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  Journey’s End

  By

  Deatri King-Bey

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Journey’s End by Deatri King-Bey

  Red Rose™ Publishing

  Publishing with a touch of Class! ™

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  Red Rose™ Publishing

  Copyright© 2010 Deatri King-Bey

  ISBN: 978-1-60435-689-2

  Cover Artist: Deatri King-Bey and Shirley Burnett

  Editor: Lynel Washington

  Line Editor: Zena Gainer

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced electronically or in print without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in reviews. Due to copyright laws you cannot trade, sell or give any ebooks away.

  This is a work of fiction. All references to real places, people, or events are coincidental, and if not coincidental, are used fictitiously. All trademarks, service marks, registered trademarks, and registered service marks are the property of their respective owners and are used herein for identification purposes only.

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  Journey’s End

  By

  Deatri King-Bey

  The Journey Begins

  California Mountains 1857

  Gail could barely catch her breath. “Don’t come down, no matter what. Do you hear me, child?” Hearing their approach, she quickly glanced over her shoulder.

  “But, Ma,” Joy cried.

  “Climb up high and be quiet. Wait for your father to come for you.” Gail turned to leave, but caught herself, stopping time for the briefest of moments. “Always remember I love you.” She spun away from her child and ran deeper into the woods, away from their pursuers.

  There was nowhere to hide, and the sun shone bright. Gail knew they would catch her, but didn’t want her baby to see what would happen. Hiding the best she could, she gave a silent prayer for the life of her child.

  Joy watched the men chase behind her mother. Determination set in, her eyes narrowed. No way would she stand by and permit anyone to harm her mother. Her duty as a warrior was to protect Gail.

  After the men passed, she scrambled down the tree and drew her bow and arrows. She was only ten, but her father had taught her well. She would kill anyone who dared to touch her mother.

  To avoid being heard, she gave the men a head start, then took after them at full speed. Approximately a mile into the chase, she heard her mother crying and drunken laughter of men cheering.

  She stooped and scanned the surroundings. Why did she leave the protection of the trees? This area overflowed with shrubs and tall weeds to hide behind. She must have wanted to throw them off. Joy now realized her mother hadn’t completely ignored the games Joy played with her father.

  Clothed in her usual tunic, leggings, and moccasins, Joy crawled through the weeds and bushes toward the sounds of the cries. Tortured by her mother’s whimpers, she didn’t have time to acknowledge the pain beating in her heart. She just needed to do something. Anything.

  She silently separated the foliage, peeked through and saw one of the men on top of Gail. Joy froze at the site of her mother being raped. Too young to comprehend fully, she battled desperately to regain composure.

  All fear suddenly melted away, and the intense flame of hate replaced the ice that encased her body. Joy quietly crawled around to the front of the man on top of her mother, ensuring he would see the face of the warrior who would be his executioner.

  Once in position, Joy rose in one fluid motion, drew her bow and carefully aimed for his heart. She glared into the devil’s green eyes and released the arrow. The arrow whizzed through the air and thumped through his chest into his heart. He slumped onto her mother with a muffled thud. With lightning speed, she shot the two most threatening looking men before the group realized what had happened.

  It was Joy’s turn to play bait and lead the men away from Gail. Knowing the men would follow, she ran toward home. They shot at her, but she wasn’t afraid. Her father taught her not to run in a straight line. Her smaller size and superior speed helped her maneuver through the brush and woods much faster than her pursuers.

  Zigzagging erratically, she used the scattered trees for shelter. If she could only reach home, she knew her father would kill these last two. After a few minutes, she didn’t hear the men trailing any longer.

  Exhausted, Joy tripped into the cabin. “Pa…”

  “Where have you been? I’ve been sick with worry.”

  Barely able to catch her breath, Joy said, “Come quick. They have Ma.”

  Her father grabbed the rifle. Joy caught her second wind and sped to where she’d left her mother, but they were too late. The men were gone and Gail lay dead with her throat slit.

  “No!” William fell to his knees, pulled Gail’s lifeless body into his arms and rocked her. “No.” He released a cry of such pain and agony, even the trees mourned for him.

  The sound of her father’s pain burned a permanent mark deep into Joy’s soul. Too young to comprehend this lesson of true love and loss, she watched her father weep. Kneeling next to him, she placed her head on his shoulder. She wanted to comfort him, but didn’t know how, and her own pain made her too numb to cry.

  William stood slowly. His gaze traveled from his dead wife to his child. “Climb a tree and stay until I return for you.” He picked up his rifle.

  Joy tilted her head up at her father. To her he was the largest man in the world, and now he was her everything. She stood tall and strong, chin high, shoulders back, face stern. “I am a warrior. I should fight beside you,” she proclaimed in the bravest voice she could muster.

  William pointed at the three men she’d already slain. “You have done well, but I’ll take the last two. Stay here and guard your mother’s body from scavengers. Now climb a tree. When I return, we must bury your mother.” He hugged her. “I love you.” He followed the men’s trail.

  High in a tree, Joy sat motionless and watched the sun set while waiting for her father’s return. It felt as if hours had passed, and she couldn’t shake the feeling of something being wrong. She prayed those savages made it all the way to town and would never return. After much consideration, she decided to search for her father before it became too dark to follow his trail. She scrambled down the tree and ran in the direction he’d gone.

  Shots rang out. She ducked behind a tree. She counted more than three guns being fired and prayed her father hadn’t stumbled into trouble. After the shooting ceased, Joy approached to investigate.

  She peeked from behind a tree and saw four men scattered throughout, all dead. Two of them she recognized as her mother’s murderers. She thanked God her father wasn’t one of the dead men.

  She heard William silently call her name, and her heart lifted. Thinking there must be more men around, she crawled to him whispering, “Pa, how many more are there?” Ready to help fight, she took out her bow and arrow.

  The sun had set, leaving the moonlight to fight its way through the lush canopy of branches. He smiled at his little girl, calmly saying, “There are no more.” He cupped her face with his hand and an automatic smile came to her face. “I need for you to listen to me.”

  She sat straight up. “I always liste
n to you,” she proclaimed proudly.

  Brow raised, he chuckled. “Then why aren’t you still in the tree?” he asked weakly.

  Joy was so glad he had killed the bad guys, she was oblivious to his injured state. She giggled. “Well, I listen most of the time.”

  He coughed and spit up blood. Realization slapped Joy. “No, Pa!” She tore at his shirt. The sight of the wound in his abdomen halted her world.

  He took her trembling hands into his and pulled them to his lips. “Please, Brave Heart, I don’t have much time. I need for you to listen.”

  Brave Heart was his pet name for her. She snapped, sitting at attention like a good warrior, but she didn’t want to hear what he had to say. Her eyes burned with unshed tears. It took everything she had to remain still, be brave and not cry.

  “You are to return to the cabin and wait for Lucas. He usually comes around this time of year. Tell him what happened. He will take you with him.”

  She attempted to suck in the falling tears, but lost the battle. “Ah…I…don’t want to live on a reservation,” she stammered. “I want to stay here with you.”

  He caressed her face. “You can’t stay here alone.”

  She swallowed the lump in her throat, stood straight and tall, chin out and shoulders back. “I am a warrior. I shall protect our land.”

  “You are an excellent warrior,” he paused, “in training. Lucas will finish your training on the reservation.” He held his hand out to her. “I love you.”

  She rested her head in the crook of his arm. “I love you, too.”

  He died, stroking her hair and silently praying for God to send guardian angels to protect his baby.

  Chapter One

  California Mountains 1866

  Unable to conceive anyone being a big enough dolt to try riding a horse on this part of the mountain, Joy cursed. One of the reasons her father had chosen the area was for its hard accessibility. There was only one way up by horse, and this wasn’t it. Now a horse hobbled in front of her with a severely broken leg. She didn’t like it, but she put the poor creature out of its misery.

  Keeping herself concealed, she searched for the rider. She didn’t allow anyone to lurk around her mountain. Standing still, she listened to the sounds of the woods. Hearing nothing, she knew he must be near. She ordered her pets to find him as she crouched, waiting out of sight.

  Within minutes, the wolves began to bay. Joy followed their call to a large, filthy man who was lying on his back. In case he faked his unconscious state, she kept her distance. She found a long stick and poked him with it several times.

  He didn’t move or wake. She drew in a deep, calming breath, released it slowly, then knelt to examine him. She hadn’t been this close to a white man in years, and being within his reach stirred old fears.

  She turned his face toward her. Instead of being repulsed at the site of this white man, she found herself drawn to him. He exuded an energy that, even in his unconscious state, pulled her to him.

  Confused, she nodded her head in agreement with her godfather, Lucas. He always said white men were dangerous, telling her they held an uncanny ability to lie and manipulate situations to their benefit. Seeing this white man made a believer out of her. Especially if they had this effect on people when they were asleep.

  Confident he was truly unconscious, she relaxed and examined his body. His face contained a few small scrapes, which she could easily clean. The ugly gnash and swelling in his lower leg worried her. She’d only seen a broken leg set once and wasn’t sure if she remembered how.

  She sat on her hunches. What should I do? The wolves panted, offering absolutely no guidance. She took out her knife and cut off the lower portion of his trouser leg. She removed his boot and sock from his injured leg and set them to the side.

  Her face scrunched up at the sight of his bone partially protruding through his bloodied skin and torn flesh. She gently touched the area with her finger while watching his face. He didn’t flinch. This must hurt like the devil. You’re lucky you’re asleep. Don’t wake anytime soon.

  Finding sturdy sticks for the splint was easy in the heavily wooded area. She cut the pant leg into strips and set the leg. The wound from the bone tearing through his skin still needed stitches, but at least it was clean.

  She further cut his pant leg into bandages and wrapped his wound. The way she figured it, his friends would be around soon looking for him. They could take him to see a doctor.

  She returned to his face to clean his cuts. She liked his coloring. His sun-darkened skin made her wonder if he were a half-breed. His hair, silky black like her brothers, contained a wave to it. Curiosity caused her to trace the wave with her fingers from his forehead, along his temple, over his ear, to the nape of his neck where his hair ended. She mentally noted his hair texture to be closer to her brother’s than hers.

  She stopped playing with his hair and continued cleaning his cuts. As she withdrew the washcloth from his strong jawbone, she admitted that this was a very handsome man. Joy smoothed down his brows, knowing white men were evil and thinking how sad it was such good looks were wasted on him.

  Last, but not least, she searched around for kindling. After starting a fire, she watched the injured man with pride. She had done her best for him and could go home with a clear conscience. She didn’t want all of her good work to be wasted on the woodland creatures, so she left Night and Day, her wolves, behind to watch after him. They stayed out of sight, and she was on her way.

  The next day Joy returned and found the man still unconscious. Upset his friends hadn’t found him yet, she tapped her moccasin-covered foot on the ground. This was entirely too close to her home for comfort.

  She bent and examined his wounds. While cleaning his face she had noticed he had a slight fever. This time she came prepared, but first she needed to mend his leg properly.

  She cleansed the wound, stitched the gnash and re-bandaged his leg. She took a small pouch of fever powder from around her neck and poured the remaining medicine into a tin coffee cup. Adding water from her canteen, she stirred with her finger, then poured the concoction down the man’s throat. He choked, wasting the majority, but was able to swallow some. She left a plate of food and the canteen of water, covered him with her bearskin blanket, then hid and waited for him to wake.

  Dazed and confused, Jared stirred. First, his dreams weren’t the usual nightmares, but sensual caresses. Then, he woke in the woods in severe pain. “What happened?” he murmured.

  He lifted his hands to his face. A piercing pain shot through his left arm. He dropped the arm immediately and took stock of his injuries. The entire left side of his body ached, and the pain in his leg was excruciating. He looked at the offending leg and saw the splint and bandages. Who did this? He scanned the woods for his rescuer. Whoever it was must have gone for help.

  Grateful for the food, drink, and blanket, he thanked God. Son of the Deep South, he detested the cold August nights of the California mountains. Starving, he gingerly leaned on the tree behind him, dusted the ants off his food and enjoyed his rabbit sandwich, apple, nuts and water.

  Joy watched the man with interest. Awake he looked enormous and mean. Stories Lucas told her about what white men did to “savage” women rambled through her head, agitating her fears. She knew he would rape and kill her if given the chance.

  Unfortunately, he had hurt himself on her land, thus was her responsibility. She released a breath of exasperation. Sometimes I hate doing the right thing. Once the man fell asleep, Joy collected his plates and put them in her bag. If someone didn’t come for him soon, she’d have to move him.

  She adjusted the lightweight buckskin hood that covered her face. During the cool months, it protected her skin from the cool dry air but interfered with her vision. She poured water from her canteen onto a clean cloth she’d brought with her, then wiped around the man’s leg wound. She would have taken off her gloves, but she’d caught frostbite a few years ago, and her fingers were sensiti
ve to cool temperatures. The thin buckskin gloves weren’t much, but they’d do for now.

  As soon as she got home, she planned to adjust the hood. The eye slits were too small, and she’d need a nose hole. For some reason she thought she’d be able to breathe through the buckskin since it wasn’t tight.

  The man pushed himself up, startling Joy.

  The green eyes of the man who murdered her mother were all Joy saw. Memories grabbed and threw her into childhood fears and pain. She disappeared into the woods and didn’t stop running until she reached the hunting cave she stored extra supplies in. What am I going to do? Torn between duty and her own survival, she had to make a choice. This man hadn’t done anything to her, but she couldn’t trust him. After what they did to her parents and the stories her godfather told her, she knew the dangers.

  But he’s hurt. He can’t hurt me. She had taken his weapons and left the wolves behind to protect him from wild animals. She could smell a rainstorm brewing; by sundown, they’d have a pretty good storm. A decision needed to be made and made now.

  Jared didn’t know what went wrong. He began eating the food left for him, thinking maybe the young brave had never seen a white man before. Maybe his size intimidated him. There were just too many maybes to work through them all, and his head ached.

  The rustling of underbrush a few yards away startled him. Wild bores, wolves and mountain lions were common in this area, and he didn’t look forward to meeting up with any of them in his present condition. He frantically searched for his gun, but couldn’t find it. Wolves appeared out of the foliage and darted for him. He raised both arms through his pain, instinctively sheltering his head.

  The wolves stopped short and sat.

  Completely confused, Jared lowered his arms. He had no desire to be eaten by wolves, but this wasn’t normal. He saw the hooded brave walk through the woods toward him.