Lindsay McKenna - Heart of the Storm

Agnes nodded. “And did this young woman speak to you?”

“Yes,” Chase murmured, sipping the tea. “She asked for my help. I said how can I help you? She told me to go to the red rock country where you live, and meet me here on the next full moon.” Chase frowned. “And then the woman turned into you, Grandmother.” Shrugging, he said, “That was the end of my vision.”

“A good vision,” Agnes said, pleased.

Chase waited. It would do him no good to press her for an explanation of his vision. Patience was one of his strengths, so he waited. Outside, he could hear the merry chirp of a robin, and farther away, the trilling of a cardinal. He had hearing like a cougar, which was his spirit guide.

“I must tell you a story.” Agnes filled Chase in on the Storm Pipe being stolen from the Blue Heron Society two years earlier. When she mentioned Rogan Fast Horse, she saw Chase’s eyes instantly narrow with rage. His mouth thinned, as if he were struggling to hold back a barrage of toxic comments. Oh, she could feel Chase’s reaction, and because she was clairvoyant, she saw the angry red colors swirling in his aura, confirming his reaction.

Flexing his scarred fist, Chase waited until Agnes finished telling him the full story. Then silence fell in the hogan.

Taking in a deep, ragged breath at last, Chase expelled it. Agnes tilted her head to one side, like a bird listening for a worm.

“Just before I went to West Point, I met Rogan at a powwow,” Chase told her. “He cheated in the bow and arrow competition to win. I saw him do it. And so did the elders who were the judges. When they announced him as winner and not me, I challenged Fast Horse, because I wasn’t going to let him get away with it. The elders were wary of his sorcerer’s powers. Afraid that he would harm them or their families if they didn’t let him win.”

“But you weren’t afraid.”

“I was, Grandmother, but I also knew what was right. In that instant, I felt as if the Great Spirit had chosen to work through me because the elders were too afraid to confront Rogan about his cheating.” Looking down at his hands, his blunt nails and the thick calluses that covered his palms, Chase said softly, “There was a knife fight.” He touched his brow with his index finger. “I cut Rogan across his forehead. He bears the scar to this day. I won the knife match and he swore to curse me, to be my mortal enemy until the day I died.”

“Powerful words to invoke.”

Shrugging, Chase looked around the shadowy confines of the hogan. The woodstove was in the center, the metal pipe leading up through the top of the mud-and-timber roof. “Rogan doesn’t know humility. I taught it to him that day. I won the match and the rewards. I knew he was a sorcerer, but I also had faith that the Great Spirit would protect me from Rogan’s rage.”

“Did he?”

“Yes,” Chase said, a note of sarcasm in his deep voice, “after four years at West Point, I volunteered and was allowed into Delta Force for eight years.” He looked at his right arm, which bore many small, puckered scars. “Other than getting caught down in South America by rebels, held prisoner and tortured for six months before I managed to escape, I don’t think Rogan got to me.”

“He did not,” Agnes confirmed with knowledge and conviction. “And I am sorry you had to suffer so much in the army, Chase.” She gestured to his arm.

“It wasn’t fun,” he agreed grimly. Meeting her watery eyes, he asked, “So Dana Thunder Eagle must go after Rogan herself? I’ve fought him, Grandmother, and there isn’t a woman alive who could do what you’re asking of her.”

“We of the society realize this. That is why the Great Spirit sent you that vision. You are the other key to us reclaiming the Storm Pipe.”

Chase allowed her words to filter through him. Closing his eyes, he replayed the vision again in his head. Yes, she was accurately interpreting the dream. Sighing, he looked at her once more. Agnes sat there resplendent in her agelessness, the sun touching the silver strands of her flyaway hair. The lines in her face were a road map of her life. Chase knew she was a tough old buzzard, and her lean, thin body proclaimed her power regardless of her age. Admiring Agnes for her strength and great, warm heart, he offered, “Grandmother, I’m tired. I just left the army. I’ve been fighting the bad guys for so many years. Well, I’m just…tired.” Chase didn’t like admitting it, but he was. Six months of daily torture had reduced him to a level he never wanted to admit to anyone. And he needed time to reclaim his tortured spirit, heal from the awful, daily beatings, and try to become whole again.

“I understand,” Agnes murmured. Reaching out, she placed her thin fingers on Chase’s arm and squeezed it. “That is why you came home. Home to find your true calling. Dana must be toughened up not only physically, but to tap into her warrior side emotionally, mentally and spiritually.” Agnes lifted her hand and poked her index finger in Chase’s direction. “I need you to turn her into a warrioress, capable of reclaiming the Storm Pipe.”

“You want me to teach her the art of war? That’s all? And I won’t have to do anything else other than be her teacher?” That appealed to Chase under the circumstances. Right now, he was at a low ebb. The fact he’d allowed himself to be captured by the rebels was humiliating enough. But to be tortured and finally break, giving away secrets he’d sworn never to divulge, was a blow that had broken his spirit.

When he’d finally made his escape and got home, he’d left the army, defeated and wounded on every level. He’d put good men’s lives on the line because he’d squealed like a pig going to slaughter. Chase wasn’t proud of himself. And right now, he felt mortally wounded spiritually, which was why he’d come back home to Agnes in the first place.

And now, both she and the vision he quested for were asking him to reconnect with violence and war. Feeling as if he could teach this woman was enough of a demand on him. Chase didn’t even want to attempt to take on Rogan right now. It just wasn’t in his spirit to do so. “I can train her,” he stated. “But I won’t go with her to retrieve the pipe.”

Nodding, Agnes said, “Then that is enough.”

“I’m not a soft man, Grandmother. I’m hard. The training I’ve had is brutal. I don’t know how to be gentle or cajoling. Dana sounds soft. Unprepared. If I become her teacher she may quit. Do you realize that she could walk away, because she doesn’t have the heart or passion for this mission you want her to undertake?”

“Choices are always before us.”

“The kind of training needed to ensure her survival against Rogan will be harsh,” Chase warned grimly. “I won’t coddle her, Grandmother. I can’t. You’re saying we have five weeks to prepare Dana for this mission before the Storm Pipe has recharged enough to kill again under Rogan’s direction. Five weeks. That’s just not enough time.”

“It has to be,” Agnes declared. “You saw Dana in your vision. I know she is a beautiful woman and I think you are swayed by that. Beauty can be strong. A pretty face is not always weak, as you assume.” Touching her blouse above her heart, Agnes added, “In here, I know she has the stamina and courage to answer the challenge you throw at her.”

“So, weaver of people’s lives, when do I meet my student?” Chase knew that Agnes had spider medicine. She had the power to combine people and situations together when she felt it best. Trusting her, he acknowledged that spider medicine was like any other kind: good or bad, depending upon how the energy expressed itself through the individual. And Agnes was one of the purest-hearted people Chase had ever known. He trusted her more than anyone else in his world. His father had been a reservation policeman until he was killed trying to stop a bank robbery. His mother had died six months later of a broken heart, leaving Chase to be passed around from one relative to another until he was old enough to go to West Point. His time with his adopted grandmother Agnes had left the deepest impression.