White Wolf. Lindsay McKenna
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himself to move his eyes, very slowly, from the white wolf in the distance, toward the sound, which was much closer, almost on top of him.
It had been a woman’s laughter, rich, husky and earthy. The sound had moved through him like the golden sunlight that slowly crept across the desert. Because he was down in the wash, he still remained in the shadows. Dain laughed to himself. He was in the shadows, all right. The shadow of death. What an eloquent testimony! His vehicle was stuck in this dark, shadowed wash—a succinct statement of his life. Normally, he never thought in those symbolic parameters. Maybe because he was muddy, wet and cold, and shaking like a lost, shivering puppy, he was forced to look beyond his normal scope of life. Now that he was completely out of his element, he wasn’t sure of anything.
Dain turned toward the welcoming laughter, which seemed to have originated behind him. His eyes narrowed and his heart thumped violently in his chest. Was he seeing things? It was possible—the doctors had told him he’d hallucinate as the tumor grew larger in his brain. Weakly, he lifted his hand and rubbed his eyes. He had to be seeing things. Or was he? Dropping his hand, he looked again. No, she was still there.
This time he didn’t feel fear, but just the opposite: a powerful surge of hope. On the hill was the white wolf, watching him, making him feel raw fear. To his left stood an incredibly beautiful apparition of a woman. She wore a white deerskin jacket, a red skirt, which fell to her slender ankles, and dark leather boots. Her ebony hair hung to her waist in two thick braids. There was a dark choker around her neck and a dark green sweater beneath her fringed jacket.
In that moment, as Dain absorbed the sight of her standing with that staff in her hand, gazing down at him, the rays of the sun reached her. As the light enveloped her, he gasped. For an instant, he thought he saw a golden radiance flash around her form; scintillating crystals, millions of them surrounded her face and form before disappearing.
Blinking, Dain realized he must be going crazy. He had to be. He remembered that same radiance around the white wolf in his dream. Was this woman real or a figment of his tortured imagination? Suddenly he wished with all the strength left in him that she was real. Staggering along the side of the vehicle, his hand against the cold metal to steady himself, Dain never allowed his gaze to leave the woman. Whether she was real or not, he felt a pulsing, living connection with her.
The golden sunlight embraced her like a familiar lover. Her crimson skirt turned a bright, brilliant red and her fringed jacket glowed an unearthly white. Her once-black hair now danced with brownish-red highlights. And her face! Dain thought for a moment that if he believed in angels, she had the face of one. Her eyes, warm and compassionate, were a light cinnamon color. They were set far apart, almost at an angle, slightly slanted above her broad cheekbones. Her lips were full, promising him that she was a woman of passion.
Everything about her seemed mystical and ethereal in his whirling, dizzied mind and senses. He felt her compassion. Felt it! He’d never felt anything except rage, competition and triumph all his life, but at this moment he felt a soft, gentle sensation winding through him, touching his rapidly beating heart and soothing it, soothing him.
He stood there dumbstruck, watching her, absorbing her tall, aristocratic form through his narrowed eyes and gathered her essence into his wildly beating heart, into his withering soul. Was this Tashunka Mani Tu? She had to be, his brain screamed back at him. Luanne Yazzie had said she was a young woman, probably in her early thirties, though she appeared ageless. Luanne Somers-Yazzie had seen Tashunka on several occasions and was able to describe her. If her description was correct, then this was indeed Tashunka Mani Tu.
As Dain stood there, fighting the weakness that was overwhelming him from his labors during the last hour, he wanted this woman to be the mysterious, magical Tashunka Mani Tu. Turning his head, he looked back at the hill. His heart beat in startled fear. The white wolf had disappeared! Gasping, pain jerked his head back in her direction. Would she be gone, too? Were these things all figments of his overworked imagination? The last of his hope?
To his shattering relief, the woman still stood like a statue, embraced lovingly by the sunlight, watching him in the silence. Gulping, Dain looked around, afraid that the white wolf was coming to get him. He felt like a frightened eight-year-old again, hiding in that old, smelly closet down in the basement, trying to avoid Mr. Gordon, who was stalking him, waiting to prey on him, just like this damn white wolf was doing.
The weakness forced Dain to lean heavily against the vehicle. He swallowed hard, gulped for air and then looked back at the Indian woman, his eyes widening considerably. The white wolf was now sitting at her side! Both of them were watching him.
“I’ll be damned,” he rasped, angrily shoving away from the car. He utilized his rage to force his body to work for him. Taking staggering steps, he made a violent gesture with his arm.
“Hey!” he yelled. “Get down here and help me! I’m stuck!” He breathed hard, listening to his biting words as they echoed harshly through the wash. The woman stood a good quarter mile away from him and he wondered what effect his demand would have on her. If she was real and not an apparition, she would respond. Or would she? Dain wasn’t sure as he stood, legs spread in the clay to balance himself, his hands held stiffly at his sides, muddy fingers curling into fists.
She was too far away for him to see her expression, but as his echoing voice enfolded her, Dain saw her sway, as if struck physically by him. For no discernible reason, he felt bad in that moment. Hadn’t his voice been like a verbal fist? He tried to shake off his remorse. Too bad if he hurt her. Old Gordon had used his voice like a sledgehammer against him all the time when Dain was in that orphanage, that prison. Still, as he stood there expectedly, he felt sorry. It was the first time he’d realized his voice could hurt another person, for he saw her sway, catch herself and plant her feet apart just a little bit more. He also saw the white wolf leap from his sitting position beside her into a position of preparedness. Even at this distance, Dain could see the wolf’s hackles standing along his spine, raised upward like porcupine quills.
The sound that came back to him was a low, warning growl from the white wolf. It frightened Dain. His gaze savagely sought out the woman’s serene features. Didn’t she hear him? She must have! So why the hell was she still standing like a statue, staring at him?
Angry, Dain moved almost drunkenly back to the vehicle. He collapsed, his spine against the cold, hard metal that supported him now that his knees refused to. Gripping the door handle, he breathed raggedly, his gaze never leaving her tall, proud form. Did angels come dressed as Indians?
He laughed harshly at himself. He was hallucinating! His belief in angels died when he was eight years old and Old Gordon told him Santa Claus didn’t exist. It was then that Dain had stopped believing in angels, God and everything else—except himself. He’d known even as a child that the only thing that would help him survive was a strong, overpowering belief in himself. He learned that if he trusted in himself, he could do anything and win at it. And this powerful belief—instilled in him by Old Gordon’s attempt to destroy his childhood—had made him the billionaire he was today.
Fat lot of good it did him now, Dain thought, a reckless grin slashing across his mouth. He looked down at his muddy, wet pants, then at his truck half-buried in the wash. Suddenly, laughter tunneled up from deep within his chest. He rarely laughed, and now he wanted to at the ridiculousness of it all. He was stuck! The laughter rolled out, freeing the fear that filled his chest cavity, easing the constricted, suffocating feeling. The unfamiliar sound left his lips and echoed down the wash. Dain himself didn’t believe what he was hearing. He was laughing! Suddenly, he didn’t care any longer. The fury he’d felt a moment ago miraculously disappeared beneath the deep, rolling laughter that spilled out of him like golden sunlight. He hadn’t realized such joy lived within him. He’d never realized it—until now.
Once his laughter had subsided, a rare, careless smile continued to hover around his mouth. For a second, he felt free—and happy—almost joyous. When had he ever felt those emotions? Had this woman cast a spell on him? Was she magical, as Luanne Yazzie had proclaimed when he’d gone to her to ask about the elusive Tashunka Mani Tu?
Disgruntled, Dain gathered his waning energy and forced himself away