“I need you to do something,” Dust said quietly, putting the mirror away.
“Pardon?”
“I need you to do something.”
Naismith frowned. She’d not forgiven him. Maybe she never would; she seemed the type to hold a grudge. “What do you need doing?”
Dust kept his voice low. “We’re being followed. Or, rather, I am. I need you to-”
Naismith interrupted him. “What do you think they’re after?”
“Does that matter?”
She shrugged. “It might do. Let’s ask.”
And then the spoilt brat turned and shouted “Hello back there! We know you’re following us! We want to know why!”
Dust closed his eyes and took a deep, deep breath. The tattoo, which had move to just above his pecker during the night, twitched a warning.
Slowly, he turned Horse round. The dark shape stood stock still, as though it hoped it might not be noticed. Dust ignored it and looked across the horizon until he saw the other presence, the stronger one. It was ahead of them, like it’d been following the Paints, and it too regarded them as though it was hidden. He was damn thankful he’d not said anything about them to the kid.
“Well?” Naismith asked. “I can see you back there.”
She pointed a dainty, smooth finger at the lesser presence. It snuck back in response.
“Oh, fine, we’ll come and see to you then.”
Naismith spurred her horse. The stalking presence turned tail and darted away, knowing its cause was lost. It moved like a predator at full pelt, majestic and damn fast.
Rather than give chase, Dust pointed to the other shape and called on his tattoo’s power. It wasn’t just for show or to annoy the hell out of him, no; if the mood took it, his tattoo would let him use small magics. It liked his idea this time and so let him shoot a thought to the other presence like an arrow. He sent this other figure his genuine interest in talking with them.
He got a simple response, a feeling rather than a thought; acceptance.
“Naismith!” Dust called. “Come back, follow me. Please.”
Naismith was just in hearing range, and she seemed to consider ignoring him for a moment, but she turned her ride around. Dust saw annoyance flash across her eyes; she felt she could have won that race If that had been what Dust thought it was, she’d never have gotten close.
Naismith trotted over. “What? Where are we going?”
“We’re going to have a powwow.”
She looked confused but didn’t argue.
Naismith in tow, Dust went to see who he’d contacted. When he was within a mile, he could see them better; they were an Indian, a woman. Her wards, spells and powerful weapons marked her out as a warrior. A powerful one. She surveyed the Badlands coolly, her dark eyes regarding him with dispassion whenever they met his.
It seemed he might get his wish of having a proper fighter along.
When she too could make the figure out, Naismith asked “Is that an Indian?”
“It is,” Dust said.
“Why is one of them following us?”
“Let’s fine out.”
They rode at a gentle pace. When they were within shouting range, Dust bellowed “Hello.”
“Don’t speak White,” the warrior shouted back, her voice deep and full of anger. Her English was garbled enough to prove her statement.
That was a problem; Dust didn’t speak or write any Indian dialect, just their runes. Things just couldn’t be easy, could they? He rode on, tried to work out how to communicate with the warrior; after all, she might know something that would help them find Penelope Chalmers. His tattoo wouldn’t let him use enough magic to have a good conversation… so maybe there was no way to talk to her…
“Damn it,” he said.
“If you mean our communication problem, I should say that I speak Indian,” Naismith offered.
“Really?”
“Really.”
Now that he hadn’t expected, not with her previous comments about Indians. But he wasn’t about to question the providence, especially not when she might get pissy again.
“Could you ask her what the other shape was?” Then he added “Please?” to keep her sweet.
Naismith nodded, then repeated the question. The warrior babbled something in return.
“Her Spirit Wolf.”
Dust’s smile widened. He’d been right. “Excellent. Could you ask her her name?”
More Indian. “Shadows Fade,” Naismith said. She seemed to be enjoying this.
“Tell her she’s been following the Wanted Man.”
This time, Dust recognised two of the words; his stupid nickname stood out even in the seeming nonsense of the Indian tongue. Shadows Fade bower her head as soon as his name was mentioned; the Indians respect Dust, though they do so for very different reasons than ‘white’ people.
“We’ve a lot to talk about,” he said to Naismith.
