Read Online The Guardian by Elizabeth Lane - Free Book Online Page A

somehow it would be his fault.
    Black Sun raised his eyes and murmured a plea for forgiveness to the sacred canyon—to the rocks, the trees, the water, the animals that had lived here undisturbed for generations. Then, turning his attention to Charity Bennett, he made ready to do what he could for her.
    Â 
    C HARITY CLUNG to the stick that Black Sun had rigged for her. Her sweat-slimed palms gripped the papery bark as the pain twisted her body— good pain, she told herself repeatedly. Good, good pain that was bringing her baby into the world.
    â€œHold on…hold on…” Black Sun’s deep voice droned in her ear. His presence calmed her, reassured her that everything would be all right. He was her rescuer, her guardian angel who had covered her with his wings in this time of danger. He would not let anything happen to her or the baby. She had to make herself believe that or she would lose her will to fight.
    Why was the baby taking so long? She had thought, when the pains worsened, that it would be a matter of a few pushes and then she would feel the lightening of her body and hear the mewling cry that would bind her heart forever. But time had crawled on and on, agony-filled minutes flowing into what seemed like agony-filled hours. The moon had drifted along the high rim of the canyon, then vanished from sight like a curious lady visitor grown bored with waiting for something to happen.
    All this time, all this torment, and there seemed to be no end to it.
    The knifing contraction slid away, giving her a few moments of blessed relief. Charity let go of the stick and slumped to the ground, the folds of her filthy, ragged skirt falling around her like the petals of a mud-trampled flower. Her arms felt as if they’d been wrenched from their sockets. She massaged her aching shoulder joints, fighting tears of frustration.
    â€œHere.” Black Sun offered her a sip of water from the skin bag, which he’d refilled at the spring. His face was etched with weary shadows, as if he’d shared every pain with her.
    â€œIt won’t be much longer,” she said. “Surely it won’t.”
    He reached out and brushed the matted hair back from her face with his rough brown fingers. She closed her eyes, savoring his gentle touch. Where had he been going when he found her? she wondered. Who would be waiting for him, worrying because he hadn’t arrived?
    â€œDo you have a family, Black Sun?” she asked, suddenly needing to know.
    â€œA boy of six winters.” His voice rasped with fatigue.
    â€œAnd his mother?”
    He glanced away without answering her. For the space of a breath, Charity was puzzled. Then, with the certainty of instinct, she understood why. Black Sun’s wife was dead. Like his mother, she had died in childbirth.
    Other things began to fall into place, as well: why he had taken it upon himself to save her, and why he took such pains to hide the depth of his anxiety. If she and the baby lived, it would be a token of his salvation. If they died, it would plunge him that much deeper into purgatory or whatever the Arapahos might call that self-made prison of the soul.
    Black Sun had never finished telling her the story of his mother’s death. But Charity had no wish to hear it now. To know that it had happened was already as much as she could bear.
    She reached for the stick as the tightening began once more. Black Sun watched her, his eyes hooded in shadow.
    â€œI need…a story,” she gasped as the pain surged through her body. “A good story—you said you knew one about a wolf and a spider.”
    A bitter smile twitched at a corner of his mouth. “That is a story for children,” he said.
    â€œThen tell me a story for…grown-ups!” Her hands clawed at the stick as she fought to keep from crying out. If the pains grew any worse, they would rip her in two, she thought. But she would endure anything to get this baby into