things were beyond mortal control and this was one of them.

Cayetano had been noticeably absent all day, and while she wondered what he was doing, she didn’t feel the need to find him to satisfy curiosity.

She had walked down to the healing pool during the heat of the day and shed her clothing on the rocks before immersing herself in the clear, bubbling water. This was where they’d brought her to heal from Firewalker’s wrath, and this was where she first laid eyes on Cayetano. His presence had been just as imposing then as it was today and she was proud of him, both as a man and as their chief.

She lay back in the water, floating freely as she closed her eyes and prayed to give up her fear and heartbreak to the gods who’d set them on this path. She lost all track of time until she heard someone coming up the path. Quickly, she shifted from floating to a standing position, wishing she hadn’t come here alone.

Moments later, her anxiety ended as Cayetano emerged from the jungle.

“I have been looking all over for you,” he said gruffly as he shed his clothing, stepped into the water, and then took her into his arms.

She sighed as he pulled her close. He always made her feel safe. “I came to the healing pool for solace,” she said softly, then gasped softly as his hands slid beneath her backside and lifted her before easing her down onto his erection.

“I have need of solace, too. We will heal each other,” Cayetano said, and let nature have its way with the both of them.

Their stolen moments alone were as healing as the love they made together, and by the time they were on their way back to the palace, the sun was going down.

“This is their last night with us,” Singing Bird said.

Cayetano’s fingers curled a little tighter around her hand. “As long as I have you, I can bear anything.”

Singing Bird glanced up, eyeing the profile of the man beside her. His nose had a slight hook to it; making her think of an eagle’s beak. His forehead was wide, his cheekbones sharp and angled toward a strong chin. His long hair was tied into a loop at the back of his neck in the style of the people of Naaki Chava. In a brief moment of connection with her past, she remembered a college history class and seeing a similar profile that had been carved on the stone walls of an ancient Mayan temple. She smiled. Never in a million years would she have ever believed that a man like that would belong to her.

Cayetano sensed her stare and turned.

“Why do you smile?” he asked.

“Because, my chief, you make me happy.”

“Your smile lights my life, but we need to hurry. It is getting dark and not even your smile will be enough to light the way back.”

She thought of the jaguars that hunted at night and lengthened her stride.

****

Yuma was dreaming, and in the dream, he was watching his father driving in from the pasture with a truckload of hay just ahead of an oncoming thunderstorm. The first drops of rain were beginning to fall as he drove across the cattle guard and headed toward the barn.

Yuma leapt off the porch and was running to meet him as the wind began to rise. He looked up into the underside of rolling clouds turning darker by the minute and started to run, but the harder he ran, the farther he got from the barn. He could hear his father yelling, but the wind had risen to a high-pitched whine, stealing the words coming from his mouth. At that point, Yuma was just about to panic when he heard a voice that had no place in that dream. He opened his eyes.

Tyhen was standing beside the bed taking off her clothes and the wind that he’d felt in the dream had been real after all. But it wasn’t caused by a storm. It was the emotional tie between them with a good helping of lust. She crawled into the bed and straddled his body without speaking a word, then lowered herself onto his erection, and just like that, the wind was gone and there was nothing in that moment that mattered more than the storm they made with their love.

****

It was a moonless night. The palace halls were dark, lit only by the smoking torches along the walls.

After Singing Bird fell asleep, Cayetano got up and went out into the halls, talking quietly to each guard as he passed, thanking them for their loyalty and loss of sleep, and promising to take care of them, no matter what.

Unknown to Cayetano, Yuma was on a similar mission. He’d served with these warriors and felt a kinship to them as well. He moved quietly from post to post, saying one last good-bye to the tribe of men who had accepted him without question, asking them to take good care of Cayetano and Singing Bird when he was gone.

When he turned a corner and saw Cayetano coming down the same hall toward him, his heart thumped. Even though he’d outgrown the mighty chief in height, Cayetano’s stature as a man and as a chief was without question.

“So, my son, it seems you do not sleep, either,” Cayetano said as he approached.

“It is hard to say good-bye,” Yuma said.

Cayetano grasped Yuma’s arm briefly. “Walk with me.”

Yuma fell into step beside his foster father, still coming to terms with the fact that he would never see him again.

“You have been a good son to me, and you are a strong warrior. Remember all I have taught you. You will need that knowledge and more in the coming years.”

“I remember,” Yuma said.

“Even though it is promised that you will be well-received on your travels, there will always be those who do not want to give up their power. Be aware of them.”

Yuma nodded. “Do not worry. I will see into their hearts.”

“People will die along the way. You know this,” Cayetano said.

Yuma’s gut knotted, remembering how the people died as they ran from Firewalker. This time it would be different, but he knew that death still came to unsuspecting souls.

“Yes, I know,” Yuma said and nodded at a guard as they passed his post.

Cayetano was still talking. “Rarely can it be prevented. Do not take the blame onto yourself. Remember that they chose this walk with you.”

“I will remember,” Yuma promised.

When they reached the war room where most of their weapons were kept, Cayetano took a torch from the wall and carried it inside, then handed it to Yuma.

“Hold this for me. There is something I want to give you,” he said and went straight to the place where his personal weapons were stored, then sorted through an assortment of knives before he found what he was looking for. “My father gave this to me. It has a name. It is called Warrior’s Heart. Even though we do not share blood, in my heart, you are my son. One day you will pass it to another and that will make me happy.”

When Yuma pulled the knife out of the leather scabbard, his vision blurred to the point he could barely make out the deadly curve to the blade or the chunk of jade mounted at the end of the hasp.

“I am honored, my chief. It will be good to take a piece of you with me.”

Cayetano was equally moved, but managed a brief nod of satisfaction as they headed out the door. “We should go back to our beds before our women wake up and set the guards in search of us.”

They walked in silence all the way back to the chief’s quarters, and the look that passed between them was solemn, then Cayetano paused and gripped Yuma’s arm.

“Walk strong on your great adventure, my son, and I will walk with you in my dreams.”

In a rare gesture of affection, Yuma gave him a hug. “Thank you for saving me. Thank you for being the father I had lost.”

Cayetano nodded once, but his eyes were glistening with unshed tears as he went inside and closed the door.

Yuma walked the distance back to Tyhen alone. He entered, quietly closing the door behind him. He slipped the knife into his pack, crawled back into bed with Tyhen, and closed his eyes and fell asleep.

Tyhen had known the moment he left their bed, and even though she wasn’t physically with him, she’d seen every step he took, just like she’d seen him running through the jungle on the night he’d nearly died. The moment she felt his weight against her back, she let go of the vision and slept, and in her sleep, walked back through her childhood in Naaki Chava, all the way up to seeing the Windwalker in the temple. In the dream she could feel his arms around her and then the moment of his death, when he gave her his power. Just as she was waking up, she heard her mother’s voice, but it was faint and Tyhen could tell that she was crying.

“
How do I say good-bye to the child of my heart?”

Don’t cry, Mother. When you need me, speak my name and you will hear me.

“Tyhen?”

Yes, Mother?

“This is you?”

Yes, Mother. I heard your cry. I am the Windwalker’s daughter. I will always hear your voice.

When she woke again, it was to the sound of rain. It would seem the people were not the only ones who would be crying when they left Naaki Chava. Even the heavens wept the loss.

****

After all the build-up, and all the planning and talking, the ensuing downpour made their exit from the city anti-climatic.

Adam and Evan had said their last good-byes to Yuma and Tyhen at the palace with a reminder that they
would
see them again, and then the twins had raced down to the temple to blow the Conch shell and gather the people. This time Adam did a decent job of sounding the signal, but considering the blinding flood of the rainfall, few came to see them off.

****

Tyhen’s focus was on the journey, not the rain. The day was dark and gray from the overcast sky as she and Yuma arrived at the playa where the New Ones waited. If the sun had come up, they could not see it. When Johnston Nantay approached with her pack, she slipped into it without comment, thanking him with a quick nod and then climbed up a step at the temple so that the people could see her.

Yuma stood at the foot of the temple, only a few yards away from his woman, and all he could do was marvel at what she had become. The rain plastered her shift to her body like skin, showing every sinew and muscle. Her long hair was flat against her head and neck, her feet slightly apart as she braced herself against the pounding rain, but she did not look defeated. She looked ready for war.