Sitting Bull picked up the skull that Bouyer had indicated was his, hefting it in his blood-covered hand. “I sense great power.”
Bouyer waited. He could feel the difference in Crazy Horse. The warrior’s anger was muted, blanketed by despair. Bouyer put the other skulls away and closed the case. He carried it back to the mule and tied it off. He was exhausted having pressed the ride north from Colorado. Knowing time was short. Bouyer climbed up on his horse, aware all were staring at him. Sitting Bull was peering into the crystal skull as if he could see the future there.
Gall was the most dangerous one, Bouyer knew. The chief was an impressive physical specimen, over six feet tall and built like a beer barrel, with a thick chest and muscular arms. He was known for bravery in battle as much as Crazy Horse. was edging around to Bouyer’s flank, a hatchet in his hand.
“Where do you go?” Crazy Horse demanded.
“To find Son of the Morning Star,” Bouyer said.
“What of Three Stars?”
“He is not important,” Bouyer said. ‘’1 will see you on the banks of the Greasy Grass.”
Gall was moving closer, hatchet rising.
“Let him go,” Sitting Bull ordered.
Gall stopped but didn’t lower the hatchet. “You talk to us of uniting and killing whites. But you want me to let him go?”
“This is not his time to die,” Sitting Bull said.
Bouyer didn’t wait. He nudged the horse’s head to the north and kicked in his spur.
It was as Bouyer had said. There were a dozen Crow, stalking a herd of buffalo on the north side of the Rosebud. There were no pickets around the blue-coat encampment. The soldiers were lounging about, seemingly unconcerned. The cavalry had unsaddled their horses. Crazy Horse could even see Three Stars through the telescope-the commander of the blue coats was playing cards with his officers.
Shots rang out as Sioux charged toward the Crow hunters. Still the soldiers seemed unconcerned; most likely thinking the firing was coming from the hunters. Crazy Horse watched the unfolding battle from a knoll a half-mile from the Rosebud. The skull Bouyer had left for him was in a bag tied off to his horse.
The first response by the blue coats to what was really happening only came when a couple of retreating Crow galloped into the camp, screaming that they were being attacked. Soldiers scrambled to saddle their horses while the infantry hurriedly grabbed their rifles.
The charging Sioux and Cheyenne would have overrun the camp, but two hundred Crow warriors who had joined Three Stars rallied and formed a skirmish line that broke the first charge. This gave the blue coats a chance to get somewhat organized.
Crazy Horse watched as the battle raged back and forth. He could see both Sitting Bull and Gall leading charges. Crazy Horse was tempted to join the fray, but he remained where he was, simply observing. If Bouyer was night-and he had been right about this-then there would be time shortly for much fighting.
The superior massed firepower of the whites was negating the expertise of the Indians at using both their horses and terrain to charge close. Back and forth across the creek came the assaults, each one beaten back.
Time was critical, Crazy Horse realized as he watched the battle. If it had not been for the Crow defensive line, the first charge would have made it into the white man’s camp and the battle might have been over very quickly with the white man routed. But given time to organize a defense, their line produced too much firepower to break no matter how bravely the Indians charged. Attacking straight into the power of the Whites was a poor tactic, he realized.
After a few hours, with no decisive move on either side, Sitting Bull came riding up to Crazy Horse’s position. “Why do you just sit there?”
Crazy Horse lowered the telescope. “This battle is already over. The next one will be much different.”
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
When they reached the camp site, Earhart quickly introduced Dane and Kolkov to the other refugees, then the three huddled together near the wall to formulate the next step. Dane quickly updated her on what was happening in his time line.
“I picked up some of that from Rachel,” Earhart said when he was done. “She let me know you were coming so Asper and I could be ready to get you. I didn’t know how many of you there would be and we only had the two suits. We did the best we could. I am sorry about your comrade,” she said to Kolkov.
“Is the sphere still out there?” Dane asked, indicating the Inner Sea.
Earhart nodded. “On the far side of the portal you were headed toward. Just floating there dead in the water. Only about ten feet of it is above the surface. I assume the crew is dead. The Shadow doesn’t seem to miss it. I’ve been out to it but didn’t go inside.”
“What else has happened?”
“Taki took the crystal skulls into a portal,” Earhart said.
“He what?” Dane felt a moment of panic. “We need the skulls to power the sphere.”
“You need the skulls to be energized first,” Earhart said. “I’d already taken one back.”
“Back to when? Who did you give it to?”
“To Crazy Horse’s brother-well, not actually his brother.”
“’Crazy Horse’s brother’? You’d better start at the beginning,” Dane said. “For me it’s only been a day since I was here. I assume it’s been longer than that for you.”
Earhart shrugged. “I don’t know how long it’s been, but, yes definitely longer than a day. After you left to go back to your time, things quieted down for a little bit. Then I heard the voices of the Ones Before. They wanted me to go to the Valkyrie chamber.”
Dane suppressed a wave of dread as he remembered the cavern filled with thousands of operating tables on which the Valkyries were working on human captives-skinning them, removing limbs and organs, performing experiments. It was torture on a grand scale.
“Taki and I went there in the suits,” she said, indicating the two empty white suits floating nearby. “I had ‘seen’ what I was to get and exactly where it was.” She turned and pulled.n object out of a pack. It looked like a strange gun with a short barrel about three inches long but very wide, almost two inches in diameter. The chamber was a red bulb about four inches in diameter. There was a red and green button on top of the bulb.
“What is it?” Dane asked.
Earhart laid it across her lap. “It’s a way of implanting a child-a fetus-inside a woman. When I found it, the red button was glowing. It was on a table next to a woman. A woman I recognized.”
“Who?” Dane asked.
“Me.”
“Leave me alone!” Robert Frost screamed the words at the metal walls of the cabin as he pressed both palms tight against his temples, trying to drive away the voice inside his head. “Haven’t I paid enough?”
Frost banged his forehead against the edge of the bunk bolted to the wall. He didn’t even notice as he cut his skin and blood trickled down his face. Someone knocked on the hatch, and a muffled voice asked if he was all right.
“Yes. Yes. YES!” Frost yelled. He just wanted to be left alone. He pulled his hands away from his head and looked about, as if uncertain where he was. He slumped down onto the thin mattress. He felt something wet on his face and wiped a shaking hand across his forehead. He stared at the blood smeared on his fingers with a frown.
He reached with bloody fingers for a slim, leather-bound volume on the little shelf that served as a desk in the cramped cabin. He slid his finger to a page that was easily found, flipping the book open. The writing was in long hand, a flowing script. The poem was titled “In a Disused Graveyard.” He’d written it after a terrible night of visions of mankind’s doom.