Intended Ch. 10

Though twilight quickly yielded to darkness, Jakal did not stop to light a torch. The moon glowed full and bright, illuminating the path he traveled. In the Spirit World his senses, including his eyesight, were heightened; were he not completely familiar with the lake's location he still could have found it. It lay so close now he felt its moisture upon his skin. He could even smell the water, its cool crispness mingled with the scent of mixed leaves.

The signs grew ever fresher as the Tracker followed the Spiritwalker's trail. The ground on which the shaman had trod remained compressed, the grass flattened, not yet beginning to spring back. This told him that they had passed this way only a short time ago. He had nearly caught up with them.

Hold on Sala. Please, hold on, he begged silently. I am coming for you.

A scream suddenly punctured the night air.

"SALA!" he shouted, sprinting with the last of his reserves.

Sala plunged into the water, shocked by the sensation of total submersion. More than anything she wanted to scream. Her worst nightmare was coming true; she was sinking into the cold, dark depths, arms and legs bound, unable to escape.

PLEASE! I DO NOT WANT TO DIE! She could not die this way; she could not die...

"Hold onto that breath, my love," Jakal's voice echoed in her mind. "Do whatever it takes to survive."

"You know how to swim, Sala; remember when I taught you, at this very lake, when you were five years old?" Mala reminded her.

"I do not remember! I am too scared!"

"You do remember, child. Swim with your legs together."

"But where? I cannot let him see me and I need to breathe!"

"Go toward the trees, sweet Sala."

Pushing all other thoughts from her mind, Sala set a single goal for herself -- reach one of the trees. If she could find a way to hold onto the branches, she might be able to steady herself long enough to stay above water and get a breath.

It was extremely difficult to swim with her wrists and ankles bound. The best she could do was stretch her arms straight out in front of her while her legs kicked as one. She felt she had swum forever, and was beginning to panic again, certain she had gone the wrong way. Just as she thought her lungs would burst, the back of one of her hands brushed against something solid.

"Do not come up too fast!" Jakal warned. "Go as slow as you can so you do not splash."

Struggling to hold her breath just a moment longer, Sala used her fingers to grip onto the scummy, partially softened wood and pushed up.

Her eyes facing the starry heavens, the young woman's head broke the surface. She gulped air into her burning lungs, her arms as one, clutching blindly for the tree that had saved her life. Now that she had air, she needed its stability.

Found it! She felt with her fingers the top of the tree, its narrow tip pointing toward the sky. Grasping it with as much strength as she could manage, Sala pushed her legs forward, searching for a foothold. Her toes found a short section of what must have once been a small branch, long since broken away.

Feeling somewhat steady for the first time since she landed in the water, she attempted to make her grip more secure. If I can just put my arms over it the top of the tree that might hold me a little better, she thought; the wood is slippery. Hugging the trunk with her forearms, elbows bent, she slowly slid her arms up and over the top.

It was not until that moment she realized she still held the knife between her hands. It had slid down to the bottom of her palms, almost where the wrists met. Rubbing her palms together, she felt for the blade and discovered it pointed outward, opposite her thumbs.

Rotating her wrists outward, again and again she tried to reach the leather thongs binding her hands, but she could not press down with enough force to cut through them. Growing frustrated, Sala's eyes filled with tears. Please, she begged the Great Spirits, help me break free.

Wait! What if I use the tree to help press against the thongs? That might provide enough pressure to cut them. Gingerly she shifted the knife until she managed to work the blade under the leather ties. Wrapping her thumbs and forefingers around the handle, she pushed it into the wood and, once embedded, pressed up.

All at once the thongs snapped; Sala nearly lost hold of the tree, but thanks to her swift reflexes she snatched onto it at the last moment. Unfortunately the knife was gone, slipping out of her hands when the cords broke.

I need to free my legs, she thought. Even with the light of the full moon shimmering on the lake's surface, she could not see far into the darkness. With a hole torn in the boat, she suspected the Spiritwalker had paddled for the shore straight away. Still, he might very well return in another boat, and she could not risk being found in such a vulnerable position.

Holding onto the slick branch with one hand, Sala brought her feet toward her body. Knees apart, with her free hand she reached for the ties binding her ankles together. Her clumsy fingers shook with fear and cold as she attempted to untie them, but the wet leather had swollen, frustrating her efforts. Finally, in desperation she tried breaking the thongs, pulling apart with her ankles as her fingers tugged at the ties in the opposite direction, only to find them unyielding.

Sala's teeth started to chatter uncontrollably as she realized she had far bigger problems than her ankles remaining bound. Her fingers and toes were growing numb, the cold creeping up her limbs toward her core. She would have to swim for the shore, toward the woods, and worry about freeing her legs once she reached dry land.

Steadying herself once more as she clutched the tree, the young woman closed her eyes, taking slow, deep breaths. You can do this, you can do this, she told herself over and over, preparing herself for letting go of the one thing which had provided her some small sense of security in this terrifying situation. It was one thing to swim for a tree which she knew was nearby; it was another thing altogether to swim an unknown distance over open water in the dark, with nothing to hold onto until she arrived at the shoreline.

"You are stronger than you know, Sala; you can do this," Jakal asserted. "I believe in you."

She nodded. Yes, she thought. I have to do this. I have too much to live for, and my mate needs me. I cannot give up, not now.

After a final plea to the Spirits for strength, Sala let go of the tree, pointing her body toward the dark, distant woods at the water's edge. Pushing off the trunk with her feet, she gasped in shock as her body yanked unexpectedly in the opposite direction. Sputtering, she turned her head and felt her scalp pinch painfully. It was her hair. Her waist-length locks had become tangled in the slimy branches of the tree.

Paddling as quickly as possible toward the shoreline as his boat sank ever deeper, the Spiritwalker kept looking back toward the place where he had thrown the female overboard, straining for signs of life. However, the darkness made it difficult to see anything at all, let alone a body.

His leggings soaked, the man snarled. He was freezing cold. When he got back to land he would have to change. He was tempted to set up a fire and forget about going back out on the lake. There was no way she could have survived. If her weakness did not do her in, the cold soon would.

He reached the water's edge just as the boat lost its buoyancy. Dragging it onto the sand, he thought bitterly about how, despite the enormous amount of work he had put into this scheme, the outcome, ultimately, had been rather unsatisfying. Yes, she was dead, and yes, he was sure she suffered for it, but he wanted to see the look in her eyes, he wanted to pleasure himself, spitting his essence into the water as a final farewell, capturing that moment forever in his mind. Now all he had were disjointed fragments of a chaotic mess; he never even saw her after she hit the water.

Without warning something heavy and sharp struck the side of his head. Blood running profusely down his face, the shaman's eyes rolled up as his body crumpled into the water.

Pushing the canoe into the lake, Jakal raced for the open water, screaming Sala's name. Noting the condition of the Spiritwalker's boat, his every instinct told him that the shaman must have encountered one of the submerged trees in the ancient grove. The Light-Eye pleaded with the Great Spirits to guide him. Please, Spirits, he begged. Please let Sala be alive. Please help me find her; do not abandon me now.

For a brief moment he wondered if he should have taken the time to ensure that the Spiritwalker was actually dead. He hit him with the paddle with a great deal of force, so hard the antler's tines pierced his flesh, so hard he thought he heard bones crack; whether it was the man's jaw or skull he did not know. Making a decision, he shook his head. Sala is my priority. I will deal with him later.

Along with the shaman's haversack and the hide he had used to carry Sala, when the Tracker arrived at the lake he found footprints and the telltale signs of a boat dragged to the water's edge. Despite knowing they had embarked only a short time ago, his heart raced, filled with dread. He knew full well the intensity of his mate's fear of drowning, worsened by her recent close call at this very place.

Jakal berated himself as his boat skimmed through the water. Why did he have to push her? If he had not done so, the Spiritwalker never would have discovered Sala's fear. He could never forgive himself if the worst happened. It would be his fault if Sala...

Stop. Do not do this to yourself, not now. From his brief encounter with the Spiritwalker, the Light-Eye confirmed that he could interact with others of his own world even as he himself walked in the Spirits' realm. The Great Spirits would not have guided him all this way, given him the ability to reach across the divide, if there was no hope.

Paddling toward the underwater grove, Jakal turned his eyes to the expanse before him, searching for clues in the darkness, for something, anything, that would steer him in the right direction. Scattered light from the moon and stars bounced along the lake's swaying surface, their fractured reflections shimmering, unified by the rise and fall of the waves. Not unlike the forest when he first entered the Other World, the glittering points of lights formed a single, unbroken pattern...

Wait. What is that? The Tracker squinted. For just a moment he thought he saw a glow, the tiniest flash of white, out of sync from the rest. Nothing; perhaps he only imagined it. Then again, he remembered, when he noticed a disruption in the pattern while he was in the forest, it turned out to be the Spiritwalker's trail. Adjusting his bearing, he made his way toward the source of the aberration.

Sala struggled to concentrate as she worked to disentangle her hair from the branches of the once-mighty tree which only a short time ago had offered refuge. Her fingers, thick and stiff from cold, fumbled as they slowly released the snarls trapping her in the chilly depths of the lake.

As her teeth began to rattle, body growing numb, the young woman realized she was rapidly losing strength. Despite this she found herself increasingly apathetic about her predicament, uncertain if she really cared about making it to shore at all. She just wanted to rest, to sleep and dream of Jakal...

"Sala," a voice spoke in her ear. "Wake up, child."

"But Mala," the young woman replied wearily, "I am so tired. I need to rest."

"I understand, my dear girl, but if you stop now you are going to die."

"I do not want to die," she mumbled.

"Then do not. It is up to you. Now wake up, Sala. WAKE UP!"

Sala's head jerked up, a jolt passing through her body as once again she felt the cold, her mind shocked back into awareness. Must keep going, she told herself, fighting for control of her quaking body. Do it for Jakal.

As she tried to refocus, something white flashed in the corner of her eye. Sala craned to see the object which had caught her attention. The amulet bearing the talisman of their spiritual leaders, the charm the Spiritwalker had attempted, unsuccessfully, to steal from her, had also become entangled in her hair; in all the excitement she had completely forgotten about it. Nestled within her dark locks, the ivory carving of a fox had captured the light of the full moon, giving off an otherworldly glow.

It has to be a sign, she thought. Filled with renewed hope, the young woman resumed her task of extricating herself from the tree. She was almost finished now, thankfully. Cold and tired as she was, she did not know how she could make it to the shore. Still, she had to try. The Spirits would not have reminded her that she still carried the talisman of the Spiritwalkers without good reason.

A sound, small and faint, broke through the endless lapping of the waves. It sounded like a voice, calling her name.

Did she imagine it?

Choosing hope, she cried out, begging with all her strength that it was not an illusion, "Over here! Help me!"

"Sala!" the voice called, growing louder. "Keep shouting! I am coming for you!"

It is real, she sobbed. Jakal is here!

"I am here, in the old grove! Jakal, please hurry!"

"Hold on, Sala! Hold on just a little longer. I see you!"

She could see him too, the man she loved racing toward her in the canoe, scraping the branches in his path as if they were not there.

Coming to a stop, Jakal steadied himself and reached under her arms.

"Jakal, wait," she chattered. "My hair is tangled in the branches of this tree. Can you cut me free?"

"Yes," he replied, swiftly pulling out his knife. As gently as he could he grasped the snagged section of hair, the sharp blade slicing through the strands until at last she was free.

With a burst of great strength Jakal lifted her out of the water in one pull. He fell onto his back with a thud, Sala flopping on top of him. For a moment he just held her, to make sure she was real, but when he felt her body shaking violently, he quickly sat up. It was then that he saw for the first time the condition of his mate.

"Sala! Oh Sala!" he sobbed, crushing the limp woman to his chest. "What has he done to you? Oh Sala, I am so sorry! How could I have let this happen...?"

"Jakal," Sala whispered, struggling to speak as her teeth rattled. "I cannot feel my hands and feet."

Snapping out of his grief, the Light-Eye picked up his paddle. With all his power, muscles bulging from the effort, he propelled them to the shore.

He had to get her warm, now. There was no time to build a fire, not until she was out of danger from freezing. Pulling the furs from his haversack, Jakal peeled Sala's saturated garment from her skin, gently enveloping her in the pelts' insulating warmth. After cutting the ties restraining her ankles, he laid on the ground beside his mate, cradling her body, her icy hands and feet tucked under his arms and between his legs. Sala shook as he held her close.

After a time he cautiously checked on her extremities, relieved to find them growing warmer, nestled in his body's heat.

"Sala, can you hear me?" he finally asked once the violence of her shivers had begun to recede.

"Sala?" Jakal called again, his voice cracking. Please, Spirits, do not take her from me; not after all this!

He heard a soft moan. "Jakal..." she rasped, smiling weakly. "You saved me..."

Weeping freely, tears streaming down his cheeks, the Tracker held tightly the woman in his arms.

Upon hearing the roar of a great cat not far from their location, Jakal left Sala's side, briefly, in order to gather firewood. The scent of blood from his mate's injuries surely would draw the predator's attention; he needed the safety of fire in order to protect her through this night. Thanks to his people's frequent forays to this place, he did not need to go far; they always kept a supply of wood stashed under one of the reed boats, stored overturned to keep rain from pooling inside.

The couple huddled in silence around the large, blazing fire, Sala's body cupped inside his as she slowly warmed, drawing comfort from being in each other's arms again. Her mate remained vigilant, scanning the darkness for further signs of the beast he knew was prowling the area, though he did not tell the woman what he had heard. She was too weak to move, let alone defend herself; after such an ordeal he saw no sense in frightening her further.

When he felt certain they were alone, at least for now, the Light-Eye turned his attention to Sala's wounds; he needed to know if any of her injuries were life-threatening. Laying her gently on the ground, he opened the furs, revealing the full measure of the Spiritwalker's cruelty.

Even in the dim light of the fire he could see the distinct bruises left by the spear shaft the shaman had used to beat her, bruises which ran the entire length of her body. He noted a laceration in the palm of one hand where the blade of a knife had sliced into her flesh. But worst of all was her face, so swollen and discolored she was almost unrecognizable, covered with cuts and scrapes where the Spiritwalker's fists had split her skin.

Sala groaned in pain when Jakal gingerly rolled her over in order to examine the back of her body. Finding the amulet belonging to the Fox Clan's Spiritwalker tangled up in her hair, he carefully worked it free, sending a silent thanks to the wise old woman for bestowing the powerful charm upon his mate. Scanning the rest of her body, he noticed the same damage as the front, with one notable exception. She had nasty spear wound on the back of her left thigh.

"By the Spirits, how could he have done this to you?" he whispered, incredulous and angry as hot tears rained from his eyes.

"Jakal," she moaned. "My leg; it hurts."

Suddenly remembering he had brought his mate's medicine bag, the Light-Eye quickly retrieved it, along with the bowl and a waterskin pot. After scouring the area and finding it clear, he raced to the water's edge and filled the pot, placing it on some stones atop the glowing coals.

"I brought your pouch of medicinal herbs, Sala," he informed her encouragingly. "Can you tell me which of them I should use?"

After guiding him on which herbs to select, Sala fell asleep, her weary body finally succumbing to its fatigue. Spear at his side, Jakal tended to her wounds in silence, troubled by what he had seen, or rather, what he had not seen, when he went to fill the pot with water from the lake.

He thought he had killed him; it was one of the reasons why he focused his attention solely on caring for his woman. Although it was difficult to see much of anything in the dark, he observed no obvious signs that a predator had dragged a body away. And yet, the Spiritwalker was nowhere to be found.

Nostrils burning, the Spiritwalker roused with a groan, discovering himself along the shoreline, face first in the lake. Hacking to clear his lungs, he attempted to stagger onto his feet only to find the world rocking and swaying. He collapsed on his back, the stars spinning dizzily.

Closing his eyes to escape the disorienting view of the heavens, he pressed his hand against the side of his head, the side from which a great pain emanated, nearly howling in agony when his skin touched open flesh. What happened? He strained to concentrate. Try as he might, he could remember nothing. The shaman drew his hand away and cautiously opened his eyes, gasping with alarm to find it covered in blood.