Aayita answered sharply.
Nantan grinned.
Caleb looked between them.
“What did he say?”
“That you complain like an old woman.”
“He was unconscious most of the trip.”
“He says you complained loudly enough to hear from unconsciousness.”
Nantan laughed.
Caleb shook his head.
“I preferred him when he couldn’t talk.”
Aayita began changing her brother’s bandage.
Caleb watched her hands.
Confident.
Precise.
“You’re the healer?”
“No.”
“You know what you’re doing.”
“My mother taught me.”
“Where is she?”
Aayita’s hands stopped.
Only for an instant.
“Dead.”
Caleb looked away.
“Sorry.”
“She died at Tonto Basin.”
The room changed.
Caleb could no longer hear the wind.
Could no longer hear Nantan breathing.
Aayita looked directly at him.
“You know that place.”
Caleb’s silence answered.
Her expression hardened.
“You were there.”
Nantan glanced between them.
Caleb stepped backward.
“A long time ago.”
“Three years.”
He met her eyes.
“Yes.”
“What were you?”
“A guide.”
“For soldiers.”
“Yes.”
Aayita stood.
“What soldiers?”
Caleb said nothing.
Her voice sharpened.
“What soldiers?”
He had spent three years avoiding this conversation.
Avoiding these eyes.
Avoiding every survivor whose nightmares might contain his face.
“Arizona volunteers.”
Aayita struck him.
The sound cracked through the shelter.
Caleb’s head turned.
He did not raise a hand.
Nantan shouted.
Aayita ignored him.
“You brought them there.”
Caleb looked back at her.
“I showed them the basin.”
“My mother burned there.”
“I know.”
“You know?”
Tears of rage brightened her eyes.
“You know?”
“I remember every person I could not get out.”
She reached for her knife.
Nantan pushed himself upright despite the pain.
“Aayita!”
Caleb did not move.
Her hand remained around the handle.
“You should have died in that snow.”
“Yes.”
The answer stopped her.
Caleb’s voice dropped.
“I’ve thought that every morning since.”
Aayita stared at him.
Then she shoved past him and disappeared outside.
Caleb stood alone with Nantan.
The wounded warrior looked at him differently now.
No gratitude.
No hatred.
Only uncertainty.
Caleb understood.
He left.
That evening Takakota found him at the edge of camp.
“You knew,” Caleb said.
Takakota stood beside him.
Snow drifted through the dark.
“You knew who I was before she did.”
Takakota said nothing.
“You heard my name.”
Silence.
Caleb turned.
“Why am I here?”
Takakota finally spoke.
“Because a man named Silas Vale is coming.”
Caleb forgot the cold.
Captain Silas Vale.
Three years disappeared instantly.
Caleb saw polished boots.
Gray eyes.
A cavalry saber wet with someone else’s blood.
“Vale is dead.”
“No.”
“I watched him take a bullet.”
“You watched him fall.”
Takakota faced him.
“He lives.”
Caleb’s stomach tightened.
“What does he want?”
“You.”
That answer somehow frightened Caleb more than anything else could have.
Takakota reached inside his robe and produced a folded piece of paper.
Old.
Smoke-stained.
Caleb recognized the handwriting before the chief opened it.
His own.
He grabbed it.
It was a page from his field journal.
A map of Tonto Basin.
At the northern edge, Caleb had written three words.
FAMILY CAMP.
NO HOSTILES.
Across those words someone had drawn a black X.
Below them another hand had written:
HOSTILE ENCAMPMENT.
STRIKE BEFORE DAWN.
