Free Captive Travelers by Candace Smith Page B

floor for them. She put one quilt on the wood planks, rolled another for a pillow, and left one to cover themselves with.
    “These are beautiful.” Cici ran her fingertips over the intricate, even stitches. “My grandmother used to quilt. I never had the patience.”
    “Yes, well, I have plenty of time out here. No television,” Clara smiled. “Worst thing is the light. Even after all these years, the kerosene stinks, and the candles, besides not really giving off enough light, are a pain to make. We learn to adjust our days to the sun. Get some sleep. You’ll have a busy day tomorrow.”
    Clara closed the curtain, and the girls could hear the rustling of clothes being removed. The bed squeaked when they climbed into it, but then there was silence.
    A while later, Kayla got up. Aubrey saw her shadow by the window. She’s looking for lights. Aubrey knew some of the initial shock and disbelief was wearing off, and now Kayla was feeling guilty for getting them involved. When she climbed back under the covers, Aubrey found her hand and held it. “It’s okay, Kayla. It’s not your fault.”
    “Oh god, Aubrey. Of course it is.”
    Aubrey could tell that she was crying again. “Hey, you did tell us the Indian mound was mystical. Go to sleep, Kayla. We have a lot to adjust to.”
    * * * * *

    The shaman threw the bones, and he was rewarded with the same configuration again. The U shaped claws of the eagle were at the top and bottom of his toss. They would belong to the Wehali tribe. Three were grouped close together in the center. One was a piece of a dog’s rib with a raven claw touching it; one was the tip of a cow horn that had split on his first toss, and one was the wolf tooth. Surrounding these were other bones to express position in the tribe.
    The old man picked up his long pipe and inhaled the herbal smoke. Holding his breath, he laid the pipe down. His frail hands gathered the bones, and he blew the smoke on them while he placed them back into the leather pouch. The spirits had given a very good gift to the tribe.
    The whole tribe had seen the blue smoke from the center fire, and they waited for his words. “It is Hehewuti who has sent three spirits. One has the shadow of the raven and she has gravely dishonored a warrior. The other two are friends that are close to her.”
    This had special meaning to the tribe and there were agreeable murmurs. To just send the one who was to be punished would be acceptable. To send friends close to her was an honor. Hehewuti was known to be ambitious, though these were the first she had sent to them in many years. The last had been Ganali, Tokala’s white ox.
    The disrespectful one would be interesting to work with. Initially, the shaman thought that she would belong to the tribe. She could be used as they decided, as long as she was not killed or made unfit… unless the tribe agreed she should be. There was a strange symbol next to the raven claw, touching the piece of dog rib. He would watch for the signs closely.
    “Are the others women or men?” Chief Paytah asked.
    “Women, both of them,” the old man replied.
    “And you have seen their future with the tribe? Who will own them?” the chief asked.
    “One has been shown with the sign of the cow,” the shaman informed him. The tribe murmured again, this time with great enthusiasm.
    “And the other?” the chief asked. He was very pleased with the offering, though she would also belong to the whole tribe.
    The shaman lifted a bony finger and pointed to the fierce warrior sitting to the chief’s right side. It was Chief Paytah’s eldest son. “Her sign is the wolf claw. She will belong to you, Nashoba.”
    Nashoba narrowed his eyes. There were so few travelers, and to be honored with a white woman of his own was a statement to his fierceness and virility. “They are in the wheat field?”
    The shaman nodded. “Hehewuti’s magic was very strong. I felt several spirit guides were with her.” The shaman would