Wild Rapture

“No-din,” Silver Wing said. “Have you thought of her? Will you kill her father—a man she defended with such courage?”

“I cannot say,” Echohawk said.

“Will you seek her out?” Silver Wing further questioned. “Will you ask her to return with you to our village as your wife?”

“I cannot say,” Echohawk repeated.

“She will be at Fort Snelling,” Silver Wing offered. “That was her destination before her horse threw her, leaving her helpless in the forest. I am sure that is where she went when fleeing from your anger and accusations.”

“Fort Snelling . . .” Echohawk said contemplatively. “Fort Snelling.”

“Ay-uh,” Silver Wing said. “And the mention of Fort Snelling brings me back to why the braves wait in council for us even now, Echohawk.”

“The great powwow at Fort Snelling is soon,” Echohawk said, nodding. “The yearly powwow between the neighboring tribes, even the Sioux. I have heard of this powwow that Colonel Snelling has every year at his fort, hoping to draw the Chippewa and Sioux into a lasting friendship.” He laughed sarcastically. “How can that ever be? The snakelike Sioux will be the enemy of the Chippewa ah-pah-nay, forever! I shall carry within my heart much hate for that renegade Sioux White Wolf! Always!”

“I dislike White Wolf no less than you, and I do not expect he will be among the peace seekers at Fort Snelling,” Chief Silver Wing said solemnly. “It is for Colonel Snelling that I urge you to go to the powwow. He makes an attempt to bring peace among the Chippewa and Sioux, whereas no other white man before him even cared. In fact, I’m sure they were glad to see us kill each other off.”

Echohawk turned his eyes to Silver Wing. “You are going?” he questioned.

“Gah-ween, no,” Chief Silver Wing said, shaking his head slowly back and forth. “I think it is wise to let others who are younger go and experience this time of camaraderie and bring back the news of it to their chief.”

Echohawk rose quickly to his feet, his eyes and heart alive again. “I will go,” he said, smiling at Silver Wing as he rose before him. “I am eager to go to the fort. My chosen braves and I will proudly ride with the representatives of your band of Chippewa. We will listen to words of peace with open hearts and minds.”

“That is good,” Chief Silver Wing said, wrapping Echohawk within his arms, giving him a warm hug. “And remember, my son, keep peaceful thoughts about those who have wronged you. Somehow they will pay for their evil ways. But for now, your thoughts must remain pure to ensure the safety and future of both your people and mine.”

Echohawk could not help but be attentive to Chief Silver Wing’s warnings. Like Echohawk’s beloved father, Silver Wing was a man of wisdom. Echohawk wanted so badly to respect his wishes, yet hate was eating away at his heart for this man who he now knew beyond a shadow of a doubt was No-din’s father.

“Still I can make no promises to you,” Echohawk said, easing from Chief Silver Wing’s embrace. “But hear me when I say this to you. I respect you and your reasons for asking me to have a peaceful heart. In you I see my father. With you I feel as though I am with my father. I hope somehow to repay you one day for your kindnesses to me.”

Chief Silver Wing placed a hand to Echohawk’s shoulder. “Echohawk, from this day forth, you are my son, in every respect,” he said sincerely. “Now, let us go and sit together in council with our respective braves. It is best that they share these good feelings between two chiefs.”

“Ay-uh,” Echohawk said, warmed through and through by Silver Wing’s gifts of love and guidance.

Chapter 18

Beauty is truth, truth beauty—that is all

Ye know on earth, and all ye need to know.

—Keats

A Few Weeks Later

The aroma of smoke awakened Victor Temple with a start. He bolted from his bed when he heard men shouting outside, and quickly saw the reflection of fire on the ceiling of his bedroom.

“Damn!” he gasped, scurrying into his breeches.

Shirtless, he left his room, but just as he stepped out into the corridor, he cried out with pain as something came down hard on his head. Blacking out from the blow, he crumpled to the floor, unaware of rough hands picking him up, carrying him down the stairs, and outside, tying him to a horse.

When he finally came to, his head throbbing with pain, he squinted into the darkness, soon realizing that he had been shackled to a wall, nude.

“Lord have mercy,” he cried, the room darker than a moonless night. He winced and tried to pull his feet up from the floor when he heard rats scurrying around, squeaking, but his legs were tied too securely to the wall for him to move his feet.

“Help!” he shouted. “Someone, please help me!”

He became quiet, listening. Fear gripped his insides and sweat pearled up on his brow when he still heard no sounds but the rats.

“Who are you? Where are you?” he cried. “Why have you done this to me?”