The night sky dances with crackling white arcs as a harsh wind tears across the plain turning an ocean of tall grasses into a raging sea. The air feels charged and alive in a way that makes the hairs on Caleb's neck stand at attention. He flips his collar and glances up at Kitchi. The Native sits at the front of the covered prairie wagon, hands clenching the reins, eyes fixed ahead.
Caleb shakes his head. He has no idea how the man knows where they're going. The storm clouds blot out the stars and moon, stealing away all sense of direction. He hunkers against the sideboards of the wagon and rubs his hands together for warmth. No sense in keeping watch. He can't see past the tip of his nose, let alone the roadway. If you could call it that.
Beside him Ben moans and shifts, pulling Caleb away from his thoughts. The lantern in the corner rocks to the rhythm of the wagon, casting severe shadows across Ben's sweat soaked face, and Caleb wonders for the hundredth time if he's made the right decision. A few hours ago, he was so certain, but now that they're caught somewhere between Middlebrook and Kitchi's village, Sackett's words haunt him.
'All brawns. Pure instinct.'
Caleb leans his head against the sideboards. What if his brawn is about to get his best friend killed? Rubbing his face with both hands, he tries to erase the thought from his mind. His shoulders are tight, the weight of the last forty-eight hours having settled upon them. He closes his eyes. God knows what he'd give for a hot meal and a week's worth of sleep right now.
Before he can lament further, the front right wheel strikes a rock and the corner of the wagon elevates for half a second before it crashes down. The timber cart bounces and Ben whimpers. Pushing off the sideboards Caleb scoots closer and leans in. "Easy Tallboy, we're almost there, I promise."
Reaching into a commandeered med bag, Caleb retrieves a cloth and wipes the sweat from Ben's brow. Ben releases a ragged sigh. "I know, I know," says Caleb. "This wagon is a rickety piece of shite, but it's the only one I could talk Cowell into letting me borrow. You know how he gets when he's in one of his moods. Bastard would probably turn his own wife down if you know what I mean."
Silence.
"Yeah you're right, I don't even know what that means, "Caleb agrees. "But I don't hear you cracking jokes though. Next time you're running on two days of no sleep, we'll see how funny you are."
The wagon slows as it rolls over a patch of rough terrain. Floorboards dance, axles creak, and the lantern sways making the atmosphere in the tiny covered wagon seem all the more ominous. Ben starts to tremble. His breaths turn into jagged gasps and not long after his lips turn a bluish tint. Caleb clasps his shoulder. "Easy Tallboy, ya gotta breathe through it okay?"
Ben hisses and stiffens and Caleb retracts his hand, cursing at himself for being so stupid. Grabbing the cloth once more, he tries to ease his friend by dabbing his forehead, but Ben rolls his head away and Caleb drops his hand to his side. "Breathe Benny, you just gotta breathe."
Ben does the opposite. His breaths turn into shallow hitches with long, gut wrenching pauses in between. Caleb swallows back the lump rising in his throat and tries to control his own breathing. He scoots back to the front of the wagon bed and spreads his legs wide. Leaning forward, he hooks his hands beneath Ben's armpits and pulls Ben to his chest. With one hand Caleb holds Ben tight. He slaps the boards behind him with his opposite hand. "Pick it up Kit!"
The front seat creaks as Kitchi turns and peers back at them. Caleb can't see his expression, but judging by the lack of increase in speed it seems Kitchi disagrees and has no intention of honoring the request. Admittedly, it was a Ludacris request. They shouldn't even be traveling at the speed they are now. Reason tells him to pull over, make shelter, and wait it out the night, but his gut tells him come morning it might be too late. Brawns and instinct.
"Trust the horse Kitchi," Caleb yells over the wind. "He knows what he's doing!"
There's a pause, followed by the crack of reins and the wagon lurches forward. Pony picks up speed. The floorboards bounce faster and Ben squirms in his arms. He slams his head against Caleb's shoulder while pushing his body in the opposite direction, forcing Caleb to tighten his grip. That's it Benny, I knew ya still had fight in ya. "Hang on Ben," he whispers. "Breathe, just breathe."
...
The wagon slows to a stop. Caleb peeks over Ben's sweaty locks towards the rear of the wagon and his heart skips a beat. A hundred or so glowing teepees line the hills behind them. His chest swells. If it weren't for Ben pinning him against the wagon, he'd jump for joy. "We made it Ben."
Outside the wagon footsteps crunch in gravel and seconds later, Kitchi comes into view. The Native glances to his left and right before unlatching the gate and Caleb gets a sense of urgency by the way Kitchi motions for him. He glances down at Ben, who's finally succumbed to unconsciousness. Caleb cradles his head as he slides out from under him and covers him with a heavy blanket. Crouching low he makes his way to the rear of the wagon. "Alright Kit, what's next?"
At the edge of the wagon Caleb is greeted by a posse of ten, maybe twelve Iroquois men. Black paint covers the top half of their faces; white vertical stripes cover the lower. Judging by their small arsenal of tomahawks and bows Caleb assumes they aren't here to make friends. He raises his hands.
Kitchi steps between them speaking frantically in his Native tongue but the warriors don't seem interested in conversing. One steps forward, shoving Kitchi square in the chest. Kitchi stumbles and the rest of the men close in. "Hate to be critical right now, but whatever you're saying Kitchi, isn't working," Caleb says, keeping his hands raised and eyes on the men.
Kitchi continues to speak, pointing first at Caleb and then at Ben. One of the men nods and moves towards the wagon. He wraps a hand around Caleb's wrist and with a quick yank Caleb is dragged from the wagon and off to the side.
Three men move towards the back of the wagon in unison. One holds a torch; he lifts it up as he approaches the rear gate. The back of the wagon illuminates, revealing a human sized lump covered in blankets. The man pulls the blankets away and the remaining two enter the wagon. Together, they move towards Ben.
"Don't touch him." Caleb pleads in broken Iroquois.
All three pause and look back and Caleb thanks his lucky stars for last year's brutal winter. Confined to camp, he'd spent long hours with Kitchi and managed to pick up a bit of his dialect. "He's wounded," Caleb says, now that he has their attention.
The men in the wagon peer down at Ben. One of them touches a hand to Ben's brow and retracts it. Ben doesn't move and the men look to the man holding the torch. The torch holder nods. They each grab an arm and Caleb watches in horror as Ben is jerked into a seated position. His head flops forward, like one of those ragdolls Annie used to play with.
"No," Caleb cries, pushing aside the hands holding him back. He makes it two steps before he's ripped backwards. Two men grab his arms, a third wraps a forearm across his chest. Kitchi rushes towards them. Placing a hand on each of the men's shoulders, he pulls them back while speaking in Iroquois. It's the distraction Caleb needs. Arching his back, he prepares to thrust the top of his head into the forehead of the man standing next to him when a powerful voice calls out from behind.
"Stop!"
Caleb freezes. So does everyone else, except Kitchi, who skirts around Caleb and out of view. The men holding him don't let go, which is fine, so long as he still has eyes on Ben. Kitchi and the man with the resounding voice discuss the matter in hushed tones. Based on the few words Caleb overhears and understands, the conversation sounds heated. Finally, Kitchi returns.
"Release him," he tells the men in Iroquois.
The men holding Caleb set him free. Kitchi nods at Caleb before casting his gaze over his shoulder. Caleb turns and comes face to face with an older man bearing a striking resemblance to Kitchi. The man stands tall and erect. Around his neck he wears a ribbon attached to some sort of silver medallion. Ebony hair flows out from a headdress with too many feathers to count. "My son tells me you are a great warrior and that you will protect your friend," the man says in perfect English.
Caleb's jaw drops. "Uhhh... I um. Don't... know how to answer that…um- Sir?"
"Chieftain, or Chief Keigh Tugh Qua."
"Chief?" Caleb turns to Kitchi. "You never told me your father was a Chief!"
Kitchi shrugs.
Caleb looks to Chief Keigh Tugh Quah. "Well, he's right Chieftain, I will defend my friend. But I didn't come here looking for a fight."
"Your friend needs a Medicine Man."
Caleb nods and Chief Keigh Tugh Quah falls silent. Overhead, a bolt of lightning sears across the sky, followed by a second, and a third. Seconds later the temperature drops. The storm is now on top of them and Caleb hopes the Chieftain will make up his mind soon because he really didn't have a Plan B. Not a good one anyway.
"Take them to Tala," Chief Keigh Tugh Quah says, finally.