Heart of the Storm. Lindsay McKenna
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Rogan’s rage.”
“Did he?”
“Yes,” Chase said, a note of sarcasm in his deep voice, “after four years at West Point, I volunteered and was allowed into Delta Force for eight years.” He looked at his right arm, which bore many small, puckered scars. “Other than getting caught down in South America by rebels, held prisoner and tortured for six months before I managed to escape, I don’t think Rogan got to me.”
“He did not,” Agnes confirmed with knowledge and conviction. “And I am sorry you had to suffer so much in the army, Chase.” She gestured to his arm.
“It wasn’t fun,” he agreed grimly. Meeting her watery eyes, he asked, “So Dana Thunder Eagle must go after Rogan herself? I’ve fought him, Grandmother, and there isn’t a woman alive who could do what you’re asking of her.”
“We of the society realize this. That is why the Great Spirit sent you that vision. You are the other key to us reclaiming the Storm Pipe.”
Chase allowed her words to filter through him. Closing his eyes, he replayed the vision again in his head. Yes, she was accurately interpreting the dream. Sighing, he looked at her once more. Agnes sat there resplendent in her agelessness, the sun touching the silver strands of her flyaway hair. The lines in her face were a road map of her life. Chase knew she was a tough old buzzard, and her lean, thin body proclaimed her power regardless of her age. Admiring Agnes for her strength and great, warm heart, he offered, “Grandmother, I’m tired. I just left the army. I’ve been fighting the bad guys for so many years. Well, I’m just…tired.” Chase didn’t like admitting it, but he was. Six months of daily torture had reduced him to a level he never wanted to admit to anyone. And he needed time to reclaim his tortured spirit, heal from the awful, daily beatings, and try to become whole again.
“I understand,” Agnes murmured. Reaching out, she placed her thin fingers on Chase’s arm and squeezed it. “That is why you came home. Home to find your true calling. Dana must be toughened up not only physically, but to tap into her warrior side emotionally, mentally and spiritually.” Agnes lifted her hand and poked her index finger in Chase’s direction. “I need you to turn her into a warrioress, capable of reclaiming the Storm Pipe.”
“You want me to teach her the art of war? That’s all? And I won’t have to do anything else other than be her teacher?” That appealed to Chase under the circumstances. Right now, he was at a low ebb. The fact he’d allowed himself to be captured by the rebels was humiliating enough. But to be tortured and finally break, giving away secrets he’d sworn never to divulge, was a blow that had broken his spirit.
When he’d finally made his escape and got home, he’d left the army, defeated and wounded on every level. He’d put good men’s lives on the line because he’d squealed like a pig going to slaughter. Chase wasn’t proud of himself. And right now, he felt mortally wounded spiritually, which was why he’d come back home to Agnes in the first place.
And now, both she and the vision he quested for were asking him to reconnect with violence and war. Feeling as if he could teach this woman was enough of a demand on him. Chase didn’t even want to attempt to take on Rogan right now. It just wasn’t in his spirit to do so. “I can train her,” he stated. “But I won’t go with her to retrieve the pipe.”
Nodding, Agnes said, “Then that is enough.”
“I’m not a soft man, Grandmother. I’m hard. The training I’ve had is brutal. I don’t know how to be gentle or cajoling. Dana sounds soft. Unprepared. If I become her teacher she may quit. Do you realize that she could walk away, because she doesn’t have the heart or passion for this mission you want her to undertake?”
“Choices are always before us.”
“The kind of training needed to ensure her survival against Rogan will be harsh,” Chase warned grimly. “I won’t coddle her, Grandmother. I can’t. You’re saying we have five weeks to prepare Dana for this mission before the Storm Pipe has recharged enough to kill again under Rogan’s direction. Five weeks. That’s just not enough time.”
“It has to be,” Agnes declared. “You saw Dana in your vision. I know she is a beautiful woman and I think you are swayed by that. Beauty can be strong. A pretty face is not always weak, as you assume.” Touching her blouse above her heart, Agnes added, “In here, I know she has the stamina and courage to answer the challenge you throw at her.”
“So, weaver of people’s lives, when do I meet my student?” Chase knew that Agnes had spider medicine. She had the power to combine people and situations together when she felt it best. Trusting her, he acknowledged that spider medicine was like any other kind: good or bad, depending upon how the energy expressed itself through the individual. And Agnes was one of the purest-hearted people Chase had ever known. He trusted her more than anyone else in his world. His father had been a reservation policeman until he was killed trying to stop a bank robbery. His mother had died six months later of a broken heart, leaving Chase to be passed around from one relative to another until he was old enough to go to West Point. His time with his adopted grandmother Agnes had left the deepest impression.
“Tomorrow, Dana arrives. She will come and you will introduce yourself to her.”
Though he had his doubts, Chase said nothing, just nodded.
“The two of you will work as a team here in the box canyon. There is a small hogan farther up where you’ll stay. The winter sheep hogan has everything you’ll require. Dana will need your brawn and your cleverness as a warrior, Chase. You will pass your experience on to her so that she can confront Rogan and take the pipe back.”
Even though Chase had never met Dana, his protective nature was already at work within him. Oh, he knew that women could be warriors; he’d seen his share on the res, growing up, as well as while he was serving in the U.S. Army. Still, that didn’t erase the age-old conviction that was alive and well within him: that women and children were to be cherished, loved, protected and defended. Chase knew he’d have to readjust this mindset to work Dana into a tough, well-trained warrior. In five weeks. That seemed an impossible time frame.
But when Chase saw the hope burning in Grandmother’s eyes, he kept his worries to himself.
He did not want to disappoint his extended family, especially this most sacred of women elders. He’d already disappointed the U.S. Army, and humiliation still ran hot through him. Clearly, the Great Spirit was setting him up for another test. Perhaps by training this unknown woman, he might salvage his pride, his manhood, and learn to live with what he’d done while imprisoned in South America.
When Agnes passed some homemade fry bread to Chase, and a bowl of fragrant lamb stew, he thanked her. Fasting for four days had left him feeling like a hungry cougar. Dipping the dark, whole-grain bread into the bowl filled with thick chunks of lamb, onions, brown gravy and potatoes, he said a prayer thanking all those who had given their lives so that he might eat.
The moment he took a bite, Chase savored the flavors. Yes, he was home. Finally. It had been a circuitous route, he thought, as he swiftly ate to stop the gnawing in his stomach. Restless, he’d left the res because he was curious about the white man’s world. And he’d tasted it—at West Point and for eight years after graduating. Now, because he’d failed as a warrior, because he’d broken under torture and interrogation, he’d crawled to Agnes, his pride stopping him from going back to Grandmother Doris on his home reservation. Instead, he’d come here to Agnes on the Navajo reservation to reclaim his shattered spirit. He hoped he would lead a productive, honorable life once more.
As he ate the succulent lamb stew, Chase savored the flavors of rosemary and marjoram. Each bite was more than just a physical gift to his body, it was nourishment for his wounded soul. Already, Chase could feel his battered spirits beginning to lift.
A ray of hope threaded through him. He stopped eating for a moment and felt the tenuous emotion touch his war-ravaged spirit. Healing was taking place. Humbled as never before, Chase finished his stew. Agnes was a powerful medicine woman, and he knew she’d said healing prayers over the food. And