We Hear Chants (Indigenous Encounter Book 3), page 1
WE HEAR CHANTS
INDIGENOUS ENCOUNTER
BOOK THREE
DAWN HARPER
CONTENTS
The Prequel
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
THE END
Reader Review
About the Author
THE PREQUEL
To Get The Best Reading Experience,
Make Sure To Start With The Prequel!
We Hear Chants: The Prequel (Click Here)
Copyright © 2023 – Dawn Harper - All rights reserved.
No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of the copyright owner, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any similarity to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
This book may contain violence, sexual content and other suggestive themes. Recommended for readers aged 18 and above.
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1
When you find yourself facing death, you fight it.
Blood pounded in Tyler’s ears as he tightened his grip around the wooden club. Crouching next to him, behind the stand of quaking aspen, were his fiancée Michelle; the renegade, Wambleeska; his friend Ian Harrington; and John Harrington, Ian’s uncle. Beyond the trees, a swarm of Oglala warriors on horseback thundered toward them.
Moments earlier, the sea of ferocious tribesmen galloping up the hill had struck fear in Tyler’s heart. He would’ve given up and embraced death had it not been for Wambleeska’s wise words. The ancient Oglala saying had filled Tyler with courage, renewing his strength to fight.
The emerald embedded in the leather bracelet on his wrist winked in the sunlight. The discovery of the bracelet had kick-started the chain of events leading them to this moment. In search of a good gift for Michelle’s mom, Michelle and Tyler had ended up at the Vintage Attic, an antique shop on the outskirts of Casper, Wyoming, owned by the reclusive John Harrington.
Roaming through the shop, Tyler had stumbled upon a statue of a Native American chief. Clad in buckskin robes, moccasins, and an impressive headdress, the wax statue stood in a dark corner of the shop, glaring down its hooked nose at the customers meandering about.
The gemstone-encrusted bracelet with a mysterious eye symbol on the statue’s wrist had stoked Tyler’s curiosity. A few weeks later, he’d learned the bracelet’s secret: The ancient artifact was a key to a portal connecting the past to the future. Skeptical of the bracelet’s time-traveling powers, Tyler and Michelle had decided to put the theory to the test and travel back in time with John.
Tragedy had struck when they’d gone back in time to when the land belonged to the Natives who patrolled the area surrounding their villages in search of the wily Europeans. Detected by one such group of warriors roaming through the grassland, the trio had had to dash back to the portal to avoid getting captured. During the chase, Michelle had lost her footing, falling to the ground and getting captured. Tyler, Ian, and John’s subsequent mission to rescue her from the clutches of the Oglala tribesmen had brought them to this fateful moment where they sat crouching behind a row of trees, awaiting death.
Fearing they couldn’t outrun their pursuers for long, they had decided to fight the huntsmen barreling toward them. The warriors steamed ahead, unaware of the fugitives trembling behind the trees. Wambleeska had suggested taking them by surprise, hoping it would give them an edge over their attackers.
“On the count of three,” said Wambleeska, raising the hatchet in his hands.
Tyler nodded, his gaze fixed on the approaching troops.
“One…”
He glanced at Michelle, whose big blue eyes glistened with tears. A while ago, they’d said their farewells, convinced that these were their last moments together and the struggle he’d gone through to rescue her had been in vain. The chances of him and Wambleeska surviving the attack were slim to none.
The tide of horsemen brandishing clubs and axes would be upon them in mere seconds, swallowing them whole. Armed with a single wooden club and a hatchet, their two-man army couldn’t hold them off for more than a few minutes. Hopefully, this narrow window of time would be enough for Michelle and the others to escape.
“Two…”
Turning his head, Tyler saw Ian lifting a branch and holding it out before him like a sword. He wasn’t sure if Ian’s addition would make a difference, but he wouldn’t object. He shifted his gaze to the wave of warriors surging toward them and braced himself. The horse’s hooves pounded the ground, kicking up a cloud of dust. Blood pumped through his veins as he saw the tribesmen’s snarling faces emerge from the haze. Gritting his teeth, he prepared himself for the attack.
“Three!” yelled Wambleeska as he charged through the trees.
Tyler leaped to his feet and lunged forward as Wambleeska swung the hatchet. A long gash appeared on the horse’s flank, glistening scarlet. Roaring with pain, it lifted its forelegs, kicking and thrashing in the air before keeling over and pinning its rider under its weight. His leg crushed under his mount, the man howled in agony until a swift blow to the head by Wambleeska silenced him forever.
Chaos rippled through the invading army, with riders pulling on their reins, horses neighing in protest, and heads whipping around in confusion. Wambleeska wrenched the hatchet loose, blood trickling down its sharp blade. He fixed his gaze on his next target and launched another attack.
Heart thumping and blood roaring in his ears, Tyler dashed forward, knocking out another tribesman charging toward Wambleeska. A loud rebel yell made him wheel around. Face contorted in rage and a hatchet raised over his head, an Oglala warrior bolted toward him, ready to strike. Before Tyler could react, Ian emerged from behind the trees, whipping his attacker in the head with the stick.
Tyler’s attacker hesitated a moment as his brain registered the stick lashing against his head, and the brief moment of surprise was enough for Tyler to swing his club, striking him in the jaw. As he stumbled back, Tyler lifted the club, bringing it down with full force on his head. The man’s eyes rolled back, and he collapsed on his side.
Tyler and Ian looked at each other. A grin rippled across Ian’s face as he raised the spindly branch in his hands, brimming with confidence. His smile faded a moment later when an arrow went whizzing past his ear, narrowly missing him. Tyler swiveled his head. An onslaught of Oglala warriors were headed their way.
Ducking to avoid the arrows raining overhead, he swung the club into a horse’s forelimbs, sending it crashing to the ground along with its rider. Beside him, Wambleeska roared as he snuffed out his opponent. Standing close by, Ian swatted at the tribesmen rushing to take on Wambleeska and Tyler.
Bemused by his odd choice of weapon, the men humored him by dodging the stick, which lashed through the air like a whip. Wambleeska and Tyler moved quickly as they lost their focus, catching them unaware and laying them flat. Tyler’s arms began to ache as patches of sweat bloomed on his shirt. Weighed down by exhaustion, his movements became slow and labored while the tribesmen kept growing in number.
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Ian’s stick snap in half as he defended himself. Abandoning the broken stick, he grabbed a wooden shield and spear from a fallen warrior and resumed fighting. A few feet away, Wambleeska had also switched his hatchet for a bow and arrow.
Circled by enemy forces, the trio was pushed into the center with their backs against each other. Tyler found himself struggling to fend off the ongoing attack. As his strength faltered, a spear jabbed his arm, leaving a nasty gash and making him yell out in pain. His attacker drew the weapon back, ready to jab it into his chest again, when Ian rammed his own spear into the man’s side, drew it back, and whacked him in the head with the other end.
Tyler sank to his knees with a grimace as he clutched his arm to stem the flow of blood.
“Are you all right?” asked Ian.
Looking up, Tyler noticed Ian’s battered appearance: his lower lip swollen red, blood seeping out of multiple cuts on his face, and splotches of what would soon be bruises on his arms. The torrent of arrows and spearheads had ripped his clothes in various places, grazing his skin.
“No,” he mumbled as he squeezed his eyes shut.
Ian and Wambleeska shielded him. The pain shot up his arm, exploding into a blinding whiteness in his head, and his heart hammered inside his chest as he gasped for breath. The throbbing in his ears grew louder, drowning out any other sounds. His head reeled as white spots mushroomed before his eyes. He felt like he was drowning, surrounded by muffled cries of the clashing forces. A high-pitched scream, raw and horror-struck, pierced into the void he had drifted into, causing his eyes to fly open.
With dread flooding his veins, he peeled his attention away from the searing pain in his arm, planting his hand on the ground to steady himself.
Michelle, thought Tyler as he lifted himself to his feet. Unable to find his club, he took out a knife from his belt and staggered forward. He had only managed to drag himself a few feet away from the spot where he had collapsed when he looked up and found Chayton raging toward him on his horse.
Chayton, the falcon, Tyler’s arch-nemesis careered toward him with his spear pointed at Tyler’s heart, hungry for revenge. His lips were twisted into a sneer. Panic rising inside him, Tyler squared his shoulders and turned to face Chayton. The small, blunt knife in his hand was unlikely to cause much damage, but he would go down fighting.
Prepared to embrace death, Tyler steeled himself as Chayton approached. Just when he thought the spearhead would plunge inside his chest, the bracelet on his wrist began to vibrate before emitting a ray of bright light that quickly enveloped Tyler.
As Tyler stared wide-eyed at the strange glow surrounding him, Chayton’s steed collided with the invisible barrier, flinging him off its back and through the air. There was a sickening crackle as his nose smashed against something solid. He slid down the mysterious force field encapsulating Tyler as blood gushed from his nostrils, spilling over his chin and leaving streaks of red suspended in the air. Mystified, Tyler watched him fall to the ground with a loud thud.
Propping himself up on his elbows, Chayton gawked at his horse’s limp body lying on the ground, its neck twisted at an awkward angle, then at the trails of blood hanging above. The cacophony of sounds surrounding Tyler tapered to a low murmur before dying down completely as the Oglala ceased fighting and gaped at the floating droplets of blood and their fallen leader. Glancing around, Tyler saw Wambleeska and Ian staring at him, bewildered looks on their faces.
Slowly, a ripple of terror spread through the tribesmen. Those on foot quickly mounted their horses, turned them around, and began galloping back toward their village. Chayton rose to his feet and hollered at them to stop, but his commands and insults went unnoticed as the Oglala scampered away from Tyler and the others.
His admonitions falling on deaf ears, Chayton turned around and glared at Tyler. “This isn’t over,” he said through gritted teeth. He swung his arm, seizing a horse rider cantering by and yanking him off his mount.
Straddling the horse, he cast one last look of pure loathing at Tyler before whipping the reins and riding away. The man Chayton had dismounted bolted behind him, looking terrified.
Wambleeska and Ian limped toward Tyler, awestruck. Wambleeska raised his hand, planting his palm against something solid and invisible, and gave Tyler a look of disbelief.
“How did you do that?” asked Ian.
“I have no clue,” Tyler croaked. His throat was parched, and he had become acutely aware of the throbbing pain in his arm.
“Well, turn it off so we can come and help you,” said Ian.
Gripping his injured arm, Tyler closed his eyes. “I don’t know how.”
“Try taking the bracelet off,” suggested Wambleeska.
Tyler stared at the leather bracelet on his wrist. Blood trickled down his arm in rivulets, staining the leather band. He fumbled to take it off, his fingers slippery from the blood. Michelle and John emerged from behind the trees, their mouths hanging open.
“Hurry up,” said Ian. “At this rate, you might just bleed to death.”
As soon as Tyler managed to remove the bracelet, the trail of blood suspended in the air turned to droplets and fell to the ground. Ian and Wambleeska rushed toward Tyler as he winced in pain. Wambleeska took a small bag tied to his belt, pulled the drawstrings at its mouth, and poured water onto Tyler’s wound.
“I need something to use as a bandage,” he said, prompting Ian to take off his overshirt and hand it to him.
Wambleeska tore it into strips that he used to wrap around the cut on Tyler’s arm, and Michelle sank to her knees beside him as Wambleeska tended to his wounds. She tenderly stroked Tyler’s cheek, her eyes shimmering with tears.
“I heard a scream,” Tyler mumbled.
“It was nothing,” she said. “One of the tribesmen found us hiding behind the trees, but John took care of that.”
Tyler gave John a surprised look.
“I may be old, but I’m not entirely useless,” the old man bristled.
Ian’s eyebrows shot up. “You managed to fight off a seasoned warrior? I think we have the right to be surprised.”
“I took him by surprise,” said John. “Whacked him in the head with the biggest rock I could find.”
“It was a good thing he had his back to you, huh?” said Ian.
Chagrined at his nephew’s insolence, John crossed his arms and looked away with a sullen expression.
Wambleeska finished tying Tyler’s bandage. “That should stop you from losing more blood,” he said. “But you still need to get it looked at by a healer.”
“How would we get him to a healer?” asked Ian.
“Going back to the village is out of the question,” said John.
“Is there anyone who could help us?” said Michelle.
Wambleeska thought for a moment. “We must get going,” he said as he rose to his feet. “You can count on Chayton to keep his word. He will return to exact revenge.”
“But what about Tyler?” Michelle pressed. “Look at him. He can barely move, let alone travel for miles through jagged terrain.”
“We’ll give him a hand,” said Ian. “Wambleeska is right; Chayton will come back looking for blood. We don’t even know how Tyler activated that force field. We can’t count on it happening again.”
Michelle turned to Tyler with a concerned look.
“I’ll be fine,” he said quietly.
“We could sneak into a nearby village to avoid Chayton and his men,” said Wambleeska. “From what I remember, it’s a few miles south of a nearby stream. If we start now, we could get there by dawn.”
Kneeling next to Tyler, Michelle still looked unconvinced.
Wambleeska noticed her unsure expression. “When the conditions are favorable, I’ll make sure to take him to a healer and get treated.”
Slowly, Michelle nodded her head.
“All right then,” said Ian, clapping his hands before stepping toward Tyler. “Let’s get you on your feet.”
He swung his arm over Tyler’s shoulders and wrapped the other arm around his waist. Tyler held his injured hand close to his chest as Ian heaved him to his feet, and a low hiss escaped his lips as pain shot up his arm again. Afraid of causing alarm, he swallowed the discomfort and held back from screaming.
The sun was rising over the horizon as they began trudging through the grassland. The rugged landscape, littered with jagged rocks jutting out of yellow tufts of grass, slowed them down. Undulating plains stretched for miles in every direction, punctuated by a few tall trees and massive boulders.
Tyler panted for breath as he limped alongside Ian through the rocky landscape. The pain in his arm had intensified ever since they began their long and arduous journey through the great plains, and the trek up the craggy slopes was wearing John out. Struggling to keep his balance, the older man stumbled about behind the others. Several times, Wambleeska had to stop to help him to his feet. Huffing and puffing from the climb, he finally slumped on the grass.
“I can’t do it,” he grunted. “You go on without me.”
“This isn’t the time to be melodramatic, Uncle,” said Ian, who seemed to be struggling himself. Sweat dripped from his forehead, and he sounded out of breath.
“No,” said John. “I can’t do it. I just can’t.”
