The following midday, the chief dismissed the guards at the cave entrance and entered. “Aleks, would you like to walk with me?”
She took a deep breath, then nodded. She followed him out to where the horses grazed and they spoke at length of horses and what she knew of the US Army.
“And what of this, this Pony Express? My son said you rode for them, as a man?”
Aleksandra laughed at the look on his face. “Yes, I did.”
“Why would a woman have reason to do this? I understand it is dangerous, with Indians on the warpath, snow, salt deserts, not to mention wild animals and men.” He frowned at her. “Didn’t your family object?”
She stared at the piece of grass she was shredding between her fingers. “They’re all dead.”
His face was motionless.
“So, you see why my husband is so precious to me? Especially after I have lost two children and it seems I may never have a family again?”
Neither spoke, though the men guarding from a discreet distance shuffled their feet and scowled.
He finally looked at her. “You may not understand this, but I have no choice if I want you to survive. I may be chief, but I am an old man. These young men would hunt you down. You would not make it from the forest.”
She glanced over her shoulder at their dark faces and couldn’t think of anything to counter his argument. “So I’m here for awhile, am I?”
“It appears so.”
“Well, I cannot just sit in my cave. I will go mad. Do you have anything other than grass wisps to groom these horses?” she said, looking around at the scruffy bunch of horses.
“They will do.” The old man smiled. Grabbing a handful of long grass, he twisted it into a wisp and handed it to her. She smiled and began on Dzień, while he made one for himself.
“My men tell me you look like a mythical centaur when you ride,” he said, after they’d groomed the horses in silence for awhile.
She raised her brows at him.
“Some of them thought it might be magic, after you bested the warriors at your capture.”
“Nope.” She grinned, then shook her head. “Just hours and hours on a lunge line with no saddle, no reins.”
“You didn’t learn to fight like that on a lunge line.”
“No, my papa was trained by a fine arms master in the schlacta, or noble, house where he was raised in Poland.”
Now his brows shot up. “Some history,” he said.
“Papa was also trained in džigitovka, which he has taught me.”
He frowned. “What, in heaven’s name, is that?”
“Cossack military show riding. Originally, they were war movements, and they have stood me in good stead. For example, against young Manu’s unfortunate brother and the others.”
“This I should like to see. Will you show me?”
She considered, her heart thumping like a jackhammer. She could possibly get away, once on Dzień, but she must plan carefully. “Can I show you tomorrow?” she said. “I’m still pretty sore from the beating at your men’s hands.”
His brows lowered. “Of course. I’m sure the others would like to see, as well.”
Mistake.
She should’ve done it now, and there would have been fewer people to impede her escape. She went back to grooming. Her hands were busy, but her eyes, surreptitiously surveying the surroundings for anything that could resemble a trail, were busier. Her heart twinged at the thought of taking advantage of the kind chief, but she had to get back to Xavier in one piece.
The next day, the rangatira accompanied Aleksandra to the clearing, followed by most of the camp.
This hadn’t been her intent, but it was still a chance. Slim, but a chance.
Dzień’s coat shone. She raised a brow at the leader over the pony’s back and he grinned.
“I like him. What sort of horse is he?”
“He’s a Mustang. Given to me by my Shoshone family.” She gulped. “Thank you for grooming him.” Dzień nuzzled her hand and she scratched his forehead. “He looks well,” she said softly.
“The feed,” he hesitated, “it is not ideal, but it is what we have.”
She winced. The Māori, from the children through to the horses, had been stripped of nearly everything. Well, she’d give them a show before she left. “Even the worst feed in this blessed country is better than what passes for grass in the high desert where Dzień was raised.”
The rangatira’s eyes glowed at that.
She braided a loop into Dzień’s mane, then pulled the bridle on over his ears.
“May I use this?” she asked the chief, indicating the blanket she’d brought with her from the cave.
He looked perplexed, but nodded.
Aleksandra folded it several times lengthwise and pulled it around the pony’s barrel like a surcingle. She knotted it firmly, then looked the rangatira squarely in the eye, bowed, clicked her heels together and spoke a brief command to Dzień in Polish. He struck off into a canter as she lightly vaulted to his back. She slowed to a walk to check the field, then warmed Dzień up slowly at a walk and a trot around the perimeter of the clearing. She kept her face forward, but her eyes scanned the hills for any trails.
“There don’t seem to be any holes,” she said, upon her return. “I cannot do many of the moves without my saddle, nor my shashka,” she grinned ruefully, “but I will show you the ones I can.”
He nodded and stepped back.
She set the pony to a canter again and circled the makeshift arena. It was many months since they’d practiced, but Dzień knew his job, speeding up on the straights and slowing for the bends.
“This is when, normally, I would ride fast beneath a pine tree, lop off a pinecone, catch it on the tip of my shashka, and deliver it to you,” she called to him. “But, as you see,” she shrugged, “no sword.”
He raised a brow at her and shook his head.
She called to Dzień and he increased his speed. She kicked her right leg over the Mustang’s head and sat with her toes pointed together, perpendicular to the horse as he speeded to a gallop down the long side of the arena for four strides, then returned her leg to the correct side and settled in for the turn. On the next straight, she again flicked her right leg up and over Dzień’s head, then gripping his mane tightly, slid off and ran four steps beside him, then vaulted back on.
“I can’t go from side to side without a saddle,” she shouted.
The watchers, previously muttering among themselves, stood quiet, transfixed.
She’d always had her surcingle snugly fitted over a saddle. Would the makeshift bellyband hold? She tried not to think of the consequences if it didn’t. The consequences of not trying, however, could be infinitely worse.
“I haven’t tried this without a saddle, but for you, I will,” Aleksandra yelled back over her shoulder as she started down a long side of the area. She took a deep breath, slipped her right arm through the mane loop and grabbed a huge hunk of mane, slipped her right foot inside the blanket band and twisted it around, then slipped her knee beneath it too, cringing as she did so. Her papa would have hung her for this, because of the danger. She tried not to think of it, as in one fluid movement, she swung her left leg over the bouncing rump of her pony, and extended it toward his tail on the far side from the rangatira. After she raced past the chief and the group, she bounced up onto Dzień’s back, back into full view of the crowd again.
A few tentative claps turned into a thunder of applause. She smiled at them as she passed again and slowed to a halt before the chief.
“Can you put something on the ground for me to pick up?”
His brow wrinkled.
“Something small and shiny, so I can see it? Maybe von Tempsky’s badge?”
He gave her a look, calculating, but pulled it from a pouch on his belt and placed it on the ground, a few yards in front of his feet.
Aleksandra circled, then picking up speed, hooked her left foot into the surcingle, praying it would hold, and started to lean back to the right.
She gritted her teeth as the blanket slipped. She grabbed for a bigger hank of mane, but it eluded her fingers and she begged for the loose knot to hold. It failed. She crashed to the ground in the path of the Mustang’s flying hooves but somehow managed to roll free.
Aleksandra lay still on the ground in the silence, blinking, her head awhirl, before hands reached for her.
“Just let me lie for a second, please,” she said, and closed her eyes.
Everyone backed up and soon warm breath and whiskers nuzzled her face. She couldn’t hold in the giggle as he lipped at her belly and she sat up. Aleksandra looked around at the circle of concerned faces and climbed up Dzień’s leg to stand beside him. The ground slowly stopped spinning.
“Let’s try that again, but I’ll tie it properly,” she said.
“That won’t be necessary,” the rangatira said. “You don’t need to kill yourself.”
“Oh, but it’s the best move. I can do it, as long as I tie the band right, though it’s easier with a saddle,” Aleksandra said.
She knotted it properly this time, and more tightly. It needed to be. This was her only chance.
At a full gallop, she hooked her left foot into the surcingle and fell backward to the right, next to Dzień’s bouncing barrel. Her hands reached for the ground, head and arms only inches from the pony’s flying feet. She dragged her fingers through the grass for several strides and flicked herself back up to sit astride, waving the shining silver brooch.
“Bravo, well done,” called the rangatira.
She bit her lip, sorry for her next move. He had been kind.
The crowd cheered as she shot past their leader and bolted for the trail she’d seen, heading into the bush and out of the valley.
The cheering behind her turned to shouts, then to gunshots. She pulled her knife from her moccasin and dropped into a hang again on the far side of the pony from the crowd as they entered the forest.
Dzień shied hard against her and skidded to a halt. Aleksandra glanced beneath the racing pony’s neck and saw Manu, his hand reaching for the mustang’s reins. She tried desperately to flick herself back on, but the surcingle slipped again. She managed one swipe with her knife before he swung his taiaha with an unearthly shriek.
Her head exploded and the world went black.
Aleksandra struggled to a sitting position, her head throbbing. She blinked in the darkness and then remembered the scene she’d left, just before the blessed darkness had overtaken her.
They would roast her alive for this. Her life would surely be forfeit now. She closed her eyes against the aching in her head. She must have fallen hard—her neck was rigid and sore. She twisted it around until it clicked back into place and sighed, but her relief was short-lived.
Her soul was a shell. There would be no escape now. She would truly never have a family again. She cradled her barely-swelling abdomen. Her baby, unborn, would never see the light of day, if indeed, it survived today’s two falls from Dzień.
The sound of a small splash came from the waterfall pool outside the hole at the back of her cave.
She frowned and stared into the utter darkness, but nothing, or no one, appeared.
“Plink.” Metal sounded on stone in the gloom. A whisper came, just over the sound of the falling water.
“The warriors may no longer respect my wishes tonight. Manu is even now riling them up. If they come for you, and your tamaiti, your baby, inside, at least you will have a chance of escape.” It was the rangatira. A rush of relief washed over her, then uncertainty.
He knew she was pregnant? When she barely knew herself?
Aleksandra’s heart sank at her deceit of him yesterday, and sadness overcame her for this old chief, whose word might no longer be the law.
“Thank you, I’m sorry,” she breathed, but had no way of knowing if he heard.
Another splash, then only the constant rushing of air and water could be heard.
She crawled toward the gap from which the voice had come, crouching and ducking her head at the lowering ceiling.
Cold steel met her fingers. A blade. She scarcely dared breathe as she ran her fingertips along the blade, then onto a leather grip that fit like a glove as her hand closed over it. Her heart warmed at the familiarity. She cried for the aging rangatira as the rush of gratitude for the old man overwhelmed her. Her tears ran cold in the breeze from the hole in the rock before her.
If only she could squeeze through it…but it was impossible. She’d checked the day before. Impossible.
What could she leave for him, after she was finally dragged out and punished?
Hands trembling, she wrapped a fossil from her beaded pouch in a scrap of fabric torn from her blanket. Her papa had fossicked it for her from the rocky ledges of the Onaqui Mountains of Utah. Her most prized possession.
She placed it with care on her bed in hope that whatever happened, he would find it. She lay down and said her prayers in exquisite detail. More than likely, they would be her last.
She must be dreaming. She pulled the blanket over her head. Only wishful thinking.
“Aleks,” the voice hissed again and water splashed outside her cave.
She sat bolt upright and bumped her head on the ceiling of the cave. “Ow, Xavier?” she breathed.
“Sí. Climb out this way,” he whispered.
“There’s not room. I tried,” she said, her voice nearly cracking in despair. There was a whole camp full of men out there. Now he would die, too.
The sound of rifle fire erupted but it sounded far away. Men and women shouted, close at hand, then nothing more was heard over the rushing water.
Xavier whispered again in the darkness. “Von Tempsky’s diversion. Come on, it’s only roots at the top, with rocks stuck in between them. I think I can pull enough away so you can squeeze out.” A sharp intake of breath as something splashed. “Dropped one. Here, take the rest and put them behind you.”
Aleksandra scrabbled for the rocks, breaking out in a sweat at the thought of the sound they would have made falling into the water all at once.
“I think there’s enough room for you now—try,” he said.
Aleksandra didn’t need to be told twice. Stuffing her shashka into her waistband, she scrambled for the gap and grabbed Xavier’s warm hand.
A flicker of light showed behind her. She turned her head to see Manu, torch in hand, duck into the cave.
She let go of Xavier’s hand at the same time a bloodcurdling screech erupted from the warrior. She prayed he hadn’t seen Xavier’s hand disappear back out the hole.
“This time, wahine, you die,” he said, as he leaned the flaming branch against the rock wall. “Someone is attacking our village and it is because of you. For the lives of ours who will die, so will you.”
He rushed toward her, taiaha in hand.
She crouched as she flicked out her shashka and held it before her.
He jerked at the sight of it, nearly hitting his head on the low ceiling. His eyes narrowed. “Where did you get that?”
“It’s mine,” she said, staring into his eyes of flint, daring him.
“The rangatira gave it to you,” he said slowly, “didn’t he?”
She said nothing.
“He will die this night, too. That will not be countenanced,” he said, as he dashed the few steps toward her.
She’d meant only to defend herself, but if he was going to attack the chief…well, that changed things. She wouldn’t let that happen, not while she was alive.
He swung his taiaha, but it struck the wall of the narrow end of the cave wherein she crouched and the blow never caught her. While he snatched it back, she sprang with her shashka, thankful for its short blade. He dropped the long weapon and lunged for her as he drew the patu from his belt, its length flashing green in the torchlight.
He never got to raise the weapon. Whether he’d seen her shashka before him or not, she wasn’t certain. It plunged straight into his chest and he fell off the end of her blade, gasping.
She didn’t wait to see if he’d move again, but drew her blade from his body and dashed for the gap to Xavier.
“He’s dead,” Aleksandra whispered, “or on his way there.”
Strong hands gripped hers and Xavier drew her from the cave. It was a tight fit, but she made it.
She found a ledge to brace her feet upon while he undid the knot tied around his waist. She glanced up the sheer rock wall above. The rope that supported them both disappeared somewhere high up the cliff.
“Easiest way is down. I’m not sure this rope will hold both of us for long,” he breathed in her ear, “but hold on and we’ll go down the rest of the way to the water.”
“But there are 400 tribesmen out there,” she whispered. Xavier chuckled beneath his breath.
“They’re at the other end of the valley or gone bush.”
“Manu wasn’t.”
“Manu? Oh,” he jerked his head back toward the cave, “him. True, but we can’t go back up. We can pull ourselves on our bellies down the stream and hope no one notices. No more talking now.”
“Dzień?” she whispered.
“I saw him earlier. He’ll come to your whistle when we get out of this,” Xavier said, as he lowered them toward the inky darkness of the water.
She gasped, then bit off the sound as the water slipped beneath her buckskin shirt, but she couldn’t repress a shudder.
“Sí, a bit like that, isn’t it?” His voice was like the touch of a breeze beside her ear.
He let her go and breaststroked silently toward the outlet of the waterfall’s pool. She followed, clenching her teeth to keep from chattering, while she glanced around. Nothing moved in the campsite.
A tug on her shirt and Xavier was pulling her from the water.
“A trail, up here to the left,” he hissed, and she climbed from the water and up over some rocks, her buckskins heavy with water.
He gripped her hand and pulled her into the shelter of the bush.
“Te quiero, Querida,” he said, his voice shaking. He held her close for a moment, then they were climbing. It wasn’t much of a trail, but it was a way out.
“I cursed this moonlight earlier, but I’m giving thanks for it now,” he said, as they stumbled as quietly as possible up the steep bank to the ridge. Rifle fire still sounded in the distance, but the woods around them were still.
“Let’s climb up these trees and we can see where they all are, or those who are shooting, anyway,” Aleksandra said.
From the top, gunfire flashes showed, but they seemed to be coming from only one direction.
She gripped his hand. “The distraction? Looks like the rest have gone.”
“Why would the Māori go?” he asked.
“This is their last stronghold in the Wairoas. All their woman and children were here,” she said, and stopped, unable to continue.
“Let’s go on, then. We’re to meet the rest up the valley.” Xavier squeezed her hand and kissed her, then he put fingers to his mouth and the eerie call of a barn owl came out. He repeated it three times, then waited through another barrage of gunfire. He repeated it again.
The call returned, faintly, from the direction of the shooting.
Xavier called again and the rifle fire stopped altogether. The sound of owls, from far away, came on the breeze.
Sporadic rifle fire resumed, but it only came from one spot.
“Let’s go, that man’s the final diversion.”
Climbing down was harder than going up, but they hit the ground running and soon burst into an open field. They melted back into the shadows at its edge and ran until they met the next ridge. A big shadow moved, then many men, rushing toward them.
Her heart slammed against her chest wall as she stood frozen, shashka in hand.