Savage Illusions

Kirk lo­oked at Jole­na. "I'd say it was worth it," he sa­id, smi­ling softly. "Se­ems I've got my sis­ter back."

Jolena smi­led we­akly at him, kno­wing that it did ap­pe­ar that way, yet she knew that this clo­se­ness was only tem­po­rary.

Even af­ter they con­ti­nu­ed on with the­ir jo­ur­ney and ma­de camp for the night, Jole­na con­ti­nu­ed to pam­per Kirk with all sorts of at­ten­ti­on. She was than­k­ful that he was all right, and she co­uld not help but fe­el so­mew­hat gu­ilty for how she wo­uld so­on aban­don him. So for now, at le­ast, she was trying to ma­ke up to him all at on­ce.

"Here's anot­her cup of cof­fee," Jole­na sa­id as she bro­ught the tin cup back to Kirk, whe­re he was le­aning his back aga­inst the trunk of a tree, res­ting be­fo­re the slowly bur­ning em­bers of a cam­p­fi­re. "Can I get an­y­t­hing el­se for you? The­re's plenty of rab­bit left. Wo­uld you ca­re for mo­re?"

"Sis, sit right down he­re be­si­de me," Kirk sa­id, pat­ting the blan­ket that was spre­ad out be­ne­ath him. "All I ne­ed is you."

Jolena lif­ted the hem of her tra­vel skirt and plop­ped down be­si­de Kirk. When he re­ac­hed an arm aro­und her wa­ist, dra­wing her clo­se, she al­lo­wed it. They sat qu­i­etly wat­c­hing the fi­re as they had so of­ten as chil­d­ren in the­ir gra­ni­te fi­rep­la­ce in the­ir plush par­lor in Sa­int Lo­u­is.

"We've sha­red so much," Kirk sa­id, his vo­ice thick with me­lan­c­holy. "Re­mem­ber how we used to sha­re our dre­ams? Do you wish to sha­re them aga­in, sis? I… I fe­el as tho­ugh I am lo­sing you. As each day pas­ses, I sen­se I ha­ve lost a lit­tle mo­re of you to this land of yo­ur an­ces­tors."

He re­ac­hed for one of her hands and clut­c­hed hard to it. "Oh, God, Jole­na, ple­ase don't let it hap­pen," he ple­aded. "No mat­ter the co­lor of yo­ur skin, in every sen­se of the word you are my sis­ter. You are my best fri­end." ''I know," Jole­na mur­mu­red, easing in­to his em­b­ra­ce. "I know, Kirk."

She hug­ged him as tho­ugh it might be her last chan­ce to do so.

She wan­ted to whis­per to him that she was sorry for the de­ci­si­ons that she had re­cently ma­de in her li­fe that wo­uld so­rely af­fect his. She wan­ted to beg him to un­der­s­tand, yet she felt that this was not the ti­me­if ever the­re wo­uld be a right ti­me.

Spotted Eag­le wat­c­hed, but did not grow je­alo­us at the sight of his wo­man be­ing hug­ged by anot­her man. He co­uld see the des­pe­ra­ti­on in the brot­her and sis­ter's em­b­ra­ce.

And he un­der­s­to­od why.

Without Kirk be­ing awa­re of it, it was the be­gin­ning of the fa­re­well bet­we­en him and his be­lo­ved sis­ter.

Spotted Eag­le glan­ced over at Two Rid­ges, who sat sul­lenly at his right si­de, sta­ring aim­les­sly in­to the fi­re. Spot­ted Eag­le had not yet told Two Rid­ges the truth abo­ut Jole­nat­hat she was his true sis­ter. He wan­ted to sa­vor the sec­ret that was now only Jole­na's and Spot­ted Eag­le's for as long as pos­sib­le.

And he fe­ared that a cha­in re­ac­ti­on might be star­ted sho­uld he re­ve­al the news to Two Rid­ges or Jole­na too so­on. Kirk Ed­monds wo­uld then know al­so and wo­uld re­ali­ze that Jole­na's days and ho­urs with him we­re num­be­red.

It was best de­la­yed, this tel­ling of truths that co­uld hurt and pos­sibly je­opar­di­ze Spot­ted Eag­le's fu­tu­re with Jole­na. Kirk co­uld be­co­me cra­zed eno­ugh with the kno­wing and ste­al Jole­na away, for­cing her on the lar­ge, whi­te ca­noe that wo­uld ta­ke her back to Sa­int Lo­u­is, whe­re she wo­uld be lost to Spot­ted Eag­le fo­re­ver.

He nod­ded, kno­wing wit­ho­ut a sha­dow of a do­ubt that this sec­ret was best left alo­ne, for now.

Chapter Eighteen

The next mor­ning, a mist fil­led the air, so that in the un­cer­ta­in light obj­ects se­emed shro­uded in mystery as the wa­gons mo­ved slowly alon­g­si­de a ste­ep cliff, then mo­men­ta­rily away from it as the mu­les am­b­led along, squ­e­aling as the wa­go­ners swo­re at them and un­co­iled and snap­ped the­ir whips li­ke fu­sil­la­des of rif­le fi­re over the­ir he­ads.

Jolena clung to her wa­gon se­at, fe­ar en­te­ring her he­art as black storm clo­uds be­gan gat­he­ring mo­re thickly in the sky over­he­ad and lig­h­t­ning mo­ved in bright zig­zags bet­we­en them.

"Kirk, I don't li­ke the lo­oks of the sky," Jole­na sa­id, bre­aking the si­len­ce bet­we­en them.

She lo­oked over at Kirk, who­se lips we­re pur­sed and who­se eyes squ­in­ted an­g­rily as he sta­red ahe­ad, ten­ding to his te­am of stub­born mu­les. "Kirk, did you he­ar what I sa­id?" Jole­na per­sis­ted. "It se­ems as tho­ugh you are in a dif­fe­rent world to­day. Is it be­ca­use of what hap­pe­ned yes­ter­day? Be­ca­use of yo­ur fall?"

She glan­ced at the pur­p­le knot on his he­ad, kno­wing that it must be throb­bing pa­in­ful­ly. Kirk had not al­lo­wed Spot­ted Eag­le an­y­w­he­re ne­ar him when Spot­ted Eag­le had bro­ught herbs gat­he­red from the fo­rest to pla­ce upon the wo­und. Even tho­ugh Kirk had not be­en told an­y­t­hing abo­ut Jole­na's plans to stay with Spot­ted Eag­le when the ti­me ca­me for ever­yo­ne el­se to re­turn to Sa­int Lo­u­is, Kirk se­emed to sen­se it. When Spot­ted Eag­le had of­fe­red to help him, Kirk had shun­ned him.

"It's this who­le damn mess of an ex­pe­di­ti­on," Kirk fi­nal­ly sa­id in a low grum­b­le. He ga­ve Jole­na a frow­ning gla­re. "I've had eno­ugh. I want to re­turn to Sa­int Lo­u­is. Both you and I ha­ve al­most lost our li­ves trying to find that dam­nab­le but­terfly. And now it's not only the eup­ha­ed­ra that you are so ob­ses­sed with, it's al­so the nympha­lid."

Kirk pa­used, his eyes loc­ked mo­men­ta­rily with Jole­na's. Then he lo­oked ahe­ad aga­in, wat­c­hing the pro­ces­si­on of the wa­gons that we­re tra­ve­ling in front of him and Jole­na to­day, in­s­te­ad of fol­lo­wing. So­me­how he felt sa­fer lag­ging be­hind in­s­te­ad of be­ing the le­ad wa­gon.

Jolena star­ted to com­ment on what her brot­her had sa­id, but stop­ped when he be­gan tal­king aga­in in a mo­no­to­ne. "If you ask me, sis, the nympha­lid is li­ving up to its le­gend," Kirk sa­id exas­pe­ra­tedly. "It has not only al­most te­ased you to yo­ur de­ath, but al­so me. I don't want to be aro­und when it ap­pe­ars aga­in, as tho­ugh out of now­he­re, with its te­asings."

He ga­zed at Jole­na aga­in, his eyes ple­ading. "Let's turn aro­und right now, Jole­na, and re­turn to Sa­int Lo­u­is," he sa­id softly. "Once fat­her he­ars the dan­gers we put our­sel­ves in to catch the but­terfly of his ob­ses­si­on, he will know that our de­ci­si­on to re­turn ho­me was right. He wo­uld not want it any ot­her way."

Jolena re­ac­hed a hand over and pat­ted K

irk's knee. "I know that what you ex­pe­ri­en­ced yes­ter­day was frig­h­te­ning," she mur­mu­red. "And when I al­most plum­me­ted to my de­ath, I was pet­ri­fi­ed. But both ti­mes it was an ac­ci­den­t­not the do­ings of a but­terfly. Su­rely not­hing el­se will hap­pen."

She mo­ved her hand away from him and clung to the wa­gon se­at aga­in when the whe­els sank in­to a pot­ho­le, then rol­led free aga­in, the wa­gon swa­ying dan­ge­ro­usly from si­de to si­de from the jolt.