Page 41 of Savage Illusions

He tur­ned his ga­ze ahe­ad, fo­cu­sing on the stra­ight back of Spot­ted Eag­le as he ro­de his mag­ni­fi­cent stal­li­on only a few fe­et ahe­ad of the wa­gon, then tur­ned angry eyes at his sis­ter aga­in.

" He's the ca­use of yo­ur stran­ge be­ha­vi­or," he sa­id in a low hiss. "You've al­lo­wed yo­ur­self to fall in lo­ve with him, ha­ven't you?"

"Kirk, I don't think you want to con­ti­nue with this de­ba­te," Jole­na fi­nal­ly sa­id, her vo­ice stra­ined. "Just con­cen­t­ra­te on get­ting the wa­gon thro­ugh the fo­rest. I'd li­ke to find that elu­si­ve but­terfly to­day so that I" She ca­ught her­self be­fo­re sa­ying what her he­art was fe­eling.

"So that you can what?" Kirk sa­id, for­king an eyeb­row.

Jolena flip­ped her ha­ir back from her sho­ul­ders. "Kirk, stop prod­ding me with qu­es­ti­ons," she sa­id, gi­ving him an an­no­yed sta­re. "You may ca­use us not to see the two spe­ci­al but­ter­f­li­es we se­ek."

"Two spe­ci­al but­ter­f­li­es?" Kirk sa­id, on­ce aga­in lo­oking stra­ight ahe­ad. He flic­ked the re­ins, snap­ping them along the backs of the two mu­les at­tac­hed to his wa­gon. "Now you are lo­oking es­pe­ci­al­ly for two, not just the eup­ha­ed­ra?"

"I am in­t­ri­gu­ed by the nympha­lid, as well," Jole­na sa­id, scof­fing now at Spot­ted Eag­le's war­nings that the nympha­lid was bad luck.

It was true that she had fal­len over the cliff whi­le cha­sing the but­terfly. But to ac­tu­al­ly be­li­eve that it had te­ased her over the cliff pur­po­sely had to be ri­di­cu­lo­us.

She wan­ted the nympha­lid now mo­re than ever.

While her fat­her ad­mi­red it, Kirk co­uld be tel­ling him the spe­ci­al story abo­ut it…

Yet, on se­cond tho­ught, she do­ub­ted that her brot­her wo­uld tell her fat­her abo­ut the in­ci­dent. Kirk had not at­tem­p­ted to sa­ve her. He wo­uld not want to gi­ve the cre­dit to Spot­ted Eag­le, who wo­uld by that ti­me ha­ve be­co­me Kirk's ar­c­he­nemy for ha­ving sto­len Jole­na away from him and his fat­her.

"I think it's best that you con­cen­t­ra­te on so­met­hing be­si­des that damn nympha­lid," Kirk grum- bled. "I'll ne­ver for­get that it is the ca­use for yo­ur ha­ving fal­len over the cliff."

He cast her a she­epish lo­ok. "I sho­uld've tri­ed to sa­ve you," he sa­id, his vo­ice drawn. "But my fe­et wo­uld not carry me to the ed­ge of the cliff. And my he­art was be­ating so hard, I felt dizzy. I… su­rely wo­uld ha­ve fal­len over the si­de al­so, had I le­aned even that one inch over it. And you know my fe­ar of he­ights, sis."

Jolena he­si­ta­ted a mo­ment, fe­eling that no ex­cu­se wo­uld ever ma­ke up for his not ha­ving at­tem­p­ted to sa­ve her.

Yet she was not one to hold a grud­ge.

She pat­ted Kirk's knee. "Yes, I know," she mur­mu­red. "Let's not spe­ak of it an­y­mo­re. I'm ali­ve. That is all that sho­uld mat­ter."

Kirk swal­lo­wed hard, nod­ded, then si­len­ce fell bet­we­en him and Jole­na as the wa­gon lum­be­red on be­ne­ath the tre­es.

Although the sun was ne­arly at its mid-po­int in the sky, the­re was a de­cep­ti­ve sil?

?very light in the air. The sun­s­hi­ne we­aved thro­ugh the thick fo­li­age over­he­ad, mel­ting in­to the gray, ste­aming mist that ga­ve body to sha­dow and ma­de phan­toms of so­lid obj­ects.

As the fo­rest was left be­hind and the wa­gons and the­ir two Blac­k­fo­ot gu­ides on hor­se­back mo­ved out in­to open land, the mist be­gan cle­aring. Jole­na ca­ught glim­p­ses of the blue sky over­he­ad.

Jolena sig­hed, enj­oying the chan­ges aro­und her. The val­ley in which she was now tra­ve­ling was ref­res­hed from the last night's he­avy dew, the grass glis­te­ning as if in the first flush of spring. The air se­emed was­hed cle­an and spar­k­ling cle­ar with crystal­li­ne shar­p­ness. Birds so­ared over­he­ad, gi­ving off the­ir stran­ge calls, the­ir wings cas­ting sha­dows ac­ross the land be­ne­ath them.

And then the val­ley stret­c­hed out to mo­un­ta­in pe­aks and mo­re val­leys. As the wa­gon went hig­her and hig­her, now on nar­row can­yon paths, Jole­na's pul­se be­gan to ra­ce. Sud­denly she be­gan to see but­ter­f­li­es flit­ting aro­und ever­y­w­he­re, the­ir co­lors bril­li­ant as the clo­uds mel­ted away in the sky over­he­ad, spil­ling the sun's rays down to cre­ate bright and cer­ta­in light in which to see the but­ter­f­li­es mo­re cle­arly.

Jolena's he­art lur­c­hed when her eyes ca­ught sight of the eup­ha­ed­ra, which had fi­nal­ly co­me out of hi­ding! "Kirk, stop!" she sho­uted, wa­ving her arms in the air fran­ti­cal­ly. "I've se­en it."

Kirk yan­ked the re­ins and stop­ped the mu­les, but he sho­wed no signs of be­ing happy abo­ut Jole­na's an­no­un­ce­ment. The wa­gon was in a pre­ca­ri­o­us pla­ce, a led­ge of rock on one si­de, a she­er drop on the ot­her, with ba­rely eno­ugh spa­ce for an­yo­ne to mo­ve sa­fely aro­und.

Jolena al­re­ady had the but­terfly net in her hand. "Get the jar and fol­low me, Kirk," she sa­id, her eyes bright with ex­ci­te­ment. If she co­uld catch this but­terfly, she wo­uld for­get the ot­her one, af­ter all. To­day co­uld be the fi­nal day of the ex­pe­di­ti­on and to­mor­ro­woh, to­mor­row, she might be ab­le to go to her true fat­her and re­ve­al her­self to him. She wo­uld be ab­le to be with her true pe­op­le!

"Sis, this isn't wi­se," Kirk sa­id, not bud­ging from the se­at. "This isn't a sa­fe pla­ce to go but­terfly cat­c­hing."

"Kirk, I saw it," Jole­na in­sis­ted, an­no­yed at Kirk's fur­t­her pro­of of co­war­di­ce. "Get the jar and let's go!"

Her eyes ca­ught sight of so­met­hing el­se as it flit­ted only a few in­c­hes past her no­se. She gas­ped and her kne­es grew we­ak, re­ali­zing that the nympha­lid was the­re aga­in, te­asing her aga­in.

"I'm go­ing to catch that but­terfly al­so," she sa­id, sli­ding easily from her se­at, wat­c­hing her fe­et as they re­ac­hed the slip­pery rocks that ga­ve her an­y­t­hing but su­re fo­oting. She did not lo­ok past her fe­et, for she knew that the ste­ep drop wo­uld ta­ke her bre­ath away.

She ga­ve Kirk a qu­ick glan­ce, re­mem­be­ring that he was af­ra­id of he­ights. "Don't get out on yo­ur si­de," she has­tily war­ned. "Stay over the­re. I'll co­me to you."

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