Native Wind Page 20

  After the chest cavity flowed up and sealed itself, McNair moved on to the next torso. Each operation only took a few minutes, and in the end, all five torsos gleamed with the energies of the spirits caged within them. When he was done, McNair eased himself down into a chair next to the workbench.

  The Sioux shaman snickered. “See, white magic isn’t all that good. Sure it can do mighty things, but it leaves the caster weak afterward because they do so much that is counter to the flow of the Earth Mother.”

  Trey had the information he wanted but wasn’t any closer to figuring out how to undo the process. If they had some way to remove the bowls…. “Can any of you explain to me how his earth magic works?”

  “What would you like to know?” the Sioux replied.

  “He’s using earth magic to make the bowls. It’s the same magic he used to create the wall. I have heard of people who had an affinity to one element or another but never personally limited myself. Singing Crow always taught how to communicate with all of them.”

  “That is very wise teaching. There are indeed some people, like Justin McNair, who are born with the natural talent to control one element over all others. We are all given the power, with training, to do minor changes to the elements, but those who have the affinity that he does can accomplish great things with their elements.”

  “Such as build walls that would be almost impossible by hand,” Trey said.

  “Exactly. But when a person makes use of one element the way McNair does, it leaves them weak to the other elements. What you must do is figure out a way, using the strengths that you have, to counter his mastery of earth. Fire will do you little good, but water and wind… these two could grant you much advantage.”

  “So I need to speak with the Old Man of the Storms again?”

  “No.”

  “Then I don’t understand.”

  “McNair doesn’t speak to the spirit of Mother Earth when he changes her form to create his walls or extract her minerals. He is like a spirit unto himself. He just controls.”

  “Perhaps I can explain it better.” An ancient Crow shaman pushed his way through the assembled wise men. “I was gifted by Crow to command the winds. I can show you how to do it. As Singing Crow’s student, I think Crow would approve of you knowing.”

  Trey bowed slightly. “You honor me. I have met Crow and know of his majesty.”

  The shaman laughed. “He’s a feisty old bird who is kin to Coyote. Be careful when you speak of his majesty. Here, let me show you how to bend the air better than you already do.”

  29

  “MR. MCNAIR, I cannot allow you to just kidnap a man from a public place,” someone shouted as Gray Talon slowly returned to consciousness. Cold metal hands clamped tightly to his shoulders.

  “This isn’t a man, it’s an Indian!” McNair shouted back. “They don’t have the same rights as the rest of us, and I can drag him off with me if I want.”

  “Not in my town, you won’t!” replied the voice that he now recognized as Sheriff Derr. “Now have your metal man release him and go on back to your ranch. I’ll have the doc patch him up, and then we’ll find out who started the fight. That’s all I’m concerned with.”

  Gray Talon didn’t open his eyes. He stayed limp in the metal man’s grip. His head hurt from where someone had hit him. If he tried to escape, he probably wouldn’t be able to get far. The sheriff sounded like he wasn’t going to let McNair haul him away. He wondered what would happen if the earth mage did manage to leave with him.

  “Don’t you understand, Sheriff? This injun looked like a white man until he hit his head, then he turned into an injun. That means they can look like anyone, be anything.” The whole building shook. The chandelier rattled and several glasses fell off the shelves behind the bar.

  “Now you calm down, McNair!” the sheriff snapped. “If you bring this building down and someone gets hurt, I’m holding you personally responsible for all the damages. I really doubt that an Indian can become a chair or a table, sir. Only a few of them can even become animals.”

  “Hey, he’s telling the truth. Right after I hit his head on the floor, he changed. Before that he was as white as I am,” one of the men who had assaulted Gray Talon spoke up.

  “Leroy, I don’t care,” the sheriff replied. “What I do care about is getting all four of you down to the jail until we can get the fight settled, and the only way that’s going to happen is if Mr. McNair here has his shiny metal man let go of the Indian and we get on out of here. Toby, escort these three over to the jail while Mr. McNair releases the Indian.” Someone cocked a gun. Gray Talon risked opening his eyes. The sheriff had a pistol pointed at McNair. The look on the lawman’s face wasn’t the confident look of a man who had the upper hand; it was the worried look of a man who wasn’t sure he could shoot faster than his opponent. Most of the dining room had cleared out. He didn’t even see Sarah and Walfred anymore. Daphne stood silent and watching behind Dabinshire while the deputy, gun drawn, waved the three ruffians out.

  “Justin, let the Indian go,” Dabinshire intervened, laying a hand on the younger man’s arm. “The sheriff is the law in these parts, and we don’t need to run afoul of him, now do we?”

  Hatred the likes of which Gray Talon had never felt before rolled from McNair’s eyes as he looked at Gray Talon. The man gestured and mumbled something. The metal man’s grip eased enough that he slid downward. If he hadn’t been awake, he would’ve hit the floor. Even so, his knees were still weak as his weight landed on them. He actually reached for the metal man that had been holding him to steady himself.

  With a glare at the sheriff, McNair turned and stomped out of the room. His metal man moved quickly to follow.

  “I’m very sorry about this, Sheriff Derr,” Dabinshire said.

  “Look, I know how you guys out at the ranch feel about Indians. Hell, most of the town agrees with you. But right now, the law says they’re humans and are to be treated as such. Get your man under control, Ronald. I’d hate to have to come out there and take him in by force if he does something stupid like this again. From the looks of that railroad man, he’s done cost you a lot of money tonight. Make sure he don’t cost you more than that.”

  Dabinshire paled, then turned to the young woman standing behind him. “Come along, Daphne. We need to get home.” Her expression never changed as she walked out behind the man, but her eyes lingered on Gray Talon. He felt her reaching out to him, begging him for help.

  “Thank you, Sheriff,” Gray Talon said. The pain in his shoulder from the round the bartender put through him flared as the intensity of the situation washed away.

  “You’re lucky that gal came running to get me,” the lanky man replied. “Most of the folks here abouts don’t cross Dabinshire and McNair. They would’ve let them carry you off and never bothered to report a thing. In case you didn’t notice, they don’t like redskins much.”

  Gray Talon touched his buckskin. There wasn’t a hole through it, but he figured the white clothes that were over his buckskins would have the bullet hole. His shoulder throbbed, and blood dripped down his arm to splash on the floor.

  “Now, let’s get you over to the doc and get you stitched up.”

  “Good idea,” he replied. He actually figured once they were free of the hotel, if there weren’t a lot of people about, he’d try changing into an animal and back to see if that would heal the wound. Always before, when he shifted shape, his wounds had healed. Is human shifting not enough for that to work?

  “So who do I send the repair bill to?” asked the hotel owner, a staunch man going gray at the temples.

  “Did you see who threw the first punch?” the sheriff replied.

  “Bob, you were in here. Who threw the first punch?” he asked the bartender.

  “I was pouring drinks and didn’t look up. I know this here fella, back when he was a white guy—we don’t normally seat Indians in with the rest of the guests—well, he was at the table first when Leroy and the boys
came in. You know how they can get about their table. They were early tonight.”

  The sheriff frowned. “So we’ll have to do some talking to figure out who threw the first punch. You’ll get payment or some work out of someone to cover the repairs. He was being such an ass, I’m tempted to send the bill to McNair. Come on, let’s go see the doc.” He escorted Gray Talon out of the hotel. As they passed through the lobby, Sarah watched them from the balcony. After a slight nod, the woman disappeared down the hallway.

  The air outside the hotel carried the crisp tang of fall. The main street was mostly empty as the gaslights blazed down both directions. The sheriff walked toward the east, then took the first street heading north. He stopped just inside the shadows beyond the lights.

  “Now I don’t know why everyone thinks you were a white guy this evening, but I do bet you’re one of the two-form people,” he said, his voice softer than it had been in the dining room. “Why don’t you try shifting and see if that fixes the wound.”

  Gray Talon cocked an eyebrow. “How did you know?”

  “Cheyenne is a fairly peaceful place,” Sheriff Derr replied. “I manage that by staying on the good side of the local tribes. Been around more than a few Sioux in my buffalo-hunting days, before I became sheriff. I know what some of you can do. You also have some gold flecks in your eyes. Most of the Sioux two-forms have golden eyes in human form and animal. Not sure what tribe you’re from but figure it might be the same.”

  Gray Talon took a deep breath and pictured a large black bear. The white clothes he’d worn earlier were reduced to shreds. It only took a moment, and then he shifted back. The wound was gone. Over his buckskins, the rags that had been his white clothes felt awkward and bulky. Even the boots were in tatters.

  He rolled his shoulder. “That’s better.”

  “So what’s with the clothes?” the sheriff asked.

  “Not sure what’s going on with that. But they are making things awkward.”

  “Let’s get you on down to the jail. We need to work out the questions of the fight.”

  “Of course.”

  “You’d also probably be safer there for the night. McNair’s got his sights set on you now. That’s not a good thing. He’s got major issues with the People. You’d do best to avoid him if at all possible. Might even think about getting out of town, once we have the fight issue sorted out.”

  “Not really planning on staying around too long,” Gray Talon replied. “Got a little more to get done.”

  The sheriff eyed him suspiciously as they moved back into the light of the main street. “Just try to stay out of trouble.”

  “Gray Talon!” Sarah shouted as she ran toward them. “Are you okay?” She threw her arms around him.

  “I’m fine now,” he replied, returning the hug. It was the most emotional he’d seen the woman. “The sheriff and I were just heading to the jail to sort out what happened.” As he released her, she pressed a piece of paper into his hand.

  “I was just worried about you.” She grinned and stepped away. “Sheriff, I was sitting at the next table. The big guy with the beard started the whole thing.”

  The sheriff looked at her for a second. “You’re the woman who ran to the office. You know this man?”

  “He traveled with my brother and me,” she confirmed. “I would’ve said something at the hotel, but I know how McNair feels about the People, so I kept my mouth shut.”

  “So what about everyone saying that he looked like a white man?”

  She laughed. “I don’t know what they have all been drinking, unless you happen to have locoweed in the water around here. He looked just like he does now in the dining room. Well, when he came in his hair was a little better groomed.”

  The sheriff smiled. Gray Talon couldn’t tell if he believed her story or not.

  “So you said the big guy with the beard started the fight. Which one? They all are big with beards.”

  Sarah thought for a moment. “The one with black hair.”

  “Leroy.”

  “Don’t know their names, I just know the big one with the black hair and beard. He left with your deputy a few minutes before McNair stormed out with that metal man of his.”

  “And ma’am, what were you doing having dinner with Dabinshire and McNair?”

  “Actually I was Mr. Cornelius Walfred’s companion for the evening. He was thinking about buying a bunch of the metal men from McNair to work on his railroad. I don’t think that’s going to happen now. McNair is too unstable.”

  Sheriff Derr pursed his lips as a thoughtful look filled his eyes. “Do you think Mr. Walfred would come down to the jail and confirm what you saw?”

  “I don’t know if he was paying attention at that time. He and the other two gentlemen were in a deep discussion on production until the table got overturned.”

  “What about Dabinshire’s new girl?”

  “Oh, poor Daphne,” Sarah said. “I bet she did see the whole thing, but I don’t know that the poor dear can speak at all. She hasn’t said a word in the two days that I’ve known her. All she does is smile and nod. I actually think there may be something wrong with her.”

  “Sheriff Derr!” Deputy Toby ran down the street toward them. “Come quick, sir. Two of those metal men just busted into the jail. McNair’s with them, and he’s looking for the Indian!”

  30

  COOL AUTUMN wind caressed Trey’s face. It blew down from the north, hinting at the cold winter poised to come crashing down on them. He wanted to try what the Crow spirit shaman had told him about controlling air. If he could control the air the same way McNair controlled the earth, he might have some hope of breaking the man’s magic. According to the gathered shamans, it would’ve been better if it were a water attack, but none of them possessed a water gift, nor had any of them ever tried to master the fluid element. So Trey had ridden out into the desertlike area between the green valley where the houses and barns rested and the border of the wall. He hoped he was far enough away that he wouldn’t be spotted by the constructs manning the defenses.

  With a series of deep breaths, he relaxed and opened his mind up to the air around him. It was just like opening himself up to the flow of magic, only this was a little more specific. Instead of looking for the multihued spectrum of power that covered everything, he searched for the light blue and yellow parts. As his mind made contact with them, the winds around him increased. The Crow shaman explained that he would need to ask the wind to do as he wanted. He couldn’t force it. That was where McNair went wrong. He used force. Trey thought about it and then thought about the difference in the way Comanche gentled horses and whites broke them. He wanted to gentle the spirits of air so they would do as he asked them to.

  As the wind whipped around him, he reached out and stroked it, using a soft, gentle touch. It curled around his fingers and arm, playing with the short blond hairs there. A simple joy filled him as the air caressed him back. A soft singing filled his mind, just like the shaman had said. He found the tune and whistled along. The notes rose in pitch, and he matched it. Then the air lifted him off the ground. A dust trail rose up after him like a small dust devil, but strong enough to move him through the air. He kept whistling but slowed the tune a bit, and the air lowered him back down to the ground.

  He laughed. Trey felt happier than he had in a long time. He wished Gray Talon were with him to share the happiness.

  The ground beneath his feet moved.

  He’d forgotten the gate guard’s warning about staying on the path when riding into the ranch. A moonless sky didn’t provide him much light, so he summoned a bit of magical light to dance on his hand. From several spots around him, the hard dirt moved. His horse whinnied nervously and backed away from the closest spot.

  The strange energies that engulfed the area flared up. The winds Trey played with retreated from the unnatural forces. He called them back to his hand, whistling frantically as fingers clawed their way out of the ground. The winds lifted him u
p. His mount went running back for the barn. Already the horse accepted the ranch horses as herd and sought their safety.

  From several feet above the dry earth, Trey watched as bodies emerged. There were four of them. They were dry and lifeless, just like the land they clawed their way out of. No spark of life glowed within them. What are these things? How were they made? He visualized the edge of the green field and whistled a high-pitched tune, hoping the air would carry him where he wanted to go. It shifted him slightly east, but not far enough or fast enough. The things from the dirt began a slow shamble toward him. Had he not been safely in the air, he would’ve made better time running away from them.

  Two of the shades looked Indian, with long, stringy black hair and wearing buckskins covered in dry earth. The other two had shaggy beards and torn plaid shirts. They could have been miners or prospectors. One of them smiled and exposed a gap in his teeth.

  Trey froze, and his mind reeled. For a second he forgot to whistle, and the air around him slipped until he started up again. Below him the shambling miner with the missing tooth moved closer. Could the tooth McNair used to bind the soul to the metal man have come from this man? Did his process create these lifeless forms, or did his process bring this strange undeath to these bodies?

  After pushing his magical light out farther, Trey looked over the area. There were many more nearly invisible mounds scattered about. A chill ran through him. These were the unmarked graves of the people McNair used as his power source. These spirits needed to be freed so their bodies no longer walked, seeking the living in hopes of finding that which they had lost.