The next, they were hives of activity. Women emerged, their breath steaming, moving with efficient purpose to stoke the embers of the cooking fires. Thin columns of blue wood smoke rose straight up into the cold sky, blending with the smell of pine resin and sage. He watched children, some no older than four or five, run toward the creek to break the thin ice and fetch water in woven jugs sealed with pitch. They laughed and shoved each other, their voices bright and clear, indifferent to the fact that a white stranger watched them from the edge of their world.
Warriors moved among the horses, checking hooves and rubbing down flanks. It was a scene of domestic normalcy that hit Luke with a pang of guilt. He was an intruder here. He was a representative of the very force that threatened to extinguish this morning ritual forever. He saw the way the women glanced at him, not with fear, but with a hardened wariness.
To them, he was not a guest. He was a problem that had not yet been solved. The guard grunted and stood, gesturing for Luke to rise. Luke pushed himself up, his knees popping. He was led not to the edge of the camp where he might be executed, but back toward the central fire, where Nant'an sat on a buffalo robe, drinking something steaming from a clay cup.
The chief looked different in the daylight. The firelight had made him look like a spirit. The sun revealed a man of flesh and blood, with deep creases around his eyes and hands that showed the gnarled swelling of age and hard work. "Sit," Nant'an said, pointing to a spot on the hard earth across from him. Luke sat.
A woman placed a wooden bowl in his hands. It contained a thin corn mush, hot and flavorless, but Luke ate it gratefully. The warmth spread through his chest, loosening the knot of tension just a fraction. "You slept?" Nant'an asked. His voice was calm, conversational, as if they were two ranchers discussing the price of beef.
"Enough," Luke replied, wiping his mouth with his sleeve. Nant'an nodded. He looked at the surrounding hills, his eyes scanning the horizon instinctively. "Last night, there was much anger." The chief said, "You must understand, to the Apache, a life saved is a heavy thing. It unbalances the world.
If Taza had died, his spirit would be gone. But he lives because of your hands. That life now belongs to you, and yours to us. It is a circle. You cannot step out of it just because you do not like the shape.
Luke set the bowl down. I understand debts, Nantan. I have paid plenty in my time. But marriage to a woman who looks at me like she wants to cut my throat? That doesn't bridge any gap.
That just digs a deeper ditch. Nantan smiled. A faint, dry expression that didn't quite reach his eyes. Ayanna has a heart like a thunderstorm. It is loud and dangerous.
But it brings rain to the dry earth. She hates because she has loved and lost. To bind you to her is to force her to see that not all white men are devils. And it forces you to see that we are not animals. A shadow fell over them.