No...!"
Roan Storm Walker's cry reverberated around the small,
dark log cabin. Outside, the rain dripped monotonously off
the steep, rusty tin roof. Breathing harshly, Roan pressed
his hands to his face, dug his fingers frantically into
his skull as he felt his heart pounding relentlessly in
his chest. His flesh was beaded with sweat. Lips tightly
compressed to halt another scream, another cry of grief
and loss, he groaned instead, like a wounded cougar.
Lifting his head, Roan turned the dampened pillow over and
dropped back down onto the small, creaking bed. He had to
sleep. Great Spirit, let me sleep. Shutting his eyes
tightly, his black lashes thick and spiky against his
copper-colored skin, he released a ragged sigh.
Sarah...how he missed her. Brave, confident, foolhardy
Sarah. It had been two years and he still missed her. How
badly he wanted to touch her firm, warm shoulder or to
smell that jasmine scent that always lingered
tantalizingly in the strands of her short red hair.
Gone...everything was gone. Swept from his life like
litter before some invisible broom. Sarah, his wife, was
dead, and his heart had died, too, on that fateful day.
Even now, as he lay listening to the rain splattering
against the roof of his cabin high in the Montana Rockies,
he felt the force of his aching grief. The waves of agony
moved through him like waves crashing in from the ocean
and spilling their foamy, bubbling essence on the hard,
golden sand.
Unconsciously, he rubbed his fingers across the blue stone
hanging around his neck — his medicine piece. He'd worn
the amulet continually since his mother, a Lakota medicine
woman, gave it to him — before her death many years ago.
Composed of two cougar claws representing the cougar
spirit that was his protector, and two small golden eagle
feathers, it hung from a thick, black, sweat-stained
leather thong around his neck. The center of the medicine
piece was an opalescent blue stone, roughly fashioned in a
trapezoid shape. The bezel around the stone was of beaten
brass that had long ago turned dark with age. No one knew
what the stone was, or where it came from. He'd never seen
another one like it in all his travels. His mother had
told him it came from their ancestors, passed on to the
medicine person in each succeeding generation of the
family. He always touched this piece when he was feeling
bad. In a way, it was like sending a prayer to his mother
and her line of ancestors for help with the heavy emotions
he wrestled with. Roan never took off his medicine piece;
it was as much a part of him as his heart beating in his
chest.
He closed his eyes once more. He was good at forcing
himself to go back to sleep. His mother, a Lakota Yuwipi
medicine woman, had taught him how to lucid dream. He
could walk out of one harsh reality into the more
amorphous world beyond the veil of normal human reach.
More than likely he was able to do this because he had the
genes of that long line of medicine people coursing richly
through his bloodstream. His father was an Anglo, a white
man — a physics teacher. Between both parents, Roan found
it easy to surrender over to a power higher than himself,
give himself back to the night owl's wings of sleep, which
almost instantly embraced him again.
As he moved from the pain of the past, which continued to
dog his heels like a relentless hound on the scent of the
cougar spirit that protected him, his grief began to
recede. In lucid dream and sleep, he could escape the
sadness that was etched in his heart. This time, as he
slipped into sleep, Walker heard the distant growl of
thunder. Yes, a Wakan Wakinyan, a mighty thunder being who
created the storms that roved across the Rockies, was now
stalking his humble cabin hidden deep in the thick Douglas
firs on a Montana slope.
A slight, one-cornered smile curved Roan's mouth as he
felt his mood lightening, like a feather caught in a
breeze and being wafted gently into the invisible realm of
the Great Spirit. Yes, in dreaming there was safety. In
dreaming there was relief from the pain of living in human
form. Roan expected to see Sarah again, as he always did
whenever this shift in his consciousness occurred. The
Lakota called the state dreaming "beneath the wings of the
owl," referring to the bird they considered the eagle of
the night. Within the wings of this night protector, the
world of dreams unfolded to those who knew how to access
this realm. Reaching this altered state had been taught to
Roan at a very young age and he had found it an incredible
gift, a means of healing himself, really, over the last
twenty-eight years of his life.
Sarah? He looked for his red-haired Sarah, those flashing
Celtic blue eyes of hers, and that twisted Irish grin
across her full, soft lips. Where was she? Always, she
would meet him while in the embrace of the owl. Full of
anticipation, he spied a glowing light coming out of the
darkness toward him. Yes, it had to be Sarah. As he waited
impatiently within the darkness, the golden, sunny light
grew ever closer, larger, pulsating with brilliant life of
its own.
His cougar spirit's senses told him this wasn't Sarah.
Then who? Even as he felt his disappointment, something
strange happened. His cougar, a female spirit guardian
with huge, sun-gold eyes, appeared out of the darkness to
stand in front of him. He could see that her attention was
focused fully on the throbbing, vital orb of light drawing
closer. Walker felt no fear, simply curiosity, despite the
fact that it was unlike Anna, his cougar spirit guide, to
appear like this unless there was danger to him. Yet he
felt no danger.
The mists surrounding the oblong light reminded him of
thickly moving mist on a foggy morning at the lake below
his cabin, where he often fished for a breakfast trout.
Anna gave a low growl. Roan's heart rate picked up. The
golden oval of light halted no more than six feet away
from him. Slowly, it began to congeal into a body, two
very long legs, slender arms, a head and...
Walker felt his heart thundering in his chest. His cougar
guardian was on full alert now, her tail stiff, the
hackles on her neck ruffled and the fur raised all the way
down her lean, supple spine. Roan was mesmerized as he
watched the person — a woman? — appear. What the hell? He
wasn't sure what or who he was looking at.
Huge, willow-green eyes with large black pupils stared
fiercely back at him.
Swallowing hard, Walker felt every cell in his body
respond to this unknown woman who now stood before him.
Although the golden light had faded to a degree, so he
could see her clearly, it still shone around her form like
rays of brilliant sunlight. She warily watched him as the
tension built and silence strung tautly between them.
This was no ordinary human being. Walker sensed her
incredible power. Few humans he'd ever known had an aura
of energy like hers. It was so brilliant that he felt like
squinting or raising his hand to shield his eyes from the
glow. Her eyes drew him. They were magnetic, commanding,
fierce, vulnerable and magical all at the same time.
He tried to shift his consciousness; it was impossible.
She held him fully within her powerful presence. She was
tall, at least six feet. Her skin was a golden color. What
she wore confounded him. She was dressed in army
camouflage fatigues and black, shiny military jump boots.
On her proud torso she wore an olive-green, sleeveless T-
shirt crisscrossed with two bandoliers containing bullets.
Slung across her left shoulder was a rifle. Around her
slender waist was a web belt with a black leather holster
and pistol, several grenades and a wicked looking K-bar
knife. Down her back, resting between her shoulder blades,
hung a huge leather sheath, knicked and scarred, that held
a machete with a pearl handle. She was obviously a
warrior. An Amazon. A soldier used to fighting.
Roan could see and sense all these things about her.
Despite her dynamic presence, the threat she presented in
the armament she wore, the way her hand curled around the
thick leather strap that bit into her shoulder as it held
the rifle in place, she was beautiful. Roan could not tear
his gaze from her full, square face, those high, proud
cheekbones. From her narrowing, willow-green eyes, that
fine thin nose that flared like the nostrils of a wary
wild horse, or those compressed, full lips.
Her hair was thick and black and hung in one long braid
over her right shoulder and down between her breasts,
which were hidden by the bandoliers of ammunition. There
was such pride and absolute confidence in her stance, in
the way her shoulders were thrown back. As she lifted her
chin imperiously, Roan wanted to simply absorb the sight
of her and the feeling of that incredible energy swirling
around her. He wondered if she was a figment of his
imagination, a hybrid between Sarah and some kind of
superhuman woman.
The instant he thought that, her eyes snapped with rage
and utter indignation.
"Do not waste precious energy and time on such
speculations!" she growled at him. "You were born into a
medicine family. You know better!" She jabbed a finger at
the amulet he wore around his neck. "You carry the stone
of the Jaguar Clan. You are one of us! I am Inca. I am
asking for your help, Roan Storm Walker. Well, will you
give it? I do not beg. This will be the only time I stand
before you. Answer me quickly, for many will die without
you here by my side to fight the fight of your life and
mine. I am in a death spiral dance. I invite you into it."
Walker felt her outrage at the very thought that he might
say no to her request. Inca. A mysterious name. The name
of a woman from...where? Perhaps from the Inca empire in
Peru? Her accent was thick, reminding him of Spanish. He
touched the blue stone that lay at the base of his throat.
It felt hot, and throbbing sensations moved through his
fingertips. The amulet he wore was powerful; his mother
had told him so, and Roan had often experienced strange
phenomena regarding it. But he'd never before felt the
level of energy that was emanating from it now. He glanced
down and saw a strange turquoise-white-and-gold light
pulsating around it, like a beacon.
"Where do you come from, Inca?" he demanded in an equally
fierce voice. He was not afraid of her, but he respected
her power. Where he came from, women were equal to any man.
"I come from the south, Storm Walker. The stone you wear
around your neck tells me of your heritage. The spirits of
your ancestors led me to you. You are needed in my
country. Time is short. Many lives are at stake. My
guardian says you are the one." The woman's green gaze
grew demanding. "Are you? the one?"
"I don't know. How can I help you?"
"You will know that when you see me the second time."
He searched her shadowed features. She had the face of an
Indian, all right — most probably of Incan heritage if she
was from the south. Her stance was uncompromising. This
woman feared nothing and no one. So why was she
approaching him? He looked around, feeling another,
invisible presence near her.
"Your guardian?" he asked.
A sour smile twisted her mouth and she gazed down at his
gold cougar, which stood guard. "Watch," she commanded. "I
run out of patience with you."
In moments the golden light enveloped Inca once more. Roan
watched with fascination as the woman disappeared within
spiraling bands that moved like a slow-motion tornado
around her. But what walked out of the light moments later
made him gasp. It was a huge stocky, black-and-gold male
jaguar.
Roan vaguely heard Anna growl. In response the male jaguar
hissed and showed his long, curved fangs. His golden eyes
were huge, with large, shining black pupils. As the animal
stalked around them, his tail whipping impatiently from
side to side, his thick body strong and sensuous as he
moved, Walker watched in awe. Anna remained on alert at
his side, but did not attack the slowly circling jaguar.
The coat on the cat was a bright gold color, patterned
with black crescent moons. To Roan, the massive jaguar
seemed formidable, invulnerable. His mind churned with
more questions than answers. A woman who turned into a
male jaguar? She was a shape-shifter — a medicine person
from South America who had the power to change shape from
human to animal, and then back into human form at will.
That in itself was a feat that few could manage
successfully. He recalled that his mother, who worked with
the Yaqui Indians of Mexico, had possessed shape-shifting
abilities herself. One never knew, seeing a bird, a
reptile or a four-footed, if it was in fact human or not.
Walker had been taught never to kill anything that
approached him in such a bold, fearless manner.