A Warrior’s Heart by Misty M. Beller
22
It must have been an hour before Evan finally heard footsteps again in the corridor. He spun to face the door and barely caught himself from charging forward to jerk it open. At the last minute, he stepped near the fur. Better not to give them any reason to think he was resisting orders.
They had no need to fear he would try to escape. He’d never leave this place with Brielle in danger; he had to make them see that.
Maybe one of the guards would go with him to look for her. Was that wise? Probably not, but he might suggest it anyway. Brielle needed him, and every part of his heart and head ached to go after her.
Two men stepped in, and he recognized one of them as the second man who’d come with Brielle’s father to question Gerald. No women accompanied them, not even Audrey. Did that mean she was still gathering Charlotte and Jeanette?
Evan focused on the man he’d seen before. “Brielle is in danger and I have to go help her. I won’t escape, you have my word. You can keep my things, and you can send someone with me if you feel it necessary. I’ll do whatever I need to find Brielle and Marcellus, then I’ll come back with them. After that, you can lock me up or hang me or whatever else you see fit.”
The two men looked at each other, and the worry in their eyes was plain. Did they fear for Brielle and others caught out in the storm, or was that look because they were afraid to let him leave? If the latter, they were dimwitted fools.
He took in as deep a breath as he could manage with the adrenaline pulsing through him. He had to remind himself of the reason for their fear of him. Six of their loved ones had been brutally murdered at the hands of outsiders. Though their paranoia wasn’t necessary in his case—at least, not the kind of danger they feared—the root of their worry stemmed from desire to protect their people.
That’s exactly what he was trying to do. They had the same goal, so maybe he could leverage that fact. If only he wasn’t an outsider. If he were part of this community already, there would be no question whether he could help.
God, you’ve got to do something. Step in here. Please.
He forced himself to manage a reasonable tone. “All I want to do is bring back those who might be lost out in the storm.”
The taller man eyed him. “What makes you think you can do that and the others can’t? You don’t even know the trails and places they might have taken refuge. Unless there’s more to your story than you told us.”
A new rush of frustration boiled inside him. He shook his head hard. “Everything I told you is true. And I won’t stop until I find them. Brielle is in trouble, I can feel it. I have to help.”
The other man shook his head. “The storm is awful. You can only see a couple steps ahead and it’s bitter cold, especially with the strength of the wind. You’ll never survive out there. Our people are accustomed to it.”
He curled his hands into fists but stiffened his arms to keep them at his sides. “If I’m going to die out there, then why not let me go? That way you won’t have to worry about whatever it is you think I’m hiding.”
Both men shook their heads, and the taller one spoke again. “We can’t let you go. There’s not a good enough reason to overrule the council’s decision.”
Not good enough reason?Brielle’s life was more than enough reason.
But no matter how he pleaded, neither man budged. At last, the taller man raised an outstretched hand, palm forward. “No more. You will stay under guard. We’re all praying for their safe return.” The man gave Evan a pointed look. “If you want to help, I suggest you do the same.”
As they left the room and the bar clanged into place behind them, Evan sank onto his mat. How could this be happening? Brielle needed him. He knew in the deepest part of him that God meant for him to help her. But he could do nothing while they held him in this cell. What now, Lord?
He slid a glance at Leonard. He could overpower the man. Was that what God wanted him to do?
If it be possible, as much as lieth in you, live peaceably with all men. The familiar Scripture from Romans echoed in his mind. He was trying to live peaceably, but Brielle’s life was in danger and these people wouldn’t listen to reason. In this case, living peaceably wasn’t within his power, was it? Surely that was why the Scripture had added the disclaimer as much as depends on you. His own actions were within his control, no matter what these people decided.
But, God. Brielle. His heart cried out.
The effectual fervent prayer of a righteous man availeth much. Conviction swept through him with the verse from James. A conviction he did not want to feel.
He raised his face to the heavens and clamped his jaw shut to keep from shouting at God. Brielle was out in the storm, probably dying, and God wanted him to do nothing except pray? Lord, have you lost your senses?
Conviction pressed harder. God could take care of Brielle. Evan’s mind knew that to be fact.
But his heart . . . his heart screamed that he couldn’t leave her safety to anyone else. Especially to an invisible God.
He may have never seen God with his eyes, but he knew beyond a doubt the Lord was real. He created the earth, and even more than that, He knew every man, woman, and child. Had a path mapped out for each person to follow.
A weight pressed so hard on him he had to bow his head, his shoulders drooping under the pressure. Evan had strayed from that path more than once during his life, but since Sophia’s death, and then watching all those women and children die in the fire at that Canadian fort, he’d determined he wouldn’t take a step without the Lord’s guiding.
How quickly he’d forgotten to seek God’s will. How easily he strayed.
And though he’d promised himself he would never willingly tell a lie again, so many of his words since he’d come to this place had skirted the truth, even to himself. He had to be honest with these people. Even if he found pitchblende in another mountain around this area, the coming of the miners would still disrupt Laurent.
Lord, forgive me for my deceit. Give me the strength to face even the hard conversations.
A weight lifted from his chest with the words. Not the entire weight, because fear for Brielle still pressed hard. But God’s forgiveness had scraped away a layer of tension.
Now, for his next step.
He’d been determined to help look for Brielle, but really . . . what did he bring other than desperation? He had little knowledge of the area and the people here didn’t trust him. Yet what he could bring before God—a willing heart and a repenting spirit—is what the Lord was accepting.
God had pressed His instructions clearly in his mind, and Evan would carry them out with every part of his being.
With his head bowed, he started a fervent beseeching, a prayer that he hoped would affect much to save Brielle.
Brielle had no idea if she was going the right direction.
But she pushed through the numbing cold, forcing one step in front of another. It must be nighttime, but the white swirling around her made it impossible to see the moon and confirm she was going north. She hadn’t spotted any landmarks for a while, not since the grove of trees she passed about an hour before.
If someone held a knife to her throat to force her to say whether she was lost or not, she would have to admit she was. But she had to keep moving. She would never find Marcellus if she wasn’t looking for him. And if she didn’t keep her body heated with activity, she would freeze to death within minutes.
Even now she couldn’t feel anything below her knees. She’d stumbled and fallen so many times, snow might have seeped under her furs. She wouldn’t know for sure until she took them off, but that wasn’t an option out here.
She no longer screamed for Marcellus. Her voice had grown so ragged, the sound didn’t carry very far. At least the howling of the wind didn’t seem as loud.
A dark mass appeared on her right, and she drew up to catch her breath and squint at it. The form was only a shadow, so she couldn’t tell whether it was the sheer face of a cliff or the bushy branches of a cedar.
She stumbled forward, paused to steady her footing, then trudged on again.
The mass took on the shape of stone, and she scanned her memory for where she might be. She knew of no vertical cliffs in the southern area, at least not where she should be. Even so, the rock could provide shelter from the wind.
She reached the stone face and pressed her gloved hands against its smoothness. Ice coated the rock, but the surface was too vertical for any snow to settle.
As she pressed close to its side, the force of the wind eased its pressure on her. Relief made her want to sink to her knees and sleep right there at the base of the stone.
She jerked herself straight. She couldn’t stop. Not unless she found a way to make some other form of heat.
Staying as close to the stone as she could manage, she shuffled sideways, hopefully moving northward. She still had no memory of this rock, whether it was simply a big boulder or the side of a mountain. But the farther she went, the more the latter seemed to be the case.
From somewhere in the benumbed recesses of her mind, a psalm crept forward. From the ends of the earth I call to you, I call as my heart grows faint; lead me to the rock that is higher than I. She couldn’t summon a prayer to accompany the words, but the verse itself was prayer enough, releasing a burst of warm hope within her.
The vertical slope tilted and took on more of a craggy texture with snow piled in the grooves. Still, the rock served as a buffer from the worst of the wind.
She kept moving, and the stone seemed to curve in a gradual arc, like it really might be the base of the mountain. She strained to remember the peaks in this area that didn’t have trees near the base. In truth, she had no idea where she might be.
But since she had something solid to follow, she kept moving, ducking low from the wind and staying close to the rock. The stone’s incline grew vertical again, for which she was grateful. It warded off more wind that way. This time the surface wasn’t smooth, though, jutting out in points and crags. If her mind wasn’t so weary, she might stop to ponder what made it different from the other.
But her head had grown numb, even her thinking.
Her stomach cramped, and she reached into the satchel for the bundle of dried berries. She was rationing the food as much as possible, eating only a bite or two every few hours. At this point, she could be out here another day or two. Especially if she couldn’t find the way back.
If she survived it all.
So far, she’d not let her mind drift toward the possibility that these might be her last hours. But she had to face reality.
Evan’s face filled her thoughts, that intense way he had of looking deep inside her made something twist in her middle. She might never see him again. She should have told him how she felt, no matter whether it was too soon or not. She only knew that her heart had connected with his in a way she’d never thought possible.
If she never returned, maybe Audrey would tell him how Brielle had felt. She and Audrey had never spoken of it, but her friend had given her a look during the feast that said she knew something was growing between them. That look had promised a reckoning, that they would soon have a conversation about the man.
At least her other dear ones knew how much she loved them. After they lost their mother, Papa made sure the four of them never held back words of affection. They all knew how quickly final moments could come without warning. Her last words to Charlotte had been those of love. At least she didn’t have that regret.
Her foot caught on something in the snow, and she stumbled forward, dropping to her knees. Pain jolted through her wrists and up her arms. Weakness washed through her, but she worked to push herself upright. She had to keep moving.
She used the rock beside her to keep her balance as she started forward again. Right hand forward. Left foot forward. Right foot forward. Right hand forward.
Except her hand didn’t find the rock for placement. It plunged into empty air, and she tipped sideways as she scrambled for a hold.
At last, her palm struck stone, and she leaned into a hollow indention in the mountainside. She forced her fuzzy gaze to focus on the place. Between her exhaustion, the swirling snow, and the darkness, her mind was slow to form the picture of what she saw.
Like a large hand had scooped stone from the mountain, the rock formed an overhang on top and both sides.
There wasn’t much snow piled on the ground, but something else lay there amidst the white. An animal? A dead one, from how still it was.
She stepped closer, and the wind no longer blew around her.
The creature was half covered, so she couldn’t see its head or legs to determine the species. Whatever it was, maybe she could cover herself with the carcass until the storm ended and morning brought light.
Perhaps the weight would provide enough cover to stay alive.
The creature didn’t move as she dropped to her knees by its side. She wiped the snow from one end, trying to dig out legs.
Suddenly, the animal jerked. It came to life, rising up before her.
She screamed and tried to scramble back, but her numb limbs wouldn’t do what she told them. She fell on her rear, still trying to scramble backward. Her bow tangled in her right arm, locking it in place and stilling her escape. She screamed again as the creature rose higher.
Then the animal took shape . . . the shape of a man.