Savage Illusions

Hands grip­ping her sho­ul­ders, al­most pa­in­ful­ly, ca­used Jole­na to lo­ok sud­denly up, fin­ding her Blac­k­fo­ot fat­her's dark eyes si­lently ple­ading with her.

"Tell me the rest," Brown Elk sa­id, his vo­ice drawn. "Did Two Rid­ges and Spot­ted Eag­le lo­se con­t­rol of the­ir hor­ses? We­re they thrown and tram­p­led to de­ath? Tell me. I must know the fa­te of my son, Two Rid­ges!"

Everything that Brown Elk was sa­ying was lost to Jole­na ex­cept that he had cal­led Two Rid­ges his son!

Jolena be­co­me numb in­si­de to know that Two Rid­ges was kin to her by blo­od!

They had the sa­me fat­her!

That me­ant that al­t­ho­ugh Two Rid­ges cer­ta­inly had not known it, he had fal­len in lo­ve with his sis­ter! The tho­ught sic­ke­ned her, and the only thing that hel­ped her ke­ep her sa­nity was that ne­it­her of them had known that when they we­re to­get­her they sho­uld ha­ve be­en re­j­o­icing over a brot­her and sis­ter ha­ving fi­nal­ly fo­und one anot­her!

Now she pi­ti­ed Two Rid­ges mo­re than she co­uld ever ha­te him.

She even pi­ti­ed her­self, for ne­ver co­uld she lo­ve Two Rid­ges as a sis­ter lo­ves a brot­her.

He had ma­de that im­pos­sib­le!

"Two Rid­ges is all right," Jole­na sa­id, se­ar­c­hing wit­hin her scram­b­led bra­in for a way to tell him that she knew he was ali­ve wit­ho­ut ac­tu­al­ly be­ing for­ced to tell him how she knew and the cir­cum­s­tan­ces of how she had es­ca­ped from her cap­tor­B­rown Elk's very own son!

"Before I was thrown from the wa­gon and ren­de­red un­con­s­ci­o­us II saw Two Rid­ges jump from his hor­se be­fo­re it plun­ged over a ste­ep cliff… along with the ot­hers," she mur­mu­red, lo­we­ring her eyes. She ha­ted to lie, and she cur­sed Two Rid­ges for ha­ving ca­used her to!

"My son is ali­ve," Brown Elk sa­id, sho­wing his re­li­ef as he sig­hed, then as­ked, "Spot­ted Eag­le?" He im­p­lo­red Jole­na with anot­her lo­ok of con­cern. "You saw Spot­ted Eag­le plun­ge to his de­ath?''

"No, I did not wit­ness it, but­but I be­li­eve that it is so," Jole­na sa­id softly. "We­re he ali­ve, he wo­uld be he­re now. As for Two Rid­ges, he most su­rely did not see me thrown from the wa­gon. When he was for­ced to tra­vel wit­ho­ut a hor­se, I am su­re he be­gan wal­king even then to­ward the vil­la­ge. I do not know why I ar­ri­ved be­fo­re him. Per­haps he stop­ped to rest, or… to pray."

She ha­ted Two Rid­ges mo­re by the mi­nu­te for put­ting her in the po­si­ti­on of ha­ving to add lie upon lie. Two Rid­ges had told her that he had se­en Spot­ted Eag­le fall to his de­ath, yet she co­uld not tell her Blac­k­fo­ot fat­her that Two Rid­ges had told her this wit­ho­ut ha­ving to ex­p­la­in why she had be­en with Two Rid­ges, whi­le she was trying to pre­tend that she had not be­en with him at all.

She cir­c­led her hands in­to tight fists at her si­des, fin­ding this aw­k­ward and con­fu­sing and ha­ting it be­ca­use she wan­ted to be free of all emo­ti­ons ex­cept for be­ing happy at fi­nal­ly ha­ving fo­und her true fat­he­rand sad for ha­ving lost the only man she co­uld ever lo­ve!

"It is not cer­ta­in that eit­her war­ri­or is de­ad," Brown Elk sa­id, ho­pe sho­wing in the depths of his eyes as he smi­led at Jole­na. "Let me ta­ke you to yo­ur true pe­op­le and let them see this da­ug­h­ter of mi­ne who has ne­ver for­got­ten her fat­her. I will in­t­ro­du­ce you and then tell Chi­ef Gray Be­ar the news of his son, Spot­ted Eag­le. We will then send out many of our war­ri­ors to se­arch for both mis­sing sons."

Jolena co­uld not help but ho­pe, af­ter se­e­ing her Blac­k­fo­ot fat­her's calm re­ac­ti­on to the news, that per­haps Spot­ted Eag­le was ali­ve af­ter all. A gen­t­le pe­ace se­emed to em­b­ra­ce her as she al­lo­wed her­self to be­li­eve that Two Rid­ges had li­ed to her abo­ut Spot­ted Eag­le's de­ath!

Oh, but if only he we­re ali­ve!

Jolena wal­ked be­si­de her Blac­k­fo­ot fat­her, ab­sor­bing ever­y­t­hing aro­und her, fe­eling stran­gely as tho­ugh she had be­en in this pla­ce be­fo­re. It was eerie how she felt that she had se­en the sa­me hi­des pin­ned out to dry out­si­de the dwel­lings and how she had se­en the sa­me te­pe­es, and the te­pee pa­in­tings sho­wing the ex­p­lo­its of the hus­bands.

Her ga­ze fell upon the raw­hi­de shi­elds that hung from tri­pods out­si­de many of the te­pe­es. Her cu­ri­osity ha­ving led her to study In­di­ans, she knew that the shi­elds we­re ce­re­mo­ni­al­ly tur­ned by the ow­ner se­ve­ral ti­mes a day to fa­ce the sun.

As they ca­me clo­ser to the ac­ti­vity of the vil­la­ge, she saw so­me wo­men out­si­de co­oking in brass buc­kets which they had ob­ta­ined thro­ugh bar­ter with the Paw­nee of the North, who in turn had pro­cu­red them from whi­te tra­ders. Old men sat in the sun­s­hi­ne and con­tem­p­la­ti­vely smo­ked the aro­ma­tic mix­tu­re of to­bac­co le­aves and bark they cal­led kin­ni­ki­nick.

Soon Jole­na be­ca­me awa­re that ever­yo­ne had be­co­me qu­i­et as the­ir eyes dis­co­ve­red her at Brown Elk's si­de. The chil­d­ren hid be­hind the buc­k­s­kin skirts of the­ir mot­hers. So­me wo­men went back in­si­de the­ir dwel­lings, the­ir lar­ge, dark eyes vi­sib­le as the cor­ners of the­ir en­t­ran­ce flaps, which we­re drawn slowly asi­de so they co­uld see this stran­ger who was of the­ir sa­me skin co­lo­ring, yet dres­sed as a whi­te per­son.

Realizing how dis­he­ve­led she was, Jole­na re­ac­hed a hand to her ha­ir, gro­aning when she fo­und not­hing but wit­c­hes' knots and tan­g­les.

Her ga­ze then swept down the full length of her­self, se­e­ing the rips and te­ars of her tra­vel skirt and the so­iling of her blo­use that now lo­oked mo­re mud­di­ed gray than whi­te.

When Jole­na and Brown Elk re­ac­hed the lar­gest, most be­a­uti­ful­ly de­co­ra­ted te­pee of all, de­co­ra­ted with buf­fa­lo ta­ils and brightly pa­in­ted pic­tu­res of ani­mals on the out­si­de, her kne­es we­ake­ned when the en­t­ran­ce flap was ra­ised and an el­derly man, all sto­oped and thin in a long and flo­wing buc­k­s­kin ro­be, ca­me from the te­pee, le­aning he­avily on a staff. As she ga­zed up at him and fo­und her­self lost in his mid­nig­ht-dark eyes, she sur­mi­sed that this was Spot­ted Eag­le's chi­ef­ta­in fat­her and felt hum­b­le in his pre­sen­ce.

He sta­red in­ten­sely at her, his lips par­ting in a slight gasp, and Jole­na was qu­ickly awa­re that he al­so saw her mot­her in her fe­atu­res.

"You who re­sem­b­le so­me­one of our pe­op­le's past go­es by what na­me?" Chi­ef Gray Be­ar fi­nal­ly sa­id in a we­ak vo­ice. He ga­zed at Brown Elk. "Whe­re did you find her? Brown Elk, how can this be? Yo­ur wi­fe's gra­ve li­es just be­yond that ri­se. How can she be he­re?"

"My wi­fe Swe­et Do­ve is al­ways with me in spi­rit," Brown Elk sa­id softly. He pla­ced an arm aro­und Jole­na's wa­ist and drew her to his si­de. "This is my ni-tunmy da­ug­h­ter. She has no Blac­k­fo­ot na­me. She was gi­ven the na­me Jole­na by tho­se who to­ok her from her ho­me­land eig­h­te­en sum­mers ago!" His eyes wi­de, Chi­ef Gray Be­ar to­ok a shaky step to­ward Jole­na. "It is truly you?" he sa­id, re­ac­hing his free hand to her che­ek, gu­ar­dedly to­uc­hing it. "After all the­se ye­ars, you ha­ve co­me ho­me to yo­ur fat­her and pe­op­le? How did you know to do this? How did you know abo­ut us?"

"For so long I didn't," Jole­na sa­id, trem­b­ling be­ne­ath his gen­t­le to­uch and re­cal­ling how of­ten Spot­ted Eag­le had al­so to­uc­hed her the­re with such fe­elings. Mis­sing him so much at this mo­ment, her who­le body ac­hed from des­pa­ir and acu­te lo­ne­li­ness.

"From the ti­me I was old eno­ugh, I knew the dif­fe­ren­ce bet­we­en myself and my play­ma­tes," she con­ti­nu­ed softly. "But only re­cently did I dis­co­ver my true he­ri­ta­ge."