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He hung his head and said a silent prayer over her, then broke away from her and turned to where his father lay only a few feet off.
Chief Two Stones, a cousin to Geronimo, was severely wounded, yet clinging to life, and had somehow been spared the terrible fate of being scalped.
When Storm fell to his knees beside his father and lifted his head onto his lap, he tried not to cry. He wanted to be a man in his father’s eyes, at least while he was still alive to see him.
Storm knew what his future held for him and he had to prove to his dying father that he was worthy of the title of chief, for he was next in line after his father to lead his people.
“My son, pindah-lickoyee, white-eye soldiers, came and killed. I . . . witnessed . . . your mother’s death. I could do nothing to help her. My son, you must flee to higher ground now, while you can,” Chief Two Stones said in a voice scarcely audible to Storm. “Take the other young braves with you ah-han-day, afar. Lead them to safety high up in the Piñaleno Mountains.”
Chief Two Stones reached a quivering hand to one of Storm’s and clutched it desperately. “My son, remember to teach as I have taught you, that we Apache hold it a high virtue to speak the truth, always, and never to steal from our own tribesmen,” he said thickly. “Teach the children that the Apache warrior adheres more strictly to his code of honor than the white man does to his!”
“Ahte, I will teach what has been taught me,” Storm said, hearing just how weak his father’s voice was becoming, and admiring Chief Two Stones for not thinking of death, but instead of the future of the children and what they should know in order to survive as Apache.
“Son, you have proven yourself time and again to be worthy of the title of chief,” Chief Two Stones said, squeezing Storm’s hand. “It is now that I hand over the chieftainship to you. Go and make a new life, a stronghold, where no pindah-lickoyee can ever find you. But before you go to the mountains, find your sister Dancing Willow and the girls who are with her. Take them into hiding. Keep them safe and well.”
“I will find them. And I will be a great leader,” Storm said. He swallowed hard. “I promise you that, Ahte.”
“I know you will,” Chief Two Stones said, slowly taking his hand away from Storm’s. He rested his hand over his heart. “My breath will soon be gone from me forever, but I have enough left to tell you that the man who shot and killed your beloved mother, and then shot your father, was himself shot in the leg. With the last of my strength, I sent an arrow from my bow. It lodged in the evil white man’s leg as he rode away.”
“I shall find him one day and make him pay,” Storm said softly. “I promise that I shall take revenge!”
“Storm, I know this man’s name,” Chief Two Stones said breathlessly. “In the middle of the massacre, just before he attacked your mother, I heard the man addressed as Colonel Whaley.”
He grabbed Storm’s hand once again. “Remember that name always, my son,” he said, his voice now barely a whisper. “Perhaps in the future you will hear of a pony soldier whose name is Whaley. If so, you will know he is the man who tore all of your people’s lives apart!”
Two Stones again released Storm’s hand. He sighed deeply, closed his eyes, then gazed up at Storm again. “Leave now,” he said. “But before you leave, please join one of your mother’s hands with mine. I will die much more happily if I am reunited in this way with my wife.”
Tears streaming from Storm’s eyes, he rose and took his mother’s cold hand and gently placed it in his father’s. He saw how his father’s fingers wrapped around his mother’s hand.
“Thank you, my son,” Chief Two Stones said as he gazed over at his wife, whose face was still visible to him through the blood. “Although I first knew your mother as my white captive, I fell in love with her, and she with me. We had a good, happy life, and she bore me a son of that love. That son is you, Storm. You always made us so proud.”
“I have always loved you both so much,” Storm said, swallowing hard. His older sister, a full-blood Apache, was from another time when his father had been married to one of his own people. She had died while giving birth to a second child . . . a child who did not survive either.
Although a half-breed because of his white mother, Storm had all of the appearance and mannerisms of an Apache warrior.
“Son, your heart is Apache,” Two Stones said, coughing blood as he spoke. “Lead! Be safe! Keep what remains of our band safe!”
Storm glanced over at his mother again. He could hardly stand to think of the pain she had suffered before dying, as her lovely golden hair was removed. But at least she was at peace now, and soon his father would be joining her in the stars!
“My son, why do you hesitate to leave?” Two Stones asked. “Why?”
“Ahte, I just cannot leave you here like this while you still have breath in your lungs,” Storm blurted out. “Mother is dead. But . . . you . . . are still among the living!”
“Storm—”
“No, Ahte, I must follow my heart,” Storm said, quickly rising to his feet. “And it tells me to take you with me. But before we leave, it is my decision to remain here long enough to bury the dead.”
“My son—”
“Ahte, it is the only way, or I would never get a night’s rest for thinking about our people lying like this for—”
“Do what you must,” Two Stones said, closing his eyes. “I understand.”
“Even Ina,” Storm said. “I must separate you two in order to bury her.”
“It is truly the right thing that you are doing,” Two Stones said. “But hurry, my son. Hurry. Do not take time to make deep graves. Bury the dead just deep enough so that rocks can cover them and protect them.”
Storm nodded. He gathered together the young braves who were all that remained of his band. Some hurried around collecting rocks, while others began digging shallow graves.
